Tag Archives: MPD

The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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Filed under Prose

Lost In Translation

I changed your mind
And ended up here
Through stained glass eyes
And colourful tears…

~*~

Charlotte, your smile is the cure to this world’s corrupted poison

Playacting a fun circus funambulist on the taut wire of the horizon

Watching bystanders afar mistake your firestorm hair for the sun

Coalescing tangerine bleeding in the sunset as you giggle and run

Verdigris eyes like gemstones strung in trinkets of shooting stars

In flora, fauna, radiation, biohazards, you’re the life birthed in a war

.

Charlotte, solemnly count the myriad of scintillating jaded stars

Drop another missing wish in your drained aromatic perfume jar

Hazy reverie of the dusk falling fast like the lustrous tears you cry

Days twirling by rapidly like the icy sapphire pinwheels in your eyes

Ballgown of crystalline chandeliers piercing your blanched pale skin

Hair as fuliginous as deepest midnight, yet not darker than your sins

.

Charlotte, are you madly sickened by humanity’s posthumous maladies?

Fatigued of transgressions decimated, tired of your evanescing affinities

Wandering barefooted, castaway within an endless forest of barbed wires

Incarnadine-shaded shadows and lethality spreading quickly like wildfires

Blur of scathing thorns and roses, blades and blood, tantrums and taigas

Lead argentine in pupils, a milky film, akin to the scarcely-refulgent Luna

Chagrined howls resonating, pained tribulations bouncing off to nowhere

Bristling umber fur in wary alarm, not a single person would tread or dare

.

Charlotte, is your cold heart simply too debilitated to even continue to beat?

In the fahrenheit of your tepid body no longer producing warmth and heat?

The breeze grooms your cobweb hair, periwinkle glances, sharp lightning

Gothic lolita skirt hiked around your sepulchral waist, frigid tranquillising

But those polychromatic butterfly wings will not be able to soar for long

And crumble to motheaten ashes as rain pours, petrichor your death song

.

Charlotte, this newly-borne world is still quite juvenile, a universe fresh and young

So don’t waste your cavalier youth pausing, counting the fine rays of the glaring sun

Don’t rake the precipitating autumn leaves, lest you dance in the hurricane of burgundy

Fragile fallen foliage coloured like your amber eyes, that encase a frozen-over galaxy

Charlotte, your world’s revolving frenetically, like an uncontrollable carnival carousel

Reds and blues and horses and carriages, locked in a vertigo of a dizzying identity spell

Your lemonade locks billowing by the sea air, spinning deliriously until you feel unwell

Do you still even know who you are anymore Charlotte, or is my beloved angel hopelessly lost in hell?

~*~

Fine, maybe I’ll pretend right now
But I swear to god
I’m gonna change the world
And I promise you
Someday we’ll tell ourselves
Oh my god this is paradise…

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Filed under Poetry