Tag Archives: mysterious

Dear Divine Angel

In the morning, hear all the birds sing
It never stops, then, with tears in your eyes
You smiled dressed in coppertone tan lines
Oh, oh, I hope you don’t regret me…

~*~

The faint blush of the morning presents itself

In throes of sunlight and distant reverie

Clouds faltering against the cerulean horizons

Blots of floral spectres, a firmament fantasy

Where were your wings hiding in that fated summer?

Cotton feathers beating against the misted dusk

Hazy in dryads and skirls of falling zephyr

Precipitation from your eyelids ascending from rust

My divine angel, are you bedless yet again?

Gravity defying stars, constellation against heaven

Blooming victims of your violent delights

Splashing around scarlet blood within the snow

The shattered pieces of the diamond-writ sky

Burning out the match between my fingertips glow

Living in a digital galaxy that doesn’t exist

Of our never-ending anthems drowning to transmit

Coppertone static, your veil and mercury ring

Pens of neon twinkle moons accentuate your ‘darling’

Let’s pretend the clocks aren’t stricken with asthma

A heart attack to wake me up under comatosed dysthymia

Enigmatic and mysterious in worn-out outlines

Starlings swoop lost over the desert, but perhaps we’ll be fine

Pink pills under my pillow, sugar against bitter chemicals

Cynical affinity, please save me from their withdrawals

Sing me a piercing melody of pastel red and washed-out white

And paint intertwining chalcedony roses on my graphite ceiling tonight

Darling, I’m aware that I shall never be your personal admission

Your darker brushstroke version, your jacaranda circulation

But as midnight appears to coalesce in dawn’s daybreak gloom

Your twilight lips are mine, dear divine angel, don’t fly away too soon.

~*~

And it won’t be long till we drop this match
When I burn to your fingertips, you can throw what’s left
So long, let’s go and play those games you like
Let’s go and play those games you like…

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PSA Filmstrips Disregarding Sobriety (Rondel)

(One, two, three…)
I remember the frozen sun
Take me back, take me back, take me
What a gift for the chosen one
Heart attack, no way back…

~*~

The madness of a mysterious night

That sobered up the theatric pain

Choked over the counter novocaine

The expense of sanity’s contrite

.

She held daiquiris under black lights

Until pure alcohol stark remains

The madness of a mysterious night

That sobered up the theatric pain

.

Under alleyways the heathens fight

Dignity they lost, bruises sustained

Fingertips were kissed like golden rain

And through it all, shadows shifted slight

The madness of a mysterious night.

~*~

Oh, the madness comes
I got nowhere left
That I can run…

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Calypso Syndrome

It’s strange, this calypso.

I never minded it much at first, dismissing it airily as one of those Muzak or background noises that you never really notice until it becomes an unbearable itch, and only then do you start paying attention to it. But in a rather unusual case, this itch of mine grew all the more inflamed, and eventually my skin opened into bleeding sores that are unable to heal. By that time I can no longer simply wrap it with gauze and bandage and pretend it wasn’t there, waiting patiently for it to close into scars on its own accord. And the poisonous tune in my wounds began to affect not just my veins, but my neurones as well. And for a pleasantly tintinnabulum orchestration, it surprisingly hurts.

The calypso comes and goes with thrums of drumbeats and ludicrous whistling and other intertwining instruments that I am unable to disentangle from one another to properly identify, and though I must admit it’s a finessed, almost elegant tune, it’s also making me conjure the queerest of surrealistic denominations and distorted, perplexing thoughts from out of nowhere, sort of like a surrogate deconstruction, an impermeable derealisation, but gradually worse in the long run. Somewhere at the back of my mind I picture cowboys with revolver guns and Stetson hats, mounted on horses and kicking dust and desert tumbleweeds everywhere, and I’m the unlucky pilgrim that got caught by the rope and towed in their blistering lassos. But I’m not biding my time to contact lead poisoning, nor am I willing to scalp some nemesis. No siree, I shall hack away at the abrasive bonds with a silver butterfly knife, drink a round of hard liquor victoriously at the saloon, and retire by the brothel with a painted lady by my side.

What…what am I even saying anymore? This nonsensical metaphor further drives me off the exploding rocket, that musical calypso pirouetting daintily in my subconscious like a music box ballerina spinning soft and delicate in its silent gears, yet at the same time gnashing angrily like an undeterred steam train wearing down its metal tracks with a screeching discordance. The residual smoke from either grinding clockwork machines is making my head feel quite hazy and warm, to a point almost feverish, and you might see pewter whorls rising from out my ears. My bonny maiden, what have you done to my mind?

My dear, sweet, darling maiden, forgive my ideologies and spare my heart no harm. What have you done to me? Your melody is luring me in, onto a cliff, which I could’ve sworn was filled with furious torrents of stygian waters and jagged rocks brandished mercilessly to impale me at the bottom, but now it looks like a doorway to paradise, the palest cerulean glimmering softly like a polished sapphire, a fantastic reflection of an immaculate cloudless sky, though not of the greyed hurricane skies accompanied by a foreboding drizzle, that the sombre weather has to offer today, so I haven’t the faintest where the parallel mimicked itself from. Heaven, perhaps. And if I lean in closer and dare to hang one ear off the edge, I could almost swear that your harmony’s getting quite louder, less garbled, less shrieking, more pronounced and more than decipherable. I’m almost tempted to jump right in, if only to have to listen to that perfect symphony palpably, but perhaps for even more sensible reasons as well. Or sensible to myself, anyways.

My quivering legs are beginning to dangle off into vast emptiness like a terrified child testing the cold water with his toes, and every last vestige of my dispersing sanity and gracious consciousness begs for me to back away from this dangerous farce, to catch my breath and touch my back for feathered wings that aren’t there, to shatter my delusions along with my fallen halo and walk it off, walk it off and never return. But that would be like throwing away the most decadent, succulent, most tantalising piece of fruit the entire planet has ever produced, without bothering to bite down on it and get even just a single taste of paradise, and I know once I waste it on initial hesitation, I’ll never get it back.

It’s hypnotising, this calypso…the never-ending music…that ocean of eternal aegean…this perennial phantasmic phenomena…it strains my invocation of curiosity very much…it winks at me, calls out to me, taunts and mocks and jeers at me…I cannot take this any longer…I must—no, I will know…I shall put an effective stopper to this vexatious mystery once and for all…to cease the sores from infection and haemophilic bleeding…to slash away the ropes of the rampaging cowboys…to cool down this deliriously smoking fever…and to return to my ultimate empyrean destination with welcoming arms to my elusive fair maiden…once…more.

I stare downwards at the dizzying drop as I allow it to pull me in—

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