Tag Archives: mystery

Damaging The Hereafter

You’re just another momentary habit

Twisting lungs and curling veins

Giving way to indestructible hysteria

Pulling me in, writhing with grief

.

Your indifference entices my curiosity

Though my self-worth is quite expendable

Holding on to what we’ve barely got

When you were too afraid to hold my hand

.

Lethal enough to let you past the barricade

That separates my heart from my sternum

But the fault chews on my lips like kerosene

And I still taste you in the burning of sunrise

.

Mechanical angel, come and take me away

Our paradise is made of metal and crimson decay

I promise I’ll be fine, I’m only a past delusion

Conjured from the cordite against your perfume

.

But you won’t give me back the love I wasted now

And time crashes desperately against gritted teeth

Vehement tides exposing skins, dyed with misery

Clammy from the accidents, calling for emergency

.

Think of me in the afterwards, consumed with self-secrecy again

Your mysteries embedding a thin film of desire underneath my skin

Pulsating with fever dreams and acidic pain, a vicious garden growing

You let me relapse just to understand but the final thrill was missing.

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Filed under Poetry

Simple Explanation

Driven by passion, outward away from family and friends
But what they can’t see is that everyday I’m drowning in a sea
Of faces that I miss so desperately with each flashing countenance—
And the weight of their absence has brought me more than once to tears
I wake from sleep violently only to witness those lives and faces
Disappear slowly behind me…

~*~

I.) Mismatched Cultures And Dead Parents

He’s got a bullet where his brain should be

And broken toys where a heart should beat

The stripes on his sweater had begun to fade

The nostalgic photographs lied except for one

So he’s turned to smoke to keep himself awake

And he’s turned to secrets to keep himself alive

But it wasn’t enough to save him from phantoms

Now he’s carried on the wrong side of the casket

No one saw it coming; no one can figure him out

Whispers of self-sacrifice, but quiet murder hung

Of the boy who played with fire but didn’t put it out

It was a mystery—it didn’t make sense to anyone but him.

~*~

II.) False Cancer And A Secret Trip To Rio

A dying man seconds away from his final breath

And his wife by the bedside that couldn’t take any

Collapsed on the floor, the debilitated cried for help

Of what seemed to be a miracle, a feigned recovery

They would die for the other, just another ancient lie

There’s no love without guilt and no guilt without love

The operating table was prepped for a wrongful death

To save the irreparable, it’s too late for her, but not him

The grief was mistaken and the medicine was not taking

All because of a surreptitious slip to a beach without sun

He lived to tell the tale of how she flatlined before his eyes

Under premises of a truth confessed too late, and what it had done.

~*~

We savored the taste of our sweet youth
And now, with calloused hands, gather the remaining fruit
To go any farther, we must endure further pains
Skinned, mashed, and finally strained
Fermenting in the time spent away
Only to return with a fine vintage
To cheers to the health of those who stayed.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

The Last Victim

We are the walking dead
Swallow the lies we’re fed
Uncover your eyes, uncover your eyes
Uncover the truth and you’ll realize
We’re hanging by a thread
We are the walking dead…

~*~

I was convinced of myself, at first.

Before mercy turned to failure and hell begged over to madness, everything seemed to be quite rational. Perfectly-planned. Dare I even say, elegantly beautiful. The conceived scenario played out in my head like an unraveling film spiel, woven into a viscid, intricate web and ensnaring naive hearts, and the sharp, unexpected twist and blunted violent stab of that final ending made the jagged suspense, the heart-wrenching thrill, the never-ending mystery and uncertainty, every slighted emotion thrown out and ravaged by the starving sharks, all of it…made everything worth it.

But now all I have is murder in my tongue, lies over my eyes, and your blood on my hands.

How did it all come to this?

Everything looks so red, even after I thoroughly scrubbed myself clean of the transgression. I made sure to meticulously tidy everything up. White walls, white floor, white bleached palms, white light pouring over the windows, a whiteness so pure and bright it’s fucking blinding, but the red obstinately stays. And it stains. On the white walls, on the white floor, on my chafed shaky hands, all over the room’s white-blanched windows like a sinner’s stained glass art, that redness so dark and demented that I can’t even clearly discern anymore where the colour ends and the shadows begin.

I have no excuse. I have no absolution from the crime I’ve committed. I cannot be pardoned, cannot be forgiven, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done. I know I deserve a punishment of nothing less than death. But I didn’t know it would come to this. I didn’t know what I was doing.

But I’m not sorry. And if I had to do it again, I would. Without any hesitations. Without thinking twice.

Without thinking about it all.

God forgive me.

~*~

Can anything bring us back to life?
Will anything make us right?
Can anything bring us back to life?
I’m willing to make us right?
‘Cause the further that we’re falling apart
The more that it breaks my heart…

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Filed under Poetry

Failing Light (One Hundred Sleepless Nights)

Do you still love me? I am dying to know
Or did you forget what we shared?
Out of sight, out of mind, I was never even there…

~*~

Above anything else, I would let you bury me tonight.

The stars do not weep in the presence of the moon. Hearts wish not to rend themselves apart and souls no longer magically turn to gold simply because of your silver lining. Oceans remain a mystery, and space remains a final frontier, only left for your lips to discover, and for mine to wonder. I’m fully aware that I wouldn’t chase shadows. You know very well that you wouldn’t hurt the darkness. Nothing else makes sense anymore, but irrationality itself.

Do I mind? Would you care? There is no mercy left to be scavenged in these cold, lifeless hands of ours; hanging by a diaphanous thread, desperately raring to furtively unravel. But I won’t leave. I won’t let you down again. I won’t let this skin be filled with scars that tell no tales, occupied with hurt that leads to blind dead ends, embraced with an eloquent love that never existed. These are but synesthetic bouquets of eternity, laid in an empty grave for the unborn, wilting, wilting, wilted. Only you are the darling evergreen; fragrant, flourishing, faded.

Your voice is the exquisite cadence with which my pulse chooses to hum. My blood dances elegantly at the incipient sound of your hello, and it dwindles into a soft lamenting waltz when that final goodbye echoes, an ethereal lullaby that no deity nor universe can fathom, but it keeps me up from midnight diminuendo until the morning crescendo, wretched by my own asthenic humanity. You are lissome and restless by your personal cozen design. I am revered synthetically in my own chemical lassitude. We are clashing and colliding in the reckless throes of a gossamer accident, writing a halcyon tragedy.

But dear, keep your summery thoughts free of winter miasma. Worry not the deceptive haze of your alabaster reveries, don’t mind the labyrinthine obscurance of my obsidian nightmares, and never fear their contemptuous amalgamation, for I’ll take all of them far away from you, beyond the reach of birthed supernovae and black holes, so you may carry on saving astral symphonies with your lungs, and I can take my last fated exhale with a mellifluent memory. Your bed may be worn-out, but I’ll keep myself warm on the traced outlines you left. And I’ll keep on sleeping. And I’ll keep on dreaming. And I’ll keep on waiting for you to wake me up.

Until then, immortal repose is mine. And yours is immortal repose.

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Filed under Prose

Lie to the Truth

When I started out writing you this song
I was heels over head in love, but you had your doubts
‘Cause it took too long to finally see what I
What I’d been doing wrong…

~*~

My brain no longer contracts

Or twists in circles at the thought

My blood no longer circulates

And my heart fails to leap a beat

.

Oh, this tragedy of fugacious whims

Beating down the numb with too much sense

Compromising to entangle red strings

Hoping that two souls would starve the same

,

But three’s a crowd, and the painful hunger persists

It’s time to throw one or the other to the tides

The way of happy reality is just a sorrowful mystery

As double half-truths last longer than the truth

.

I attempt to convince myself of the erroneous fact

As if that would save the submerging illusion

Pretend I’m not drowning under as I take on water

And hold the hands of the heavyweight elation

.

Feelings disappearing before orion storms wash away

Agitated pulse screaming of kerosene fires and laudanum

Pulling my drifting self behind in a cage of indecision

Before all that I have is confiscated from my faltering eyes.

~*~

We tried to be true but you still loved him so
I’ll keep my distance and lie to the truth
I lie to the truth, I lie to the truth’
Cause you lied to it too…

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Filed under Poetry

taboo

am i too strange

to speak of death?

too insidious to

think of regrets?

.

what a mystery

how it’ll be when

i wonder about it

again and again

.

am i too strange

to want for death?

am i too inhuman

to feel any regret?

.

what a cold travesty

how it will be when

i attempt to slay myself

again and again and again.

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Filed under Poetry

Mysteries

For this simple world

Was never meant for

One as intricate as you

You may have left them

One last puzzle to solve

But they never had a clue.

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Missed Call

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”
~Stephen King

~*~

Every night after his funeral, I always called him on the mobile phone that was buried with him to hear him speaking on the voicemail. Call me rather morbid, but it was simply a little ritual that somehow kept me sane after the loss of my dearest beloved. Though after the events that transpired tonight, I do begin to wonder if I really have managed to retain my sanity after all. Just like any other night, I dialed his number and tapped on the call button; but as I did so, I suddenly heard his ringtone play loudly under my bed. And just as if things couldn’t get any worse, the phone on the other end of the line picked up.

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Filed under Prose

The Waltz of the Mercury Brides and Cyanide Grooms

The mercury brides dance, gliding upon the hardwood ballroom

Their billowing ruffled gowns fluttering soft, like paraffin wings

Attached to surreptitious sensibilities, quite devilish to the touch

And solemn eyes vigil behind an iridescent veil, languidly hiding

.

Lithe spines bending like black dahlias caught in a hurricane’s breeze

Elegant silken regalia classic cascading, colliding with haunting music

Four by four rhythm hypnotising, alluring deep with symphonic spells

Ladies spun around like barefoot ballerina dolls, rendered quite static

.

The instrumental calls for one brief yet somnolent interlude circulating

As bare puppets and painted marionettes adjust their entangled strings

Sips of blood-red wine are taken and bubbly champagne denied politely

As the crestfallen tones reignite into an opera allegro of soprano valkyrie

.

The idling midnight scene is palpably vivacious and ebullient once more

And porcelain hands are pulled to join the remorseless energy of the beat

Lively cheers punctuating each syllable striking of the commanding violin

Shoulders grazing faintly as harmonious bodies serenade moonlight sweet

.

The cyanide grooms cease to a slowing halt, as ritardando replaces cantabile

Waistcoats nearly strewn away; neckties, gloves, partners, barely hanging on

Disguises are scorned and pasquinade masks are removed to reveal the truth

Finally, the last of the party dissipates along with the nascent coda of the song.

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Filed under Poetry

Missing Maidens

As the maidens flourish and falter

Under soft halos of an ashen moon

Scarlet begonias forget their heart

The daze of the mist in foggy gloom

Lost memories flicker away and fade

While fireworks of blue stars shower

A ritual of evanescent, in acrylic grey

And the maidens effloresce and falter.

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Filed under Poetry