Tag Archives: name

rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

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Filed under Poetry

Paternoster

I still look for you

In suffocating temples

Within the faith I lost

And in mindless rituals

.

Mumbled promises

The kind I couldn’t keep

Memories that grow

More distant as I sleep

.

I still look for you

When the pangs cut through

All the could-have-beens

Just a name they never knew

.

Maybe there’s an afterlife

And maybe I’ll turn out okay

Memories will stay with us

Even if you’re long gone away.

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Filed under Poetry

In Moratorium


[ ∅ . ]

“ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ sᴛᴀʀғᴀʟʟ
ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏʟᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ
ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ…”


[ I . ]

You are arcane desire, and influential mania, and the sweetly vulgar taste of expired novocaine hanging above my quivering tongue like eden’s forbidden fruit. You are the contagious, infected swelling beneath the base of my throat that I madly vain to scratch away with both trembling hands, that I constantly want to carve out with a blunt scalpel in a resolute fit of psychosis. You are the deliberate misspelling of a foreign name that sounds frustratingly familiar, but only ever-so vaguely. Not close to a centimetre, teasingly grazing tiptoed silver slippers and half-buried memories. But not quite there yet.

ARE YOU LISTENING?


[ I I . ]

The resonating scream beneath my temples is starting to taper off into a sound akin to the mewling of a crippled fox; gunpowder and bullet hole smouldering in one leg, a rather patient hunter quietly praying by its burrow, steady fingers clasped tightly to the trigger as it sets up the final triumph with a whispered amen. It might just be from the severe blood loss, but my darling hunter, your gentle trilling call sounds almost alluringly enticing to me now. Me, a clever, cunning fox. You, a foolish, bumbling hunter. And yet you always seem to victoriously capture your kill in the end. Am I your final trophy head to be displayed in your cabin with the grandest fanfare, or shall my carcass simply be ferociously gutted and the scrapped remains fed to your rabid, starving dogs?

WHICH ONE SHALL IT BE?


[ I I I . ]

You are convoluted ecstasy and LSD and heroin in its rawest form, a most potent kind of prescription drug that instantly presses through my arm like hot steel and directly flows into my veins—though the hypodermic needle is missing and the vigil candle has completely melted away into stained tears hours, perhaps even weeks ago. But it is incredibly easy to lose track time with you, is it not? Every inch of the rampant hallucinogens traces highways back and forth on my scarred flesh and all over the wrinkles and grey matter of my deliquescent brain, smoothening out track marks and neurons alike as it gradually transforms me into an obedient porcelain mannequin. Just for you, I’ll forget to exhale, so let your guilt swirl through my charred lungs for all it’s worth, and I won’t suffocate. I promise.

DO YOU?


[ I V . ]

There is a new emotion blustering within me as you speak; something that feels like crudely sewing obscure adjectives on the underside of my clavicle, something that I don’t think anyone else with four chambers in their heart is supposed to ever feel; lest one of it inevitably clogs up and withers into paralysis. It renders every paranoid afterthought blindly unresponsive to the rest of my starving body, and sleeps right next to the nerve that could send me straight to comatose if pressed the wrong way. It takes the tiny spots from below your right cheek and collides it together into an explosive myriad constellation, an overwhelming universe that barely begins to abstract the way your unfathomable soul works. It is you: ad infinitum, deathless, enraptured. And me stumblingly trapped in the middle of it all, mere insensible creature hysterically perplexed by your stark impossibility. Dare I ask…dare I ask you why…why this is and should never be? And if I do—god help me if I do—

WOULD IT EVEN MATTER TO HAVE EXISTED AT ALL?


[ Π. ]

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ sᴀʏ?
ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪғ ɪ sᴛᴀʏ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ? ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ?
ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ
ᴡᴇ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ…”


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Into the Depths of Tartarus

Exhaustion burns madly beneath my temple, at your ever-cunning sacrifice

Of an artificial religion, set the final scene and throw dead blackbirds and rice

To appease the ancient gods thundering malicious incantations inside my skull

Kneeling before your hide, my coldest blood at the altar; do not be appalled

I shall pray in our devotion, mute out the shrieks of steel against ivory bone

And carve out your grecian name in monuments, of a wanderer set in stone

To dispel the seas and calm their fury, to capture lost angels within my grasp

Crush their wings as I assemble your own, and let the underworld be my only judge.

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weltschmerz

the wary thought

of october graves

in autumn sunrise

her name and yours

on an open letter for

the future young, as

old boats unfurl their

paper sails and the

breeze flows north

so often they whisper

.

“oh, i wish you had

never said a word”

their lacklustre ire

lesions seeping into

bandages and coffee

grounds and the very

last time you saw her

alive that day, of the

very last time you ever

felt alive, that fateful day

.

what more is left now?

statues still into monuments

and the gentlest reminder

of a violent decision that

carved another number

into your mausoleum, and

hers—it’s a strange way to

love, to unravel with her skin;

to twist, and to fade, and to

be the breath she always saves.

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Filed under Poetry

initials

dear middle name,

don’t leave me with goodbye

you know i don’t care

much for music for tired eyes

but will they cut me up

into all the tiniest smithereens?

and leave geraniums in

my hair like it’s my sweet sixteen?

.

dear middle name,

i’ll give mine up just for yours

and it’s a funny spelling

one too many c’s and z’s, true

but if we cut it all up and

paste it into something stranger

i’ll leave geraniums in your

lips like we’re still giddy teenagers.

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Interstellar Lovely

Interstellar lovely, with the plaited halo down your back

You make me kinda crazy, you beat my flaxen heart to black

With the way your bow lips move to make a spinning retort

Colliding with my asteroids, tonight’s forecast screams abort

.

Interstellar lovely, won’t you give this girl another chance?

I may not be too pretty, but I’ve still got a fighting stance

Crooked glasses and stray sweater sleeve driving me insane

But she’ll shoot past the stratosphere before I could say her name.

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Shades of You

Grey, that’s all there is now.

I used to be the brightest iteration of alizarin crimson, and I wore my lustrous colours proudly on my chest to disguise the bloody cancer secretly tearing irreparable holes inside my slowly-withering system. So bold and reckless I was, that soon I found myself losing full control and suddenly careening headfirst onto your blue brick wall, and well…the collision was more violent, more radiant, more spectacular than you and I and anyone else could ever begin to imagine. No freshest shade of unhealing bruise nor deepest sour of aged wine could ever compare to the stunning explosion of blinding indigo we left on the scene of the accident, that day. The perfect way your incandescent glows and mine contrasted together and exquisitely showered the atmosphere, it was rather exhilarating.

But like everything that’s been left out under the sun just a little too long, the vibrant hues we initially adored and reverently shared started to quietly fade; akin to a rampant disease viciously working its way past our frail bodies, fingertips first. We could do naught but weep dull stardust as we held ourselves together in the tightest embrace, in the desperate yet ultimately futile hopes that we could still preserve our deteriorating youth—that if we hid away well enough, we could keep even just a sliver, even just a sleepless teardrop, of the resplendent spectrum we once thought we would carry along with the siren songs of this universe forever.

But in the end, it was all for nothing.

Soon enough, you had strangely turned into a serpentine shade of lucid green, and my hazy eyes began to see nothing else but charcoal wastelands and bleeding ash. Oh, how we’ve both drastically changed. And maybe not quite for the better. Still, I don’t wish to stain your newfound emerald gleam with my obscene tenebrescence, so as much as it caused a solemn ache to my soulful bones, I decided to completely detach myself and stay away from you for the time being. Instead, I’ll simply attempt to completely capture your eternal likeness onto pure cotton canvas—resolutely translating all of those clashing galaxies and kaleidoscopic tones into softer stencils and lifeless monochrome.

Perhaps someday, if I blink the awaiting future away and press on my eyelids hard enough, it might conjure back even a stray phantom of the forgotten iridescence that your dull, graphite-sketched countenance used to boast; gentle pastels warmly seeping in and bringing back the dusky ochre in your hair, the cloudless afternoon horizons back in your irises, perhaps even reviving the blushing cosmos of your clever lips, boyish and lazily smug as it twists into an elegant sunflower smile. The worst kind. The kind I somehow find myself missing the most these days.

But for now, grey is the only undertone I unfortunately possess. And it’s the only way I could captivate your ephemeral memory to return home within my gossamer dreams night after night after night, until my tiring lungs finally let go of my last saved breath and I inevitably coalesce into a sepulchral heaven—a bleak, distorted paradise where I’ll be doomed to roam with fellow spirits of black and white, for deathless infinities to come.

And after then, after then…who will be left to remember your name?

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Filed under Prose

pseudonym

all i made was you

not another myth to spare

don’t fake the truth

you’re not designed to care

.

claustrophobic now

intertwined like spiderwebs

zealous—just jealous

elysiums, but not your name

keeping me barely sane.

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Filed under Poetry

Ornate Messes

Don’t react when I tell you
That bright lights mean
Nothing to you
Because no one would know
The sound of a ghost
And I might be something to you
Beyond beautiful…

~*~

aching fingers

and lavender sunsets

a collection of

scrambled letters

disguised as your name

.

dusty lines scribbled

on the back of a

twice-used post-it note

in this long stretch of

afternoon torpor—

.

creaky guitar strings

played out of tune

exhausted calluses

a step in the right key

still proudly smiling,

.

two hours of strange

dreams, and excitement

before awakening;

a walk into stunning

darkness, mere glimpses

.

of moonlit epistles,

coffee after midnight

existential wishes

shooting stars dragging

out hope and lost love,

.

rekindled aspirations

blooming into memory

a song finally taken

to heart, after years of

waiting for the right time.

~*~

My darling, never rest
Until the darker gets
The best of all we had
Can the cold carry on?

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Filed under Poetry