Tag Archives: night

The Ballad of the Arrogant Hearts

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: VENTRICLE

Prologue Eins:

Tear it down! Break the barricade!
I wanna see what sound it makes
I hate this flavour with a passion
And I fucking hate the aftertaste!
How does it feel? How does it feel?
Well, it feels like I’m on fire!
Wake up, I know you can hear me…

~*~

I.) A Senseless Stardom And A Playwright’s Pain.
.

Bury me by the open venetian windows, where I can visit you every night

You know my anatomy like a circus act, but you turned off the spotlight

My pavement kiss tastes harsh, but the scissors accentuate my sacrifice

You deceive and desecrate me far too often, but shit, I’ll never suffice

.

Pose like a drunk pubescent actress, come on Marilyn, show some emotion

Every boy watching television shall receive your desperate transmissions

A noose of flowers and confection confessions melting on your tongue

Your affections were transgressions, but you’re so pretty when you run

.

I used to write letters and poetry, but now for you, I only write obituaries

Don’t be sorry for little orphan Annie whose cellar is her own sanctuary

I’m a vagabond, you’re a bastard child, we’re a match made in angel hell

Inferno strikes under our tangled veins and the paradise the demon sells

.

You were memorising phone numbers like it’s the digits on my credit card

If there was a prize for a comely crass drama queen, you’ll win that award

Ignorance might be your best friend, but I’ve been dating her for ten long years

It’s a violent explosion of distractions and disappointment in second gear

.

As they all say, fuck the love, we’re in this game for the fame and money

Toasting our dead hearts with cocaine and expired 20 dollar champagne

I’ll scream for help, sabotage! Please don’t murder me with pleurisy baby!

And if I cry in my sleep, then you will know that I’m still dancing from pain…

—————————————

-i-n-t-e-r-m-i-s-s-i-o-n-

—————————————

THE BALLAD OF THE ARROGANT HEARTS: PULSE

Prologue Zwei:

Make me a promise here tonight!
Love like a tidal wave
Dreamless in early graves
I never want it to be this way
The chemicals will bring you home again
This is it, when it’s done, we can say that
When it’s sudden death we fight back!

~*~

II.) Confessions Of A Mad Stranger To An Inebriated Lover.

I confess by the altar, this is my last testament and surrendering admonition

Two souls like an orchestra, and I’ll conduct this symphony of destruction

I’m the only menace to your fugitive life, a key witness and an accomplice

I got scar evidence to lock you behind diamond bars for a million years

.

You said it wasn’t a crime to feel, but the police are banging down my door

I promised I’d be just a little more sorry, but it’s just been a vulture’s chore

This turbulence in New Jersey, this fucking turbulence is beautiful for me

I may be deleterious and despondent, but your Europe eyes are a mystery

.

I can smell clashing bitter bourbon and saccharine chocolate in your breath

You sicken me, but I feel better by shutting the closet doors and drinking late

Towed away in our underwater love, and I’ll be drifting away to abyssal death

But if I escape hell, I’ll sneak back into heaven for free, so don’t close the gate

.

Don’t pay for your blessing, just grind the forest ax and damn, don’t hesitate

The big bad wolf will rend you to shreds if you swing away a second too late

Stuttering from the piercing bullet bites and the blizzard cold on your tattoos

Though I’m taking, I’m taking, I’m f-f-fucking taking back Saturday from you

.

The jagged edges of your dress are wounding me badly as we’re locked in final embrace

Weighed down and singing our tainted names under the concrete rain like a disgrace

I know I’m a stupid motherfucker, thinking that with eternal hate, I’ll never be left alone

But darling, I’ll leave the answering machine on all night, in case you decide to come home.

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cold empty mattresses and falling stars

gilded honey

cascading

over sulphur

hearts and

severed hands;

sweet like

almond milk

yet rancidly

sour like

painful lust

.

i hope i don’t

scare you off

with my talk

of dislodged

clean limbs

that i plucked

within the

undergrowth

of my ribs,

tonight, i run

.

i love the

thought of

your germane

affliction,

the shade in

your eyes

speaks like dust

through wind

and i chase

for the ocean…

.

and if i don’t

make it home

before the

horizon screams,

kiss me and

hope that

you won’t be

embarrassed

by the attention

of the moon.

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Se Faire Jour

This is the dawn

That will take the night

A somnolence

For the halogen lights

Liquor breaths

And purpling day sight

This is the dawn

That will take my life.

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Cosmic Band-Aids

The coalescing Seattle twilight was an interplaying illusion of dusk and haze, warm colours replacing the pastel skylines, only to be painted over by the deep indigo eventide. The local rustic town café was already closing up, and they barely had time to finish the last bites of their chocolate bonbons and sip the remaining drops of their hazelnut vanilla frappé, before the intermittent barista ushered them out—quite literally, with a tremulous hand and an apologetic jilted demeanour. Now they stood outside the establishment in introspective reverie, dimmed bronze sodium streetlight the only solitary light source that resiliently pierced through the caliginous melancholy.

She was a blushing rose, liquid and pale, every infinitesimal detail somehow magnified to be remarkably interesting. Fragrance of baby’s breath and frankincense, posture of a regal and sophisticated monarch, delicate face as that of an angel’s glimpse of paradise, personality of an intricate vintage lock and a million exploding suns. Her companion, admittedly, was a person of less enigma, yet was still a character of significance, an oakwood branch, roughly-hewn and intense, simple yet charismatic. That svelte and cheeky-looking fellow had untidy coffee-tint hair, a discursive ironic smirk, an insouciant slouch, and a steely glint that, more often than not, signalled trouble.

As the fog and the regent shadows further intensified, the pauses and discomfited silence between them further attenuated. Moments passed. Her candyfloss-pink sundress fluttered like a jaded butterfly as she tucked a frayed bookmark behind her seashell ear, and her taciturn companion watched her intently, like an engrossed pawnbroker. Without permission, he began to remove his worn tan overcoat and gingerly placed the article over her cool shoulders, still warm and cosy by his own body heat. Flustered by the uncalled attention, she turned away to brush a stray raven hair back into her gossamer tufted bun, and lost grip of her book of poems, fragile pages yellowed and dogeared with age. Sylvia Plath’s ancient anthology dropped with a soft thump right side up, opening uncannily on the centre page containing Mad Girl’s Love Song, and both bent down and fumbled clumsily to pick it up in haste.

Fingers tangled. Glances exchanged. Blue eyes collided with green. Hands clenched. Throats choked. Hearts skipped. Breaths hitched. Souls shattered. Their blueberry-strawberry swirl ice cream melted absently like calligraphy on the pavement. The book now lay abandoned and forgotten, its unspoken poetry dancing alongside the breeze. No words were whispered. None were necessary. Overhead, the last of the brimstone shades faded away, and incandescent stars splashed the darkness of the falling sky. Below, firework eyes showered sparks, and skins intertwined. Witnessing it all, hiding behind the wisps of pewter clouds and overlooking the nocturnal planet, the glowing moon quaintly smiled.

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Highway Runaway

If you were me, you’d run away

This sky ain’t worth a million pay

Take your luggage onto traffic

To a fitful tantrum, I will not stick

.

If I were you, I’d hide that away

Indigo nights are better than grey

Place your faith in intersection

To a cool conniption, a resolution.

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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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Spectral Painter

I’m the ghost you pulled out your throat

An amicable host painting lonely coasts

The nights appear deadly and serpentine

But that won’t cease my brush turpentine

I won’t forget to include the sunset colour

If you reverse and fall, I’ll sketch the hour

Hold my canvas for me against their edge

If I finish, I’ll hang it with stars on our bed.

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Nights Forfeiting Old

You perceive that I feel cold

And the moon is liquid gold

Against the satin stitch fold

I fit like a labyrinthine mold

But don’t let me die for scold

Constellation rivulets in bold

The walls are falling, I’m told

Don’t let me melt in your hold.

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Stargirl and the Rocket Lights

You are a curiosity, or a mental case, as some called it rather crudely and dismissively, and you knew everyone noticed. But they didn’t care, and neither should you. One day, you impulsively proclaimed, whilst balancing on the top of a redwood tree branch, that disappearing acts never got old, so you said goodbye to your squirrel friend, clambered down the tree hurriedly, and dashed home. You burst into your room with a loud door slam, gathered up your paraphernalia, grabbed your half-full rucksack dotted with strange pins and souvenir keychains, which was patiently waiting by your ramshackle oakwood cabinet, and began haphazardly shoving various motley things inside. Once you were finished cleaning up and made even more of a mess in the process, you quickly plastered a teddy bear print band-aid on your cheek from where the rough wood accidentally scratched and left a thin red mark, clumsily tied your DIY pinstriped Keds’ purple and green shoelaces, stretched out—as if competing in a marathon—on an abandoned Twister board on your carpeted floor, and finally you left the house, chasing your dissolution without so much as a backward glance. The first part was easy. The next part was easier.

The nightwalking horizon was tinted virtually the same colour as your ripped stonewashed denim overalls, the reticulated stars were in implausible full burst and clearly visible, a myriad riot like the splattered black inkstains on your bohemian tie-dyed shirt, and the moon was shaded exactly and uncannily like your ivory silk flower leggings, the number of the craters perfectly aligned with the number of the frayed holes by your knees, the ones you tore yourself with zigzag safety scissors. The dreamy air tasted faintly like bubblegum ice cream, and the astral bodies were softly clicking into their designated places, a marvellous tableaux of God’s fanciful ethereal jigsaw puzzle. Nothing more was to be prepared; all you had to do was pass against the serendipitous turn of time. That particular task in itself was no difficult feat for your whimsical affinity. The other factor to consider was your destination. Invariably, it didn’t matter which bus you got on, if you were even waiting for a bus at all, for you have an overpowering ominous sensation within your heart that you’ll always inevitably end up on a wayward road, diverging on the intersection to nowhere. And in your own quote unquote words, as that one cliché that nobody says goes, signal for the universe and the galaxy will come.

Your vintage analogue Hello Kitty clock ticked sluggishly second by second, and the small candy floss pink lights by the side came to life and began to glow fervently as the hands struck exactly 8 PM. You had a lot of time to spend thereon and then, sitting prim and taciturn on the graffitied wooden bench, waiting for the longest forever. You intertwined scarlet camellias on your plaited geranium hair and held it in place with a gargantuan leopard-print scrunchie. You tapped your hands, plucked a few sweet and sour notes on your marmalade-orange ukulele, and hummed a Joy Division song melodically, and you laughed quietly when you flubbed the chorus with a splintered squeak. You counted the cheap glittery stars you stuck on your plastic journal even though you knew the number by heart, some microscopic yellow speckles transferring to your skin as you absentmindedly peeled one at the side with a polkadotted fingernail. You scribbled lines of guitar keys, and doodled literal intricate keys without paired locks, onto the slightly-torn cover page with a blueblooded space pen, and used the same pen to trace the wiry butterfly outline on your right ankle. You observed with childish wonder and twinkling heterochromatic dandelion eyes as prams, automobiles, taxis, and tallyho’s passed by you in an amicable whirlwind breeze and friendly engine revving. There were a billion tangible stars in this side of the dimension, just a little more than the glamorous stars shining on your notebook, and you can pluck each and every single one off their orbit. You had a lot of fun little preoccupations, and the time on your hands seemed almost eternal.

Time was up. When it seemed like the aberrant clocks hitched their breaths and you’ve done a thousand and one tasks to fill such a lacuna, finally, Hello Kitty’s spinning hour hand gingerly moved into its designated place. The moment it touched the notch and exactly as the pink lights began their little show, you tilted your chin until it was higher than your freckled button nose, and stared enthusiastically at the empty tranquil sky. As if on cue, your implausible carpool vehicle hurtled imperceptibly from beneath the atmosphere, burning the crepuscular firmament’s concrete shadows at light-year speed, and arrived with a dissuaded thump, to take you away from such a bland and diluted planet. Tucking a stray highlighted neon hair back in your pierced and heavily-ornamented ears, you cautiously replaced the overflowing tatterdemalion notebook back in your bag, bounced on your heels and stood up with lilting sneakered toes, and ceremoniously stepped into that rocketship invention calmly, without any nuance of surprise or astonishment. It seemed you would simply walk straight and be swallowed whole by the blinding flash, but at the last moment, you turned back at the dominating darkness and sent a quaint, fragile, almost palpable air-kiss flying from your painted ruby lips and painted dainty fingers onto the open space. The entire population of the world must have felt a faint zephyr graze their cheek softly at that very moment, but they were too naïve to even bother with noticing it. Yet you said your polite goodbyes, so it didn’t matter. You grandiosely waved a final farewell, the tattooed patterns on your arms spinning and dancing with pastel motion, and you smiled lazily, quite cryptically, as the metallic-gold doors closed in dénouement with a sibilant hiss and a burst of flourishing steam. The metaphysical vessel roared as it propelled into ignition again, shooting up into the sky immediately and billowing into evanescence out of peripheral view, and you were gone with it. Your wish was granted, and you permanently left behind the life you always tolerated with distaste, into a more interesting place with a better yesterday, and no one cared…except for one.

Stargirl, when you ran away and stole the cornflower moon with you from the midnight sky to elope, did you think no one would be interested? When you vanished and charmingly serenaded the sun into a retrograde motion, did you think no one would find out? Did you ever think, for a single heartbeat, that when your star, hiding in plan sight among millions of the other specks in the star-freckled sky, was quietly extinguished, I wouldn’t even notice?

I out of all people would hate to admit such a fact, but for once in your extraordinary yet ephemeral existence, Stargirl, you were wrong.

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Tissue Sketches #2: sugar skies and coffee cup moon

Night falls like java spilling over napkins

Cappuccino milky way in haziest dreams

Mocha kissed stars, amidst latte galaxies

Warmth colliding chills, espresso affinities

I’m addicted to caffeine, and the sky’s a café

No wonder it always makes me stay past late.

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