i’m glad you
don’t miss me
i’m glad i
i’m glad you
don’t miss me
or else i
but why am i
i’m glad you
don’t miss me
i’m glad i
i’m glad you
don’t miss me
or else i
but why am i
am i the letdown that shook the foundation of their worries?
never did it to myself, but it seems i only ever did it to please
distichs and dead ends weren’t enough to keep me occupied
you left me spent, the choice i made just leads to a shortsight
callous, beguiling, simpleminded, though blindly overdramatic
indelible yet impossible, a performative living that feels emetic
zipped-up lips and narcolepsy hide a contraband of nightmares
embarking past columned spines, still seeking hope in nowhere
kept only by the promises disgraced—perhaps it was never really fair.
“What doesn’t kill you
Makes you wish you were dead.”
I had a dream last night. A nightmare? Perhaps so. It was exactly like normal reality—except a little grittier and everyone was sort of…angrier, somehow. Directed at me. And no one really bothered to hide it. My entire family. My mother and siblings. My aunts and cousins. Even my usually gentle and caring grandmother now carried a derisive and wary attitude towards me. It was a very strange feeling to have.
Venomous whispers were chanted around like taunting mantras whenever I happened to pass by:
Waste of space, slithered one
Followed by absolutely fucking useless, and
Get a job, you stupid dropout
In one detached scene, I vividly remember absently murmuring I want to kill myself in front of my chastising mother, and she misheard it and simply laughed at me; a bitterly arrogant simper that lacked any humour. My brother though, he heard it perfectly correct, eyes glinting purple in quiet recognition. But he simply stared me down without blinking as I resolutely left the room, my mother’s shouting and insults still trailing behind me.
He knows. He knew. He knew and he didn’t care.
Well, good for him. I don’t, either.
A meeting was held in the living room. Tell us about yourself, a faceless jury commanded. Other people my age surrounded the table alongside me, mostly girls and some friends, though far more beautiful and more successful in their endeavours than I. And they were fully aware of it. Every underhanded glance from their pretty porcelain irises felt like it fucking stung like hell. These people talked it out smoothly, crooning and preening with flowers spilling out of their mouths, the unseen jury’s nods of approval palpably neck-breaking as they spoke about themselves. Their education. Their work. Their stability. Their social circle. Their payoff. Their lovely, sterile, and sweet suburban lives. They played their part, and they did it well.
This is what you’re supposed to be.
Do you understand?
Ha, of course not. What an idiot.
Obviously, when my turn came around, I was simply floored and at a loss for words. A coalescing stammer of anxiety and panic roared in my ears as I struggled to speak out. Who was I? Invisible eyes condescendingly glared from every corner, from every wall, from every space in the claustrophobic room that my shrinking body didn’t take up. 19, and already a pathetic failure. 19, and already completely deadbeat. 19, you’re already an adult, goddamn it. 19, what have you done with your life? God, what the hell have you done with your life? Why? Why? W h y ?
Who are you?
You’re no one.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. Shaky and almost delirious, I ran for my life, blindly pushing away the looming shadows with weak arms and managing to escape them, somehow. But stubborn silhouettes flickered resiliently past my skin, viscid tendrils willing to break my spine, and the vicious and abusive admonitions stayed echoing just as loud in my mind as if I was still trapped in that damned place. I found my way to my room—a complete mess, as if someone had been ransacking it prior to my arrival—and finally locked myself up in it.
Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.
One, two, three…
Tired. My torn-up journal was half-open on the bed, every space on the paper filled with dirty ink and manic scribbles, and nothing written in it ever made sense. Tired. I collapsed by the bedside and tried to to pick it up, and a used sharpener blade fell out between the pages and landed right into my bruised palms, a curiously perfect fit. Tired. I failed you all. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. Blood. Where did all this blood come from?
I think it’s mine…
My cat’s incessant mewling suddenly jolted me into rousing, soft meows intertwining alongside the sounds of my two younger siblings getting ready for school and my mother ironing their uniforms. 7 AM. On my bed. Heaviness. I was just dying. Was that real? Was any of it real? Shit, I was just dying.
For a hazy, panicked moment, I was unreasonably mad for being woken up. Mad at them. But mad at myself, more so. I just desperately wanted to find out. About nothing. About everything. Maybe they are all really pissed at me that way. Maybe the dream didn’t end there. Maybe I could actually pass away in my subconscious. Maybe I still wanted to have even a sliver of the absolute courage my imagined self had, to finish what I always inevitably screwed up doing. There’s always some form of truth to every elucidating dream, after all. Maybe this was just the one I had to swallow.
But I’m still alive and miserably kicking, so I guess it didn’t fucking matter anymore.
she is the
since dried up
i left her as
wept, a sullen
she is the
faint taste of
i don’t miss it
all that much
but i still wake up
with wet eyes
I built the foundations of my flesh
On relapses and fake fiction
A nightmare dressed in scarlet letters
Drag me out in recanted desperation
I cut my teeth on reincarnation—
To live, to die, to leave again
Existing is as bitterly blistering as the arsenic
Threaded through my veins, replacing
Control, slowly decaying bones and plastic
I pretend that hope’s not mere optimistic ignorance
And swerve before the collision hits my ribs
And failure decides to forge placid smiles
Of jaded reassurances and arrogant bliss
Here’s the nerve to tell me how I should feel…
I shouldn’t, should I? It’s all the same
If so, then tell me I’m wrong; undaunted and
Abrasive—ignite me with purest prosopagnosia
As schizophrenic choirs no longer chant askance
Neither I, nor you, never this hell above
It’s all pointless, nothing but viscid dromomania
I built myself on silken stagnancy,
Desiring beyond the pale, euphonic amnesia
And torn down with macabre allegories—
Are you be ashamed to be one of the monstrous things?
i hope i can wash it all out.
all the exhaustion and instability
the throat i screamed ragged
and my eyes drowning in red water
the hellish nightmares creeping into
the darkness when i forgot to turn on the light
when i was too tired to stand up
and make a better mess of myself
because no one else could do that for me
not the phone calls i’m avoiding
not the close friends i barely know anymore
not the faceless comfort typing on their
tiny glowing screens always telling me
i’ll be fucking alright, because i won’t
be there for them. instead, i’ll be sitting
in the middle of a cold-tiled floor, still trying
to wake myself up enough to breathe.
Stay out of the light or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone, another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue, to hide my face…
I wanna turn your insides to white (say it ain’t so)
So it looks good on my bedroom walls (black, blonde, red)
My heart’s been bleached by the tidal waves (so wash me out)
I wonder if it had any colour at all (maybe not)
(So they say that the switchblade is better than the sense)
Well then, let’s see how you look in basketcase drag
(So they say that all this praying won’t make you a saint)
Well then, let’s see how you look when it goes bad
It’s not profound or romantic (it’s a mechanical interlude)
And I’m tired of (waiting for) all the infinite eulogies
(And they all put words in my mouth that) make me feel sick
Babe, I just wanted to sever a vein (but you made it plural)
(The incineration of another night, the gunshots rang clear
The townspeople screamed as a body fell out of a windowsill
Sirens wailed and ambulances crashed to the beat of my heart
Screaming “fucking save me!”, but it was all a nightmare thrill)
‘Cause Magdalene’s desecrated (and her scripture womb) now ain’t sacred
‘Cause all your best friends will only get together when somebody starts to die
‘Cause you can have your fucking funeral but still end up running late for it
(‘Cause you might) say grace all you want and still throw up (pure lies)
(Say it ain’t so) I wanna turn your insides inside out
(Black, blonde, red) And end up drunk on your bedroom walls
(So wash me out) My heart’s been drowned off by the tidal waves
(Maybe not) I wonder if it meant anything to you at all.
And we’ll all dance alone to the tune of your death
We’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
And it’s better off this way
And never again, and never again
They gave us two shots to the back of the head
And we’re all dead now…
When everyone you thought you knew
Deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down a dark hall
I’ll grab my light and go with you…
you kicked up reckless dusk,
and for a moment, time was yours.
i sat on the kerb and wept,
lost in the haze of fog and music,
watching the years go by with
nothing more than flammable illusions
cutting open the stars because you didn’t bleed,
waking up with dead skies because i couldn’t love—
letting the alarms go off hour after hour
but never letting the nightmare end, melting
away into paranoia and humiliation,
red lips a soundless “darling, i’m fucking cold.”
ignorant eyes couldn’t see the last of us
until it’s held at speculated gunpoint…
do you have to cross the start of the horizon
before they could see that you’ve died?
do i have to cross two lines off my hand
before i could ever try to live?
And go with you, I’ll go with you
I’ll go with you, I’ll go with you, yeah
Stay with me, no, you don’t need to run
Stay with me, my blood, you don’t need to run…
my pen ceased to move
involuntarily to your soul,
but darling my thoughts have
since never stopped dancing
ever since that fateful summer
when you collided it into motion.
my faith may be a reckless phantom
but my eyes are your scarlet letter
and i’ll always see the world for how
you built it according to your word
of eloquence, of madness, of every sigh;
and i’ll never forget the melodies
that embraced all the darkest parts
Of my liquid nightmares, and pulled
them back slowly into the sunlight
until the nights felt warm with hope again.
i’d call you an angel, if it isn’t overused
and i think you already know that anyway—
but always know this to be the truth:
you may not always be the last thing on my mind,
but darling, you will always be the first.
“The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. The black sign, painted in white letters that hangs upon the gate, reads: Opens at Nightfall. Closes at dawn.” ~The Night Circus; Erin Morgernstern
worms through a corpse
chill wind past the silence
borne of blood and bones
cold distorted innocence
of faded starlight, heaven above
inferno below, hell hath no love
scarlet disenchantment perilous
lavender everglade, clement recluse
gabardine stained, crosses blue
concatenated catacomb, retaliate
viscera neglected, exhume anew
quinidine necrosis still separate
febrile fever, pray for saints
tortured nightmares desecrate
astern deliria, cataleptic taint
cradle unbeating hearts in fate
essences of alluded calamities
incensed wraiths roam auguries
oculists resurrect mortal citadels
as nondescript massacres dwell
shadows unseen, a circus of assailants
creed of asylum undulating sycophants
dim realms long perished to divination
leaving only churchyards in conflagration.