Tag Archives: nostalgia

Solus

i miss the solitude of comfort

the breathless etudes that waltzed

around my bruised wrists and

made me think of distal vagaries—

beyond the thought of epiphany

none so vague, fallen anechoic sigh

brackish, your ocean salt, i elude

without objection, spinning starlings

and maxims that barely touched

the very tip of your aquiline outlines

nostalgia for months long passed

though, it seems centuries, impaling

my wit’s ends and ensconcing me

in linen funeral wear; wary sunshine

stains the blinds as my lungs take

a convulsive hiatus, scheming against

better company, scant afterglows

and that abstract sensation of leaving

the confines of my home after all

the stars had long burned out and the

city has long moved away from me,

from beckoning me, call my siren song

my swan song, epoch of resolution…

breathing, i miss the comfort of solitude.

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hexanol

i really miss all those lonely nights with you. you wore the moon as a funny mask, and i always laughed at how absurd it was. your perfume reminded me of freshly-cut grass and stardust mixed together, and i was always intoxicated by it. we had nothing else to our names but the purely daydreamed life we couldn’t have together, and the uncertainty of never knowing what the other one is thinking about. all i know is that you’re thinking about someone who’s not me, and all you know is that maybe you’ll never really know who i am and you’ll be fine all the same. it’s arduously painful to miss something so trite and pointless, but i still let it get inside my head every night just to keep me from sleeping, because i don’t even remember what i once thought about before all of this happened anymore. i used to be so cynically clever, both steps stuck to the ground with my bruised hands trapped between my knees. now i’m just another annoying cliche, just another forgotten epilogue in a hopelessly terrible book no one would stop to pick up and read. and only for you. god, only ever for you. because i don’t think my battered mind could still afford to miss anything more than this subtle madness. especially not the plasticine future i’m fully aware i could never truly have for myself.

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epochs

i’m overthinking

you’re my overthought

hope lost to the seasons

confused sympathy forgot

flavescent streetlights

doubt and paranoia

dimming like bad habits

can’t be more than nostalgia

left cold in the end with

a wicked iridescence

was it all just a mistake?

all falling out of better sense

.

i’m overthinking

you’re my overthought

i promised to escape

unlacing every tangled knot

and embers dying out to

shivering uncertainties

of a fugacious infatuation

your effervescent kiss

so let me be the patience

and the future violence—once

my mind falls with daybreak

resting with our unfazed dalliance.

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multiverse

Remember me, she whispered
Heaven’s so far out of reach, and keep me close
Like a moment you’re afraid to leave
So now this is how it feels when you’re all alone
This is how it feels when your heart starts racing
You can ask but you’ll never know
The way it feels, the way it feels…

~*~

we’re not in the same universe anymore

and our tears flow in different states—

almost as that of plasma and gravity,

perhaps identical, but not at all the same.

the nostalgia creeps up like bated breaths

dead into the silence in the middle of the night

and it stays to suffocate the humid air—

and it stays to suffocate the insomniac mind.

there’s some form of sophisticated equanimity

that was achieved by neither of our farewells,

because the end was approaching at breakneck speed

and there simply wasn’t any time to be more polite

cutting out crass with guns we left in each other’s mouths

hoping the trigger doesn’t get pulled with our fingers

like issues, contorted into funny shapes that don’t make sense

breaking off has never been so easy as a lacklustre smile

but the stars never forgive, even when they forget

and the light from the horizon flickers indistinguishably

forming a supernova of your voice, faint though almost palpable

branded like indelible ink stains on the canvas of my brain.

this reverberating staccato, this thoughtless caprice, this infinite lethargy…

it never ceases to write cold epistles even when i am fast asleep.

oftentimes, i look into the other dimension of that cracked mirror

into the faceless impostor, the version of me that existed

before you killed it off, and before i killed you off in my plane,

and wish to the efflorescing quarks that you’re feeling the same way.

~*~

Lost and terrible, hollow in ways you’ll never know
If it’s all in my head, all in my head
It’s heavier now than it’s ever been, so fake a memory
Keeping me quiet underneath
And if this is the end, if this is the end
Destroy everything and make it new again…

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Back To The Red Tapes

You are a handful of roses
Thorns and a cheap bouquet
True, I’m a walking disaster
They told you to stay away
Seems like I’m making
A deal with the devil…

~*~

I remember when we loathed each other

And what we wouldn’t do to one up and over

Subtle poison in each vindictive word and verse

Poised to hit the most vital organs and curse

.

We smeared the walls with our cold fresh blood

Leaving basilisk messages for another pitying god

And undertones of candy-coated punches in stitch

In plates of ‘hope you die, you conniving little bitch’

.

But sometimes the relapse was felt in compassion

A confusion of collisions, casting the condensation

I didn’t know if it was coincidence, or I was insane

But the universe parked parallel, changed the game

.

Passing the halls with the same songs in our mouths

Composing about the same things that gave us doubt

Secretly racing the other one for covert little challenges

And trying to push at each other’s buttons and nuisances

.

It was a mess, and the bleak battleground ain’t so pretty

But the smoke cleared up and the aftermath forgot me

Where the sun was aglow and my coffee tasted less bitter

And tears only came in the form of erupted endeavours

.

Now I read the past stories and I want to laugh out loud

Enough to disturb the anxiety that’s keeping my head out

The snide smirks, the loose lies, the entertaining electricity

Who knows what’s meant for you and what’s meant for me

.

After the sheer mayhem that came after each round of drinks

After every conversation held and confessions begging not to think

After all the chaos caused and the devastation left in its wake

It’s a lot easier to admit I’ll miss it—I’d listen again for a rewinded take.

~*~

‘Cause I feel like a bad joke
Walk the tight rope to hold onto you
Was it real? Or a love scene
From a bad dream? I don’t think
I can forget about it…

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Musical Musings

As you cry in silver rings and pose
In a second you’ll be high and in the clouds alone
I never thought I’d see the day
But I see stars around your face
Just like we’re in the movies and you’re scared…

~*~

Music comfortably pouring in my ears

Of dulcet lullabies and scratchy guitar riffs

.

Keeping me warm, tones ever so familiar

Like an oversized threadbare pastel sweater

.

Like stirred english breakfast tea with no sugar

Like a burst of drizzling rain in the middle of summer

.

Like pleasant catnaps, huddled under soft covers

Like ocean waves cresting on coastal barriers

.

Like million-dollar paintings over the moon’s craters

Like a necklace of stars, quaintly twinkling as it scatters

.

Like fever dreams, syrupy and floral, quinine waters

Like a springtime frolic spent floating down winding rivers

.

Like nightmares and cold terrors and peter pan nevers

Like forgotten phantoms left faded for a lost lover

.

Like all the nostalgic memories still keeping me together

Like one existence that’s forever changed for the better

.

Tranquil music that feels comforting, familiar, and safe

And when everything’s simply too much, it’s my only escape.

~*~

Step back, I can’t believe
Do the math, the sky will fall anyways
Trust me, this is a blessing and a curse
This much I can’t deny…

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Today I Saw (The Whole World)

I never thought my sabotaged lungs would last me another year

But just to sing to you, I’d breathe for a hundred more centuries

I know I don’t mean much to you but I know you’re always here

I promise nothing’s changed except for myself and what I will be

No matter how many falling stars may shatter on my bleeding skin

I’ll follow you straight into the darkness to find the end of my dream

Because this I can understand, each cinematic memory is my safest haven

Just to find you and to find myself, all I have to do is close my eyes and listen.

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Shades of Blue

If I do what I came to do
I’ll break through in shades of blue
In red and gold, the lights
Will flash and strobe
And I will finally know
This is my home…

~*~

the taciturn rain,

sometimes quiescent drizzle,

sometimes clarion storm

reminds me of turquoise memories

.

of electric glitter nail polish

shaded onto fingernails

pointing in the wrong direction

and chipping at the edges

.

of hair that looks like clouds

but coloured blueberry-slushie sky

and is iridescently sweet

like a gloom boy’s laughter

.

of sulky mp3 players

singing sempiternal distractions with

symphonies of dizzy dreamers

and skyward soul collisions

.

of apathetic faded scarves

wrapped around breeze-bitten necks

subtly referencing a beloved one

of the same jaded violin notes

.

of self-made backpack straps

a final flicker of glimpsing hope

before cosmic turns infinitely invisible

and footsteps cease giving chase

.

of cerulean paint peeling off bus seats

revealing a dull sheathe of grey slate

of wailing sirens intertwined with alarming red

of the ocean navy pen composing this poem

.

of the sky and the sea, melting horizon’s clarity

stark in mindless scratches adhering to scarred skin

the taciturn rain, so quiet, that cobalt eyes never noticed

coldness ceased falling, as blue memories caught up with me.

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New Year, New Year

I’m in the sky tonight, there I can keep by your side
Watching the wide world riot and hiding out
I’ll be coming home next year
Into the sun we climb, climbing our wings will burn white
Everyone strapped in tight, we’ll ride it out
I’ll be coming home next year…

~*~

The arctic wind tastes of a million ethereal memories

Beleaguering the lost sympathy in my jaded brain

Thinking about all the moments I spent under the sun

The nostalgia that I’ve forgotten so they’ll eternally remain

Leading on, leading on, marching this bittersweet repast

Words that strike to the very bone, another reeling line cast

In inkstains and furious scribbles that cross out the world

And I did what they said I couldn’t, and I didn’t do as I was told

To the divine songs I dance along to, that told me “boy, you’re alright”

Passion, emotion, vindication, separation, in notes that alight

Saying hello but never goodbye to the quaint darling heart I gained

And to the kindred souls still there for me despite all the withdrawing pains

Sure enough, the months may not have been a consistent flurry of good

And most times, things don’t really work out the way that they should

Ebony turns an even darker shade, and gelid rain falls in crashing maelstrom seas

And when I rest my head every night, a litany of emptiness is all I can see

But with the hope that I once lost, I can fervently regenerate it again

Celebrating the end of the days with the guys screaming Viva La Hysteria Bien!

And with only the secrets I traded and faded, the things I don’t have to hide

I may be dead somewhere, in another time, but for now I know, at least…I’m still alive.

~*~

Come on get on get on, take it till life runs out
No one can find us now, living with our heads underground
Into the night we shine, lighting the way we glide by
Catch me if I get too high when I come down
I’ll be coming home next year…

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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