Tag Archives: nostalgia

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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silent summers and wasted memories

They used to be the rivers
That would take us away
But now you only call me
Every Christmas and my birthday…

~*~

diving into

liquid reveries

and searching for

lost words

i could never

set past my

grievous tongue

in endless

nights of misadventure

and chicanery

rife with fondness

and hyperbole

and playful kicks

jovial as it hits

our wayside brains

though never

directly spoken

we were speaking

in a language

that only we

could decipher

leaving the rest of

the world to wonder

what amuses our

strange souls so

little did they know

we were laughing

at them all along

for they could

never understand

how these broken gears

spin and stutter

and how we turn such

mechanical gnashes

into a symphony

listening to each other’s

lilting cacophonies

until sunset hits

our bloodshot eyes

bidding us its goodnight

and i yearn for those

pastel-shade days…

of glib tongues

talking about stuff

and sheer nonsense

and insensibility

and rancid relativity

and bouts of sovereignty

in blue screen deaths

and sleep infidelity

now a distant polaroid

fettered in grey

and fragmented by time

a memory daze—

i break the surface of

my reminiscing

almost forgetting to

catch my breath

and write the words

i remembered to think

but never said aloud

hoping someone could

still hear the wind…

it was a delicate summer

and yet, rather wasted

on dead air and empty silence

that much, i know

that much, i could see

and that much, i wonder

i wonder if you knew

and i’m rather curious

why are we wasting

time again?

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We Will Detonate

I chipped the final remaining cyan pieces of you off my skin

Nostalgia turned to bad memories, and misadventures to sin

Aeonian melancholy isn’t worth the more bittersweet repasts

From that moment stars were erudite, it wasn’t meant to last

Maybe it’d be better for us if I didn’t manoeuvre to intervene

And I let the watch tick counterclockwise, I would never win

In the end, there is no ending, only the beginning of the start

Of the countdown of the detonation that would tear us apart.

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Postcards and Polaroids

Hey, I know it hurts to watch me leave
But say it ain’t so, how could you ever replace me?
You’re so shy when you wanna be standing in front of me
Mind spinning in circles, you’re waiting to speak
These hands here in front of me anxiously wait to see
How’s it gonna be?

~*~

There’s splinters in your voice

And rusty needles within mine

If you honestly think it is not

We’ll both sing until I’m dying

Burn me in acerbic memories

Of another sophisticated heart

And there’s a deathbed waiting

But it wouldn’t keep us apart

For anagrams and polaroids

In lost horizons of liquid grey

In letters of an erased caption

As the wind spells out your face

In yellowing stamped postcards

Thrown in a fireplace’s compost

Replaced with ashen reminiscent

I’ll remind you of what you lost

Dear, I’m bedridden with guilt

And your fading name made me

Tear all the IV lines away and out

And drop out of ancient history

Was I wrong to do things right?

The bleeding keeps getting worse

As the stains fall against your lips

And in my paper-thin cotton shirt

But we’re only chasing nightmares

Dragged in our sempiternal reveries

Like the delusions of a red madman

Until we trip and skin both our knees

So tie a garrote ribbon around my neck

And keep a white daisy chain entangled

On my wilting hair and in my frail skin

I’ll hang myself cold and star-spangled

Darling, your ocean eyes are distracting me

There’s nothing but infinite abyss in mine

If you honestly think I’ve never fathomed this

I’ll let you go away so you’ll have a chance to be fine.

~*~

Before I go, oh oh oh oh
Let me remind you what you’re waiting for
Before you go, oh oh oh oh
Could you love me just a little bit more?
One more time…

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Illicit Infestations

“And about forgiveness, we’re both supposed to have exchanged…I’m sorry honey, but I’m passing up, now look this way!”

~*~

That dead song of the past is singing louder

The earphones that I lost don’t give a damn

Fractured feet and journeys on tepid water

But in the end, infestations devour humans

Blithe risks taken of two intertwining voices

Against apathy and arcade lights and noises

Unraveled guts on parasitic worry, nervous haste

I deigned for a replay, but we failed…what a waste.

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SoCal

It’s the little things

For whimsicalities

In silly pink strings

With funny stories

On local reminisce

And tour bus hey’s

Amused memories

Scattered in space

Shared ecstatically

In colourful affairs

Tattooed in pastels

Of Key Street wear

Childhood brothers

Hardships and fun

All crazy as drunks

The boys in a band

It’s the little things

That lasts for while

It’s their happy days

That makes me smile.

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High Voltage Damnation

Back in black! I hit the sack
I been too long, I’m glad to be back
Yes I am let loose from the noose
That’s kept me hanging about
I keep looking at the sky ’cause it’s gettin’ me high
Forget the hearse ’cause I’ll never die!

~*~

Let’s go back to the olden days

Of girls, strippers, badass cars

Rock like a TNT explosion play

A hard life of wars as rockstars

Cheeky innuendos set up to kill

Charming croon, gravel scream

Ready to fire, and shoot to thrill

Guitars of two and five of team

Let’s go back to the olden days

Where reverting to black, it sells

High voltage is not just a current

And every song’s a highway to hell.

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Misadventures

image

~*~

She looks up to me and whispers, “I won’t be here in a year.”

~*~

Year of misadventures

Red ink harsh on paper

365 days on emotions

I love it, its medication

With lyricism eloquent

Melodies spun in pent

Dive in to songs within

Its notes floral & fading

Sambukas on the patio

Just bedless in Mexico

Circles around the pain

Texas, forever remains

Phantom power mingle

Ludicrous as speedster

Today we’ll see it most

The whole world coast

Gold medal ribbon pins

Zero in its divine whim

Creepy hotel, ’69 mess

An album of craziness

Thank you for that fun

For the tears that’ll run

Soul stopping at 3 AM

Heart crash since then

Fuentes on a path long

Hime times, tone bone

Isabelle sings her song

As the boys carry home.

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Implicit Insignificance

I was once a liar, a demon, a heartless creature, rendered ash and rust

And you were but that magic trick, a pawn, a faint speckle of fairy dust

All eyes through the valley of betrayed angels, lost in a damaged haze

That we past resided in enraptured company, dear, remember those days?

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