Tag Archives: passion

The Callalily’s Song

You make me twist in my dreams

Diamonds fall from my eyes as I seem

Like a happy wave of melancholy

With heavy doses of sharp-taste irony


I can catch the gaze but not the embrace

I’ll hear the words but I won’t waste

Another second with such distal aches

Shivering in my spine as I break


A million emotions that jump in my blood

Are better than vessels drained of god

And my cheeks bruise again from the thought

Of dead roses in bloom and lungs in knots


What was bridged in that fateful midsummer

Shall last, interstitial, a transient forever

For perhaps the hazardous sins I’ll commit

In contusions are arrested in vignettes to omit


It’s the golden state glow of your undertow

Bringing me under and letting me go

Hidden in virulent sonatas I shall dare to chase

For a chance at hope to see your divine face


It may be the perpetual hurt that keeps me awake

And I may reach for sunshine blue but I won’t see it stay

But I won’t ever get tired, no, I’ll let my heart do all the talking

And listen to the rain for lost passion that keeps on singing.


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Hold On, Fall Away

Do you know
I count your heartbeats before you sleep?
I bite my fingernails to bone
And then I crawl back under the stairwell
To a place I call my home…


Hold on, she says, and her suspended voice feels like a serpentine blossom, mutinous choking thorns wrapped gracelessly around the wall of my deflated lungs’ chambers, puncturing them effectively and leaving me gasping for the air that never enters my mouth.

But I can’t breathe anymore, I implore.

Hold on, that simple phrase again, manipulative and senseless, gently caressing the convoluted scars on my wet face like quietly-raining feathers from a fallen divine being’s cast wings, the burning touch barely grazing past decrepit flesh, ethereal and gossamer.

I didn’t want to miss anything, but the wind is chafing my dehydrated eyes. So I blink. I suddenly feel dizzy and nearly fall flat on my back, reveries resting as I attempt to steady myself. Sleep would be so merciful right now.

Hold on, another rousing round to jolt back the drowsy senses of my rapidly-decaying nerves. Each uttered word is like the sweetest taste of corrupted fruit in an exegesis dream, and I can’t allow myself to swallow it anymore, even if I took the first bite of sin.

Don’t make me do this. A foreign voice breaks the muffled barrier, and I flinch in static shock before shamefully realising that the unfamiliar sound was my own. Who…who was I now?

Hold on, the conversation hits like a loaded shotgun with a chipped bayonet, bullet penetrating the back of my head and cracking my skull once, before the sharpened blade cleanly slices through my wandering brain, a merciless double kill for certainty. Bang. Crash. Slash. Crack. Death.

I’m forgetting the colour of your hair now, the dainty lavender scent that follows you around everywhere you flutter, the way your plush lips mouthed serenades that collided and lit up fireworks in my reflection; I’m forgetting the sensation of seeing you, of wanting to see you again.

Hold on, the promenading whisper has amalgamated into an earsplitting scream now, dangerous hedonism dancing in demons and demigods around my shattered ears, past my constricting throat, relentlessly waltzing in wearied circles over and under what used to be the armistice memory of you.

No—My deteriorating vision blurs and falters, cascading and collapsing in iridescent shades of gold and silver, coalescing in glistening hues of diamonds and rubies, fluctuating in pastel blossoms of jasmines and forget-me-nots, all before shutting down into that damning void of sempiternal blackness. The last thing I saw with my weakening sight was her colourless ashen eyes tear up once, twice.

Hold on…was the last thing I ever heard.


Murder the moment!
My god, I’m the serpent
I’m sorry, I can’t see
That you truly love me…

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“But I will soon forget the colour of your eyes
And you’ll forget mine…”


Oh honey, just know I think you’re rare

But so do a million pairs of staring eyes

I carved your eternal words on my skin

While their dirty desks are filled with lies


But I’ll ignore the protests of my chest

I was your worst, but you were my best

Convulsions staunched won’t be enough

To revive my suppressed detesting to last


So let me be your only saving grace notion

Under conflagration, in epileptic inspiration

I’ll be your rage, you’ll be my perfect disease

Cure my unclung heartstrings from mercenaries


That vain to steal the gold rush in your tongue

And leave the staccato pain where it all began

You’re staling breath my lungs sought to keep

I can exhale underwater if my onyx skies need


A drop of fragile storm, if your drought doesn’t break

And I’ll listen to your soft melodies just to stay awake

They’re all florid sycophants, ostentatious in clamours

They may casually admire, but I would eternally adore


Because darling, I always think you’re the rarest of them all

And a million pairs of eyes might look but they’ll never know

How, in this peripheral passion, how bruised and cursed I’d fall

Just to reach the light that you hold, I’ll always stay while they all go.

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Pestilence Perpetual

Leave me in the cold, you better run away
I’m gonna dig a hole and bury all the memories we’ve made
I don’t need your condescending, words about me looking lonely
I don’t need your arms to hold me, ’cause misery is waiting on me…


It’s more than what I wanted, more than what you’d take

Misery’s just another flavour, company’s just another taste

In the palatable infections built to burn our tongues acidic

As sulphurous words are enough for the poisons to inhibit

Our ghosts might go on, but you would have to kill me first

Just to prove that I’m sincere, and that’s better for the worst

Eyes spinning under aerosol plumes, drunk on opiate fumes

More than anything, I stay awake as your parasites consumed.


I am not alone, not beaten down just yet
I am not afraid of the voices in my head
Down the darkest road, something follows me
I am not alone ’cause misery loves my company…

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Gloom Boys in Natural Blue

I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.

For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.

I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.

Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.

Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.

Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.

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Miss Mercenary

You had me hooked, careless and cunning
You had your throne, but now you’re nothing
You had me hooked, careless and cunning
You had your throne, but now you’re nothing…


A maiden for the silken sheets

A muse for the midnight masquerade

Amorous amorphous on feather pillows

A demure bonny on the pasquinade


A madwoman for the asphalt streets

A machine for the telephone’s hold

Astounding magic and death-defying acts

Aspiration generation, metal heart so cold


A mistress for all your petty problems

A megalomaniac for your world to rule

Alleviate and apprehend momentum quick again

Apathetic monarchy for the masses to adore and endure


A miss murder for the mean memorial of the brothels

A monster for the messy and mercurial meltdown motels

Arrogant tease decadent, astringent, leading you on well

All before she shows her blackened eyes and drags you down to hell.


Fading like the makeup from my sheets
And I’m leaving, send the orders for retreat
I laid to rest this war that we called “love”
It’s for the best and what’s done is done…

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sweet candy (clap and kneel)

She do a dance
Slides down a pole
She turn a backflip
Make your heart roll…


get a syrupy dose

i’ll have you clapping

candy that lasts all night

sweet but not too saccharine

lust like a parched rose

desire is just another word

until my lush lips utter it

i’ll have you screaming “what a world”

a messy and clarion intimacy

let’s murder the lights if we must

my sovereign eyes will set you free

in cavorting pure we trust

but no, don’t be fooled

by my colourful lollipop taste

i’m far from innocent, my darling

and i’ll let you go to waste

and when you’re finished taking it all in

my sweet taste will slowly fade

and leave an acrid palate that will last for days

even when i’m gone, you’ll taste staid.


Caught in a spotlight
Crawls across the floor
Calls for attention
The boys yell out for more…

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Double Dares, No Take-Backs

I wanna make my way into your kiss
I wanna live inside your mind next to your favorite songs
I won’t slow my pace until your walkway
I wanna lose my mood inside a late night phone call with you…


Keep me in your sights, and double double dare me

I’ll be your clapping beat, now won’t you sing along

The air between our shaky hands won’t be won’t be

Won’t be blowing until our skin gets it all wrong


Smile, but the gloom doesn’t dissipate to the moon

You’re my childish reverie, I’m your little red balloon

Play 21 questions until the question marks are tired

Of answering the same old things in our curious minds


Keep me in your sights, and double double dare me

I’ll be the song stuck in your head, now won’t you sing along

The wind beneath our heaving chest won’t be won’t be

Won’t be blowing until our skin gets it all wrong


Cry, but heaven doesn’t hear what you wanna say

The angels left you powerless, they don’t exist for today

Laugh until the laughter begins to sound suspicious

No one could be that happy, but we’re just both auspicious


Keep me in your sights, and double double dare me

I’ll be the lyrics you never wrote down, now won’t you sing along

The zephyr under our interlocked eyes won’t be won’t be

Won’t be blowing until our skin gets it all wrong


Talk, but the stars only hear static words and white noise

Expectations take over emotions, you just wanna have a voice

Count sheep until we run out of sandy footprints to break

I’ll go around, wrapped in your bedpost, dreaming of mistakes


Keep me in your sights, and double double dare me

I’ll be the instrument in your hands, now won’t you sing along

The breeze by our swaying hips won’t be won’t be

Won’t be blowing until our skin gets it all wrong


Kiss, but hell is so faraway from everything else

Slowing down time as gravity makes contact with nonsense

Dance until we’re out of breath, until we don’t care

You’re my spin the bottle, but babe I’m your truth or dare


So keep me in your sights, and double double dare me

I’ll be the only favourite song you know, now won’t you sing along

The tempest brewing between our tense lips won’t be won’t be

Won’t be blowing until our skin feels warm and our hearts get it all wrong.


Feeling my love mood—I kind of see you
When I climb into my mind, that’s where I keep you
And lately where I waste my time
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me everything I want
Because I want you now…

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Liplock Torture; Suffering Greys

And I can’t tell if this is all a dream or if I’m really here
But as long as I can feel you, I don’t really care, I don’t really care
Can we pretend like it’s just you and me?
I wanna act like I can feel something
And you don’t have to give it back to me…


do you feel me

breathing in your sins

and suffocating in third degree as

you mercilessly watch me die?


i wouldn’t care but

a single rejection would be nice


any reaction, even if

you laugh at my suffering

it doesn’t have to be an outcry of protest

because i know it never works like

that, you’re not a dreamer


i’m losing the feeling

in my fingers, but still, you won’t

hold them and pull me back


i’m dangling like

the burning cigarette between your lips

and sooner or later i will be

falling like the ashes


i could swallow

a million razors right now, and

still, you’d act as if it was simply sweet


i didn’t know what to expect

i can’t fathom why i even expected anything

you’ll always get the best of my worst

blue oceans pulling me into pacific

shooting my veins under a loaded gun

leaving my eyes with a vacancy


i could hope for a million years until it kills me

and even then, you wouldn’t cry.


‘Cause I can’t promise much of anything
I see in shades of grey, I’m going blind again
But when it comes to you, my world is red
I see in shades of grey, losing my mind again
‘Cause when it comes to you my world is deep red…

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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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Filed under Prose