Tag Archives: perception

anatomical dissection: eyes

what do i see

that others don’t?

.

arrogant humanity

that gives nor wants

.

what do i see

that others won’t?

.

the inside of me

that takes all it wants.

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phantasm

withered cheeks

warm not the frost

of winter’s chill

forget-me-nots

.

used gallery

of paintings fade

as strokes peel off

with art unmade

.

a fantasy rose

though you may be

a common thorn

is all they’ll see.

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fill in the blanks.

“And it’s four in the morning
I’m just trying to fix myself
What the hell did I do?”

~*~

blankness.

a constant void

washed-out

into a bleached white

still dirty, yet everything

has been scrubbed out

fastidiously, like

the writings on a blackboard

and the chalk dust

lingers in your fingertips,

the kind that you can’t blow away

and you’re stuck with

that unpleasant texture on your

hands for the rest of the day.

you’re zeroed-out;

multiplied, divided, and subtracted

until even the calculator

doesn’t know how to answer

except for a shameful

syntax error…

you don’t know where you

went wrong in your calculations.

now you’re staring dully

at the beige ceiling

listening to the rhythms

of a nameless music attempt vainly to

make your heart bleed, but it’s

all fucking static to you,

just another distraction to

keep you grounded

as gravity drags

you down in your grave

without even so much as a

respectful funeral or a dated tombstone.

your thoughts are as

senseless as every nerve in

your once-hurting flesh

your body got used to the pain,

one might dare guess

but the truth is you can’t feel it anymore

because it’s no longer your own—

to control, to use, to move around in to

your free will and accord

and you’re just pretending to perform,

waiting for the fateful day that the

puppeteer snaps your marionette strings, and

you drop lifelessly on the

shabbily-decorated stage of your existence.

you don’t even know where these

nonsensical thoughts are originating from;

all you know is the constant empty

sensation, a flatlined perception,

draining every bone in your borrowed body

physically, emotionally, and mentally

until you’re nothing more than

an amorphous bag of viscera

dripping numbly on that plastic chair

still gawping insensibly at the

rorschach beige ceiling, all the way to pure

b l a n k n e s s———

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Apathy & Density

I am an architect of difference, you are just a hole
Oh how I love to hear you beckon and stripped to the bone
But when I come around I come inside and just leave
Because if I had a heart I wouldn’t wear it on my fucking sleeve…

~*~

am i not allowed to feel

such vicious serendipity

should i stick to chasms

of my own propinquity?

.

why does it amuse you so

when i show distal symptoms

of my emotional capability

you consider it but an insanity

.

is it because this sickness

of the apathetic muse is carved

in your dense brainwaves

and my oracular soul i starved?

.

if your perception is blurred

i’ll spell out clearly the words

love, for me, is not uncharted

and within it i’m not departed

.

if you still refuse to acknowledge

such distinguished fact of the lies

alas, my stone heart cracks to you

am i just not human in your eyes?

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[M]/s/[I]/m/[R]/o/[R]/k/[O]/e/[R]

I didn’t want to

Break this fine illusion

But the fumes

Choked me for sedition

I hid behind the

Smooth panel of derision

Hoping you will

Not see past the distortion

But their cracks

Gained speedy equilibrium

And spread on

Veins and webs of summum

Tinkling of glass

Shards of a funhouse mirror

And your initial

Perceptions of me, it shatters.

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See Jane

Jane was taught many things throughout the course of her life. Jane was taught to be a good girl to mummy and daddy. Jane was taught to say her prayers and obey what she was told to do. Jane was taught to clean herself up and clean up after herself. Jane was taught to do her straight auburn hair up in ribbons and pigtails, polish her red maryjane shoes into a dazzling shine, and wear her best cotton pastel dresses. Jane was taught to walk with proper posture, smile gracefully, speak in a soft feminine voice, and to go about with tasks in an elegant finesse. Jane was taught to learn her academic lessons well at the private all-girls catholic school she was attending, and as well as her weekly lessons about faith and God at Sunday class in the town church. Jane was taught not to play too roughly, never to join the bad flock of black sheep, and to generally stay out of trouble. Jane was taught to be polite, friendly, amiable, and to be approachable and presentable. Simply put, Jane was trained to be a perfect girl, and she was taught to love it.

What was wrong with Jane?

Jane was the epitome of nice. Jane was the classic textbook example of the girl next door; charming, demure, a bonny maiden with a beautiful appearance and personality, living a scripted, sterile, storybook suburban life. Jane was a starchild, excelling in everything and anything, always at her best. Jane was sociable, had lots of friends and could easily make new acquaintances. In the morning, among the company of people, she was quite pleasant, a darling sweetheart in the glossed-over, uncrutinising eyes of the faceless neighbours. See Jane greet. See Jane traipse. See Jane dance. See Jane laugh. See Jane wave. See Jane smile. See Jane happy. But alas, that was the full extent of their limited perception. To them, Jane could be summed up in positive words less than three syllables long. They could never see the actual Jane, dark and complicated. They couldn’t glare past the cracks of the well-practised façade, and take a gander at the real version that’s not made of plastic skin and porcelain eyes, refusing to see the truth of the perfect girl that barely sleeps at night. See Jane depressed. See Jane grit her teeth. See Jane scream. See Jane self-harm. See Jane feel empty. See Jane strut mechanically. See Jane do drugs. See Jane muffle her crying on her pillow. See Jane as a complete fucking mess.

What was wrong with Jane?

Jane was taught many things in the course of her short life. Be this, be that, don’t do this, don’t do that, Jane never learned to think for herself. Simply put, Jane was brainwashed to be the perfect girl, and she absolutely hated it. In the end, it was not Jane with the fault, she was only the innocent victim. Rather, it was her guardians, her teachers, who missed a crucial lesson that might have saved Jane from self destruction. For Jane was only taught to exist, but she was never taught to live. Teeming alongside the controversy now, the very same life enveloping death that the multitudinous attendees are currently buzzing with. The haughty crowd, all clad in black garb, then proceeds to judge Jane with whispered huffs, gossiping under thin walls and blabbering behind paper fans hatefully, shaking their heads condescendingly with a chorus of tsk-tsk’s, saying stories and telling tall tales about how Jane was such an amazing girl, it’s such a waste Jane had to go this way, Jane always seemed cheerful and no one ever saw it coming, I remember that one time Jane…, Jane will be missed, nothing but senseless argot and unapologetic bereavement. Today, everyone mourned. But today, everyone also saw an accurate glimpse of Jane for the first time, and unfortunately, for the very last.

See Jane die.

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Ponderings and Preludes V

~*~

ON FALSE HOPE

She thought the shooting stars

Were all just simply for her

But it collided hard with her heart

And left a gaping dark hole.

~*~

ON ELUSIVENESS

Perhaps I’m not the killer

Perhaps I poisoned the wine

Perhaps I wasn’t a stealer

Or perhaps I’m simply lying.

~*~

ON LEARNING THE HARD WAY

I learn my lessons very well

And stab my quill quite hard

Watch the crimson ink swell

Punishment deserved scarred.

~*~

ON TAKING CHANCES

I lost all my hard-earned money

In a bet against your hate

And I’m prepared to bet eternity

If it means I earn your faith.

~*~

ON DEPRESSION

Slam a knife against the wall

They deserve it they deserve—

Echoing screams until you fall

Heard can I please be heard…..

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