Tag Archives: perfection

nocturnes, numbers, nyctophilia

It meant nothing to him any longer, only a faint tinge of sadness—and somewhere within him, a drop of pain moving briefly and vanishing, like a raindrop on the glass of a window, its course in the shape of a question mark. ~Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

~*~

i.) the jealous penmanship

clever words left tears forming in my brain

ones that i have to open up my healing bruises

just so i could let them out somewhere

somewhere my veins wouldn’t be affected severely

(it was late at night, and my stars called out from nowhere)

sensations poured out from every letter and departure,

as it entangled itself with my nerves and wore them down,

and wore them like a dirty dress, and wore them out to town

until they were worn-out; nothing but a few stray threads.

i burned half of my journals when i turned 16 and stopped trying

to imitate being an author, because writing for me isn’t an expectation–

it’s nothing but another puzzling lock without a skeleton key

and because the most delicate daydream wasn’t mine

because selfishness, to me, is not just another bland adjective

because my bones screamed with the weight of a black hole

because your reveries were enchanting. and mine were f a d e d

n o , i ‘ l l  n e v e r  b e  a s  g o o d  a s  y o u

~*~

ii.) softness, like his heart in the shape of a newborn galaxy

i faded into an ugly shade of something that’s neither monochrome nor coloured;

on the verge of collapsing onto the other side of the fence, threatening madly

but never quite having the contemplation to choose a losing side

as i fell down into the blue of a stranger’s wanderlust eyes.

someone else had taken most of that vibrant shade already, but i managed

to steal away just a sliver, a glimpse, an infinitesimal shiver

and it was the kind of lasting cold that froze summer hurricanes

and kept my breaths visibly foggy and crisply sharp with every inhale

(you never warned me. you don’t know me, but you knew me too well. and i never listen.)

i’ll always be an insignificant detail in the cyan tapestry you painted for yourself

and i’ve accepted that long ago when i said i loved you in my nightmares,

tossing and turning on the bed covered in plastic arrogance because

no other blanket felt warm and comfortable enough for my body to sleep on

until then, i could only sink deeper into the fathomless wish that this universe would end s o o n

i t  w a s  a  k i n d  o f  l o v e  t h a t  m a d e  s u i c i d e  s o u n d  l i k e  m u s i c

~*~

iii.) an abrupt goodbye/the guilty party often disappears first

i was mad at something. i didn’t know what it was, but it was foolish enough

for me to take it out onto the embracing autumn sky, on the taciturn smiles that

were supposed to hold me when tempestuous desolation grabbed at my twisted throat…

and on you. you never meant anything. you just wanted to talk, and so did i,

but my tongue was a spilling box of blades, and every time i opened my

wounded mouth to make you laugh, i always ended up cutting you by accident instead.

(friend, even if i said i’m sorry, can you ever forgive me for what i’ve done to you?)

it was an unreasonable apology, and i erased myself because of my own self-hatred,

but not before leaving footprints of a migraine in your head, which you will inadvertently step on,

slip at, and hurt yourself…fuck. i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know why i have

to push and pull apart the only semblance of logic in my life, the only anchor

that keeps me from towing away from the tides, the last person that still feels real to me

when everything else has blurred into an amalgamated indistinct static background;

i don’t know why i feel so smothered, when you’re the only attention i’ll ever have and need.

at this point, the only thing we have is each other’s problems, and the way we both

jeered at it, taunted it, and blocked it out with our own shared playlists until we felt better—

but now that summer was just a distant memory, and so was the scarlet artwork we made of it.

you also needed comfort. but did even try? no. i ran away from the colliding wreckage

as if it wasn’t my fault, and i numbed myself out because i couldn’t do the same for y o u

i ‘ m  s o r r y  i  m a d e  y o u  s a y  s o r r y  s o  m u c h . . .

i  d i d n ‘ t  m e a n  t o  d e s t r o y  e v e r y t h i n g

~*~

iv.) the midnight closes. the violent curtain falls.

the cold glow of my computer screen was rude and restless

and it made my fingers promise, crossed and uncrossed, that i would

stay with it until it slips into comatose. i have rinsed my mouth with lukewarm water

a hundred times to try to wash out the taste of stale coffee, but it never came out and now

i’m stuck with it until morning, until another astrological moon cycle, until i lose

myself in the chemical moments of something that’s so artificially natural.

i’m constantly starving myself, stuck between confidence and relapsing withdrawals of

my past life that i thought i discarded when i finally held on to my shooting star,

but it was always tethered tightly to me by a crimson string. and it always probably will be.

i’m alone. i’m friends with people that talk shit to me in the mirror, and when i bite

my chapped lips and draw blood by accident, it almost feels like atonement. almost.

(i got what i came for and i can’t try again. this is what i want…..isn’t it?)

i know that there are people out there making fun of me and rolling their eyes

petulantly as they bask in the trite, whimsical “perfection” of their storybook existence

but not everything has a happy ending, and not every sad story has to end badly.

i don’t know. i’ll never know. i’m tired and i have responsibilities that i’m not

built for, and every crack turns into a break, and a break into shattered p i e c e s

t o m o r r o w  i ‘ l l  d o  t h i s  o v e r  a g a i n  .  u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  t o m o r r o w s .

~*~

v.) nocturnes.

( a n d  i ‘ l l  s t a y  h e r e )

u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  n u m b e r s  t o  c o u n t ,

a n d  t h o u g h t s  t o  f e e l ,

a n d  n i g h t s  t o  s t a y  a w a k e .

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Just Another Burnt-Out Bulb

I scraped my knees while I was praying
And found a demon in my safest haven, seems like
It’s getting harder to believe in anything
Then just to get lost in all my selfish thoughts…

~*~

There’s a free fall all the way to tragedy’s scene

Another shortcut straight to mending back hell

But the doors don’t work, and I’m stuck in between

Reaching for the coin I lost at the bottom of the well

Perfection was your pride, and I turned the lights off

So I couldn’t see the mess we’ve done, the damage cost

The worst part wasn’t the scream, I didn’t know whose

But when I realised that I lost the only thing I have to lose.

~*~

I wanna know what it’d be like
To find perfection in my pride
To see nothing in the light
I’ll turn it off in all my spite…

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fugacious

cold footsteps

of perfection

cease to echo

in the empty

presence of

your faltering

h e a r t.

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Touch Me Not

Don’t touch my porcelain skin

And leave a greasy thumbmark

Leaving a warm human stain

On what used to be cold glass

.

Poreless me, I sweat through

My eyelids, and the raindrops

Slide off like a drying old glue

On a forgotten Hallmark card

.

Like the one I send every year

In an yellowing old envelope

Greetings a lacklustre veneer

In automated wishes of hope

.

They never send back, never will

Throw my postal mail in a basket

It’s fine, just an obligation to fulfil

And I’ll preoccupy my own health

.

As I polish my iridescent arms

With a newly-washed tea towel

See the glow, reflecting charms

Of the fluorescent lighting shell

.

Look at me, I’m a marble goddess

Of alabaster and stiff appendages

But heed the museum signs, okay

And touch me not, I ask, and pray

.

Do not touch my porcelain skin

Not an inch closer of your finger

I don’t wish for cracks to appear

And I’ll thirst for human hungers

.

Do not touch my pure porcelain skin, please

Kill that curiosity early, it is all for the better

I’m perfectly placid now, I’m in a cooled cryogenic peace

And I fear your torrid emotions just might make me shatter.

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Just A Twinge Of Cosmic Angst: A Sestina

I sit taciturn and wondering, waiting for the universe

to take my shaking hand into her further infinity.

I see the connected constellations, ostentatious

as they are, splashes and arcs of light tessellating

into the galaxy’s tender motion and sleepy staccato,

Falling fast within this midnight sky so consummate.

.

Now I won’t admit into being also consummate,

Not in the physique of this elegant universe.

My body is made of mere stardust staccato

ravelling tightly into a quite beautiful infinity.

Yet I shall admit defeat unto death, tessellating

into a parasitic decay non so ostentatious.

.

We all wish to enter the gates of Heaven, ostentatious

as humans get. We are quite passionate and consummate

with our concepts arranged into a stained-glass tessellation,

Ignoring still the vast reaches withheld in the universe

and thinking that this small orbit of ours is all that’s infinity,

Earning us a mindset of broken glass and fragmented staccato.

.

Truly, our planet is a zealous one, of cobalt and viridian tessellation,

Pieced together, and yet barely holding on, our divinity ostentatious.

Our sea levels and stretched firmament seem to reach infinity

up to our all-knowing Mother, her opalescent gown consummate,

But then again, she is just another dress in this party of the universe

Her descrying jade heart pulsating and flatlining into faintest staccato.

.

And materialistic, we resolutely remain, technology tessellating,

Preaching with arguing high voices, radioing into noisy black staccato.

Pray must we, for help. Ask forgiveness to the spinning universe

for we have been too indulged getting severely pompously ostentatious.

And soon, no longer will she ever care, for she is a goddess consummate

with her rarities. A powerful chromatic angel donning white wings of infinity.

.

We drown all our self-abnegation in a shallow turbid pool of falsified infinity,

But look up to the astral skies, you fools, and see the stars’ bright tessellation!

We can nevermore achieve the paramount gracefulness of being consummate,

for we are mere scintilla specks floating in space. Barely even a borrowed staccato

that’s vainglorious, ruffling our colourful feathers. Now cease ostentation,

Breathe in the sun…do you feel that slightest twinge of cosmic angst from the universe?

.

I whisper but echoing souls, cut into philosophical tessellation, and cast into evaporation. I might as well be speaking staccato,

but the patient universe hears my every cry, and gifts me some of her onyx satin habiliment. I accept humbly, non ostentatiously

so I see clearly finally. Wherefore must we humans be so dragged into consummate? This life is not a question of perfection, but rather, what we choose to do with our own infinity.

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To Augustine

Mien of Augustine

Eyes so aquamarine

Fell hair turpentine

Visage serpentine

.

Wiseful Augustine

Heart indoctrined

Mind crystal clean

Old soul hid within

.

My fairest Augustine

You were my Sistine

My painter’s pristine

Glassblower’s gleam

.

An apex Augustine

A miasmatic welkin

Cynosure demeaned

Stark mise-en-scéne

.

Company’s Augustine

Illustrious at the seam

Stars in the higher levin

Yet sardonyx in chagrin

.

Dear sacrosanct Augustine

In darkest garden evergreen

Rose Eden’s shallowest skin

Vox nihili, you’re our original sin.

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Ponderings and Preludes

~*~

ON MONSTERS

Roared and rampaged

With sharp claws they yield

Monsters can’t be caged

But they could be killed.

~*~

ON IMPERFECTION

You’re not perfection

That may as well be

But know that I love you

Despite every folly.

~*~

ON STRANGERS

Strangers are scary

You don’t know their thoughts inside

But friends horrify me greatly

Because they know what I hide.

~*~

ON SILENCE

Silence in the library

Words spoken in ebony ink

The only things ever so noisy

Are imaginations that think.

~*~

ON FEELINGS

You fuel my adrenaline

Every intersection I pass

Til I get stranded somewhere unseen

Because I ran out of gas.

~*~

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Human Machinery

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

</SYSTEM_START> 

.

Sunlight.

.

Another new day. Get out of bed. Reboot your CPU again.

Clean your parts shiny, no spot of dirt must remain.

Fix the errors, clean the viruses until you are better.

Now take a look at your face in the mirror.

.

Just the same emotionless face. As always.

.

Cold. Calm. Careful. Calculated.

Not a single bolt out of place.

Fixed. Unbroken. Perfect. Pseudo-dead.

Not a single wrong. Not a single mistake.

.

Best to keep up that facade.

Emotions are unwanted and bad.

Plaster a thick mask upon your face.

Don’t turn your mouth up. Don’t shed tears. Leave no trace.

.

Ready?

.

Now take a step outside. Slowly. Carefully.

Into your stage. Into your industrial play.

There are fellow machines also moving.

Nod a bit. But no expressions. No faint smiling.

.

Start to walk. The creaking of your gears, do not mind.

Walk. Carefully. Into your scheduled place.

Feel the clank of the metal. The process of your mind.

Faster. Faster. Time is running in a haze.

.

Into the building. Into the office. More machines.

But different. Flawed. Sentient. Actually having fun. Laughing.

Should you be jealous? Should you turn green with envy?

No. That is the work of a failed machinery.

.

Walk on. Walk on. Ignore. Ignore.

Lay your ocular device upon the cold white floor.

Into your room. Into your work. Don’t move another inch.

Don’t stop. Don’t rest. Don’t eat. Don’t flinch.

.

Keep on working for the rest of the day.

.

The ticking time signals the end.

Go on. Give your wires and screws a stretch. Stand.

Off you go, out the building. Into the setting sun.

Another day gone. Another job done.

.

Home.

.

Step inside. Flick the lights open. Adjust your vision.

Go into the living room. Sit. Turn on the television.

Apathetic to murders. Thefts. Corruption. Bad news. Death.

When time comes to time, shut down your systems and rest.

.

Repeat cycle the next day.

.

This is it. This is all there is to my life. To me.

 All but perfect cycles, all human machinery.

No emotions. No feelings. No fun. No nothing.

No joy. No sadness. No anger. No singing.

.

A world of metal toys, grinding gears, and utter perfection.

An industrial society reeking of smoke and oil with no other distractions.

A hellish life of monochrome, darkness, and bore.

Please. No more. No more. No more

.

. .-.-.-.-….——..-.-__._.–. 

N@O$#+.$(M@&@O¢^÷|¶’R√℅¢E°}’$- 

</SYSTEM_CRASH>

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