Tag Archives: personal

hello, shooting star

send my mind

into deep space nine

to reach for stars

that keep on lying

i’m dumb on dreams

and on unpleasant hopes

my neck is screaming

“hand me the rope”

but i won’t be dragged

by one or two mouths

this is all that i have

my body’s naiant south

and one day i will be

dancing with galaxies

i used to gaze upon

locked in wishful reveries

so send my lost mind

into bright circles of heaven

i don’t need angel wings

i’ll find my own way until then.


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submerge me

under crystalline depths

i’m taking on

these liquid-laden breaths

haunted by the

cold bite of the coastal air

and i’m hanging

by the sand, shorn away bare

while my body is

pulled under the stygian grave

of chasmic serenity—

returning again like a tidal wave

choking on water

and the breeze becomes critical

i’m falling away

elastic flesh numb and insensible

i will sink down

before i can move myself to swim

please let me drown

water in my lungs, death in my sins.

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a specific kind of hurt

hurtful twinges

filling up every

corner of my

expanding coroner’s

disease; debilitating,

destroying, until

what’s left of me

is nothing


hurtful twinges

crashing down every

space of my

suffocating mental

affliction; desperate,

decaying, until

what’s left of you

is nothing.

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Every minute that you scream
Before the errant scars
And the dying stars

Every second that you take
To fake your life…


smile it out

and feel the pain

another word

to your disdain

you stupid kid

who wants to hear

about your aches

about your fears?

so stick it out

and feel their joy

you’re just a tool

you’re just a toy

take the blame

avoid the conflict

your wretched name

is never worth it

did they buy the act?

another great dare

you could be truthful

but who would care?

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Shades of Blue

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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just a little more for overdose

My mind is wide asleep, my conscience deep awake 
The promises I keep are not the ones I make 
I count the caustic causes, I lost count of regrets 
A surplus of good intentions, don’t provide me with content 
All I want is just a little content…


my mother

has a secret stash of valium

and i want to find it

and drink it all

to keep myself from

impulsively banging my

migraine-shot head

into the wall

and possibly haemorrhage

because she doesn’t believe me

that i am in pain

i’m in pain.

and it’s not just physical

but if it doesn’t show

in thermometers and bruises

that must mean

i’m faking it

to get out of class

because what sane person

wouldn’t want to feign

being suicidal for such petty reasons?

i’m breathing heavily,

ragged cries echoing hollowly

on the bathroom tiles, and

my feet are shivering

from stepping on the wet floor

for too long, but i can’t run away.

i try to make up my mind,

waiting for the spots of blood

to catch in my ivory soap

but instead the tears beat them to it.

it hurts it hurts IT HURTS

i want to scream

but my younger sister is still eating her

breakfast obliviously outside,

most likely wondering

why the hell

i have been silent

for more than 30 minutes now

i hope she thinks i’m dead.

i hope i wish i’m dead.

i’m waiting for her to leave already

so i could tiptoe out

of the bathroom

and get a new pair of metal smiles

goddamnit, she better hurry up.

meanwhile, my mother is ready to shove

the wall clock down my throat

and shriek at me that

i’m already running late

i know she wants me dead.

I know i want to be dead.

and of course, she blames me

for staying up to do

the only thing i can do

to try to just fucking stay alive

better to be dying inside

than to waste my cold future

and skip a day of class

(as if i have a future at that point)

i don’t have to be a liability

to her, to any of them, right now

and this sickness was

my own undoing,

i was clearly asking for it.

i’m guilty

of what i know

but not of what i did

to myself or them

but for what i did even though

i have what i need alone

…i’m fucking weak,

i know already.

and to think that i actually

cared for these bastards

once or even twice

in my life—how disgusting.

my mother

has a secret stash of valium

that she’s probably

knocking down

all at once to keep from

impulsively slamming

my migraine-shot head into

the pristine white walls

because she thinks that i’m a liar

and since i guess i am…i fucking believe her

just as much as she believes

that i am in pain.

i’m in pain.


I choose the beaten path, I’ve been to where it leads 
Why I keep coming back, a mystery to me 
I found what I’ve been seeking, it’s too late for me to care 
My aspiration’s leaking from a hole I can’t repair 
Maybe I just don’t want it repaired.

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i quietly wonder

if i had done anything

wrong to reclaim

another faultful star


as i stare outside the window

cascading past endless stretches

of worn paved-roads

and vast fertile landscapes


and everything looks transiently gargantuan


but i momentarily glance

at the empty bus seat next to me

and i feel rather small again


flimsy music in my ears

speaking of infinite sentiments

and i’m disenchanted again

these mellisonant voices are enough

they have to be enough


to keep my wandering mind

company against the ephemeral madness


i flick my red lighter open

and hold it close—but not too close

to my dying pen; wondering, for

a moment, if the same trick could revive

my spirits like the stuttering ink,

tempted to burn my flesh back to life


but i merely stare into the flame—

flickering unsteady still—and blow it out

so it doesn’t have to be lonely

as my heart is right now


as i travel from small city

to smaller town, i wonder where

all my friends are right now

how they are all doing

what they are doing


and if they’re all having fun

without me.

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fire escape

a quiet blue burn

in the spaces of my palms

taking me within

keeping my numb mind warm


a quiet blue burn

leaving blisters on my arms

it doesn’t hurt at all

it only drags out colder harm.

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Isolated Distances

Push them away with the whim of a wind

Until their stretched fingertips are irretrievable—


You are falling, alone in chasmic rage;

They need not suffer with your chagrins.


Draw away further until no one can ever reach

The dangerous flare that burns skin and town alike…


No harm, nor ache, nor hurt, nor pain,

Needs superfluously to cross their aureole smiles;


They’ll remain alright as long as you are not

And the sun will keep revolving in the absence of your breath.


Though if you only wished to express clamorous such

Contagious toil, in the faith that some empathetic mortal


Will understand, and hear you out, and actually listen—

How inconsiderately conceited and selfish of you.

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They’re Better Off Without You

Arrogant boy, when will you ever learn?

That this world is not made up of roses and thorns

Sometimes the blossoms wilt but the weeds will remain

Waiting for a chance to stick briers in your name

You can stop chasing good girls by their hourglass hips

And bringing more rounds of vodka and shotgun to your lips

You can stop using your arms as a substitute ashtray

Or your skin as ivory to carve out sculptures in scarlet clay

And all your best friends that proclaim they’re sincere

Draw insults behind your back and say it’s good fun and fair

They don’t have time for drama, but get front row seats

When you’re deep in the mess, entangled in bullshit

Your smile is bleeding out, teeth scattered on the sidewalk

“Good one, guys” you say, but they never want to talk

Your eyes don’t need fists to be darker than they already are

The lack of sleep does that, when you have come home from war

You read the daily newspapers to know about everything else

Trying to care about them, when you don’t know anything about yourself

You give up your seat for others, thinking it’s an act of selflessness

When in reality, you just hate yourself to much to deserve any duress

And you think that you’re happy, but you’re just distracted

Choosing to admire the vivid carnage when you have self-destructed

Because it’s all the same to you, and it just doesn’t matter whether

Your life gets blown apart mile-high or moves inch by inch like a feather

Blind boy, when will you see that they’re all laughing at you?

Your youth is too old to pursue the optimism of a hard-knock truth

When can you draw the broken line between a break-up and a breakdown?

When will you stop trying to swim and simply let yourself drown?

Ignorant boy, don’t be sorry for believing the lies, but will you ever even learn

That this dismal, ravaged wreck of a world will turn and turn and turn

No matter how much you stumble, trip, and cry on your faded hand-me-down shirt

Time won’t stop, your friends won’t care, your wounds will still bleed and burn

You can scream but no one will listen; foolish boy, don’t you see you’re not much worth?

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