Tag Archives: problems

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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anatomical dissection: brain

what hurts more,

remembering to forget

or forgetting to remember?

.

you count all the wins

and all the pyrrhic losses

that take your victories under

.

what hurts more,

the scars on your shoulders

or the scars inside your mind?

.

invisible to the naked eye

but a succumbing force that

makes you lose what you’ll find

.

what hurts more,

staying for the sake of leaving

or living for the sake of staying?

.

lock the pain up in your room

and hope this house burns down

with you still trapped inside, crying

.

what hurts more,

all the words that they said

or the words you never spoke?

.

sticks and stones don’t break bones

but splints and cement puts them back

quietly mending what you always broke

.

what hurts more,

knowing too much of everything

or drowning in your own ignorance?

.

scourge for knowledge, miss for bliss

drain the oceans and fill up the abyss

self-hatred fighting your self-defiance

.

what hurts more,

this cold logical ideology

or the lying sentimental truth?

.

it’s a constant push and pull

of devastating dreams and riled reality

inspiring like the rabbit inspires the wolf

.

what hurts more,

overthinking things again

or not thinking about it at all?

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Of Despair and Last Resorts

So on to the ocean and into the sea
So balanced and calm now, that’s where I will be
So on to the ocean and into the sea
Wash away all my problems, wash away memories
Back then, always through the shattered glass
I stared at my life, and oh, I wished I would die…

~*~

Desperation, desperation, desperation.

A mother so desperate to pay back the unwanted debts she’s accumulated under a harrowing time pressure of “sooner than later”, that she’s tearfully begging her long-deceased husband’s portrait for help and verbally contemplating suicide in front of her children, splashed with witty acerbic remarks to conceal her true intentions.

“If I don’t go home tomorrow, just watch the news and you know what you’ll see.”

A woman so desperate to make amends with her best friend that she personally owes, not just money, but also so much of herself for, and attempting to save face from any further unnecessary embarrassment, that she takes out her unbridled anger on everyone else, including her family, herself, and even her very own infant son.

“You’re all fucking useless. Why don’t you just die if you can’t do anything to help?”

A person desperate for redemption, desperate for change, so fucking desperate to take away any further troubles and problems that they might cause to their family; so much so that they’re prepared to do anything to achieve such a goal, even if it means abandoning their education and their future ambitions just to find an easier route to support them. Or perhaps—a darker and easier solution that’s earnestly contemplated—just to completely remove themselves out of the equation.

“There’s less money to be spent and wasted if I’m not here, right?”

Desperation, it clings to the bruised necks of the needless like curved brier thorns, entangling itself inside fragile throats and lodging itself deeper and deeper with the softest cough, choking the sparest breath out of hope until all that’s left is a heartless fear—a fear of everything and nothing all at once, a fear for everyone else and yourself, a fear of the future, the present, and the past—until all that’s left is irrationality and logical foolishness; until all that’s left is reckless death wish.

Yet, even then, desperation still feeds ravenously. And it never starves.

~*~

Take a deep breath now
Pass the shallows

Stay steady and hold on
Through the darkness we all know…

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Worthless Words from a Worthless Wreck

You’re too kind to me, you know that?

I don’t deserve absolution, or warm comfort, or reassuring words, or a steady shoulder to lean on when I cry. I deserve atonement, a punch in the face, a cold scream to strengthen up, I need tough love and tougher hate, because I’m far too spineless for my own good and I shouldn’t be stagnantly melting and caving in to that unwieldy trait anyway.

Do you like hearing about my problems? I don’t honestly believe that. Even I’m so sick of listening to the same old shit that I speak over and over again. Whining about problems so trite and unreasonable, even the purest of angels will certainly hate me for it. Oh, I’m sad again. Big fucking deal, so are a million other people out there, but do you see them complaining? No, so I should just suck it up and shut up about it already.

But I can’t, and I don’t. And you unknowingly get caught up in the middle of this ugly mess.

Just like any other rational person out there, you must think I’m rather obnoxious. Petty. Disgustingly needy. I know that’s not your nature, but still, I understand that, though. On the contrary, I understand it more than anyone else ever will. I know I push everyone’s patience to their breaking limits. I hurt and I hurt, and I’ve hurt other people, and I’ve hurt you, and I’m not worth my time or space, and neither should I be yours.

I’m sorry, but the truth is the truth, no matter how much it makes all the repressing lies in my fucked-up brain seethe indignantly. I’m always so pathetically selfish, but I sincerely never wanted this for you. You’re a decent soul with the best intentions and better people to spend your life on. I’m a bad person. I’m a bad friend. I’m always going bad. So why, just why are you being so good to me?

You’re too kind to me, you know that?

That’s being too cruel to yourself.

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Know Thyself

I’m calling you from the future
To let you know we made a mistake
And there’s a fog from the past
That’s giving me, giving me such a headache
And I’m back with a madness…

~*~

When I reevaluate myself

Where do I start to draw the line

Between the beginning and the change

Down my brain or with my spine?

.

When did my hands start shifting

To change pure gold into black rust

And lucidity became obstinate

Covering the mirrors with cold dust?

.

What place was my starting line

And when did I stumble and trip?

Did I get to the checkered finish

Or trampled by my opponents’ feet?

.

Why did my pen become cynical

And my heart run out of honest ink

How did my eyes fail to see the picture

When did my mind cease to think?

.

Have I truly changed for the better

Or did I just become a stranger shape

From fitting out of the cramped box

Because I wished for a little more space?

.

Did I drift away from my audience

As their applause started to sound the same

Was I meant for a moment in spotlights

Or was I meant to hide away my own name?

.

Were these lines on my face here before

Or the lines on my arms and thighs?

And the lines I once thought avant-garde

Are they now nothing but banal lies?

.

And why did my tongue get longer

But the accuracy in their wings clipped

Confusion may soar abound the sky

But my heavy body refuses to lift

.

Regrets and problems, I once could carry

Have broken my back and my will to be

The things I loved, reduced to wistful smiles

Memories once happy turned sorry

.

I wish I didn’t sulk and drain myself

Turn off the lights just to be haunted by ghosts

I fucking wish I didn’t have to be so insecure

To let emotions linger like a gracious host

.

Sometimes I think I really know myself

Until everyone says the complete opposite

And everything I do turns upsidedown

I become less uncertain of my purposeful visit

.

Just who was I? Or rather, just who am I now?

When I reassess, all I do is think and rethink again

It hurts my head, and I’ll just start to lose myself

Better to keep the present than to bury myself in past skins.

~*~

I got rage every day, on the inside
The only thing I do is sit around and kill time
I’m trying to blow out the pilot light
I’m trying to blow out the light
I’m just young enough to still believe, still believe
But young enough not to know what to believe in…

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How come no one heard her when she said—?

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful
‘Cause no one’s ever told her so
And the demons that she hides are all she knows
And maybe she can fall in love
With someone in her life that she could trust
And tell her she’s enough
(Will someone tell her she’s enough?)

~*~

How come no one

heard her when she

was screaming in her

bedroom at three in the

morning, scratching madly

at the pristine walls until

her fingernails broke and bled?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was crying in a bathroom

stall, all the things they threw at

her leaving marks, and all

the ugly names they chanted at

her still ringing violently in her head?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was slicing and hacking

away at her unhealing skin

so fucking audibly, and when

she slipped on that liquid

and fell with a thud, bruised and

bathed in puddles of dirty red?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

moaned as she rested fitfully

sleep paralysis taking full

control of every recourse

mouthing all the words

to the nightmares, those things

that she’s always left unsaid?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

vomited bile and empty air

kneeling faithlessly in front of the

porcelain god, sharp ribs poking

through her paper chest, even when

she ate nothing the whole day,

with herself she was still disgusted?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was laughing, singing, and

talking by herself, and striking

up lengthy conversations with the

imaginary friends she made up

and the demons that she wed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

asked relentlessly for help

begging and pleading, saying

that no doctor nor medicine

could ever cure her, and perhaps

an iota of support and care

for her was all she ever needed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she was already

being so earsplittingly loud

blind eyes and deaf ears

blaming nothing but the victim

“it was her fault” they say

“she should have said something”

but they all ignored her when

she actually piped up

keeping the regret to the very end—

and now she’s silent forever

and all her words went ahead…

tell me, how come no one

heard her until she was already dead?

~*~

Maybe I’m better off dead
If I was, would it finally be enough
To shut out all those voices in my head?
Maybe I’m better off dead, better off dead!
Did you hear a word, hear a word I said?
This is not where I belong
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…

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Sidewalk Outlines

I’m half remembered, halfway across the world
Twice removed from a second home
The shadow of a ghost in an old haunt
With a lease on life, ’cause I can’t afford to own
When being young starts getting old
A new place saves face or so I’m told
Be the new kid, on an old block…

~*~

Chalk letters and chalk outlines

Of your body in the blacktop

Playground games that defined

The monsters I couldn’t stop

.

I’m always critical of critics

Casting stones among its kin

As short-sight lovers kicked

Caution off the curbs to win

.

My criminal words misleading

The restless radio remembering

Those vertigo grenades I threw

And I never thought it through

.

Friction turns to sparks but

There is no fuel to feed me

A life of lies, forget-me-not

Legends of a falsified story

.

It’s a big mistake, a big revelation

Towards problematic medication

Substances crafted to taste bitter

Pretending to make me feel better

.

Mechanical cities erasing our names

So say goodbye to playground games

Struggles turned to memories killed

And your chalk outline is left unfilled.

~*~

I’m just a moment, so don’t let me pass you by
We could be a story in the morning
But we’ll be a legend tonight—
Cause you and I, we’re alive
But just for a moment…

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4 a.m. depression and jealous pasts dripping off the ceiling

thrumming

like fucking echoes

of a firefly miracle

in my coronary doldrum

beating, b-r-o-k-e-n

tongue hanging off

like the way the stars

hold on for gravity but

fall against pierced glass

of darkness anyways

i’m relapsing, r e  c   e    d     i      n        g

the past is killing me again

i say i’m alright

but shit, what if i lied

to myself as well?

the cringes that burrowed

their way into my gelid skin

and gutted my stomach

until i end up heaving in

blood and bile and scissor blades

and choking on perfume

as sweet as promises undone…

fuck you. fuck YOU

please leave me alone, walk

away from my nightmares and

leave my sanity on the doormat

i don’t want to taste your pain

and leave drunk calls on

your answering machine again.

please stop me from you

everything is hurting like hell

on a four a.m. depression

and i’m just trying to fucking

take back sunday and my sleep

from you, so spare me the

profanities and give it back

please, won’t you?

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Lost Work

As a writer, you have had those insanely frustrating moments where, perhaps by your own careless fault or perhaps by unforseen circumstances, you accidentally delete your work, when it’s already a lengthy output and you’ve been slaving at it and typing it down for literal hours. And no matter how hard you tried, begged, or prayed to the million feasible gods, goddesses, and any ethereal entities that may chance upon to listen to your unfortunate situation, it’s all futile, and you’re still unable to get it back. With no backup copy and unwilling to recreate the same rendition, you just sink in a depressing state of regret and drown in an ocean of violent expletives, as you think vexingly about how your work is forever, vanished into the blue, swallowed down the drain, evanesced into nothingness, ultimately disintegrated into the goddamn aether where all lost ideas all go to fucking die.

…Now only if the problems and anxieties that you inputted in that lost work would just as easily disappear with it.

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★ oh no ☆

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

there’s a taste in that bittersweet word

that calm expression, passé tongues

speaking as if they didn’t crash worlds

and left the sun and moon to hang

the hearts colliding with every beat

and souls gain momentum in a heat

the bastards take their velvet seats

and watch the show, clapping teeth

from afar, the diabolic supernova

looks to be a marvellous hysteria

streaks and arcs of light intertwined

you witness a million stars fall declined

and yet, oh! the beauty, the irony, the

sheer cruelty of it all, for when all of the

constellations head south and lose glow

and one densely exclaims a soft ‘oh no’

when the planet loses orbit revolutions

and hurtles into a hopeless dissolution

there will always be someone so tactless

that whispers back their pleased ‘oh yes’.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations