Tag Archives: reality

You’re No Fun Anymore (You Never Were)

You’re going down the road that’s the same one that we have
We cannot wait to watch life kick you in your ass
I shed a little tear for all of you out there
There’s no way to escape, welcome to hell…

~*~

Oh, so the world doesn’t care about all your pedantic sorrows

Why are you so surprised that the sun will still rise tomorrow?

Clocks wouldn’t hitch their breaths just so you could catch up

And boxing gloves don’t soften the blow if you’ve had enough

You ask for a break like you deserved such a precious privilege

Scream at mouths to shut up when you spew the same trite shit

You said it yourself hypocrite, just repair it with your own tools

Don’t go around asking pleas, for the ones you once called fools

Oh, the world doesn’t care about your melodramatic ascencions

Why are you surprised it still revolves, when yours won’t go on?

Warn you’ll turn into a beast when you are pushed to your limits

But end up sobbing and whining, life’s just fucking unfair, isn’t it?

~*~

Because it doesn’t get better, unless you’re pretty
It doesn’t get better, unless you’ve got money
It doesn’t get better, so just give up
It never gets better, no, it gets worse…

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Jealous Butterflies and Ochre Moth Wings

We’re just two jealous souls breaking envy against the tidal waves, bleeding out elaborate cesspools fervently, and leaving soundless mouths agape for the stained porcelain butterflies to enter, hoping that the fragile incipient creatures would exit our perfidious throats undaunted and provide our dilapidated larynx with an ameliorated song to sing. Yet we only manage to choke on their flimsy polychrome wings and cough them out unceremoniously before we suffocate, the meek and hapless butterflies bent in twisted angles, traces of leaden dust leaving residues of faithful solemnity in our tinted lips, tongues whispering the painful words that no sane mentality dares to hear, destroying the only scant chances for our treasonable prayers to receive heaven.

Then, after all the nascent vituperation that ensconces our quiet bones like an impaired skylight, where would we be? Plucking burnt tawny moth wings out of wilted candle wicks in the destitute hopes that they shall acquiesce the same way those quaint looking glass butterflies did, yet never realising that there is no fraudulence nor varied substitute for that abstract tessellation, that modicum of infinity, that metamorphosed dimension that those nebulous lepidopterons accumulate and exhale. Recovery cannot be replaced, and a replacement cannot be recovered. Amid the failing maiden glow and taffy-stretched daydreams, there is only maligned reverie by maimed lightweights, attempting to endow the subtler nuances of this life a vaguer and more coruscant definition.

Against the jade-eyed desires that we fought ever so vigilantly with inured devastation and bargained discrepancies, against the covetous recidivism and the elaborate secondhand lies that come tucked along within it like opening a painted russian nesting doll, against the prehensile avarice ascending above everything and drowning us in its remorseless cyclone, our jealous souls stand resolutely falling apart. There are no more iridescent enamel butterflies to count prismatic wishes on, no more ashen moth wings to cling onto fragments of faith for, no more candid humility and hackneyed selflessness and altruistic implications, only an imminent invidia and bilateral resentment. Reality ensues, and chaos along with it. Where will our lost nightmares dream now?

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Streamers Over Empty Shadows

I’ve got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water
And pictures of you and I’m not coming out
Until this is all over, and I’m looking through
The glass where the light bends at the cracks…

~*~

Maybe it just didn’t matter

That our house was a table emptier

In an absence of good food and spilled water

And gregarious pictures and laughter

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore

That we ceased attempting to keep score

And that everyday brings me dread

For the time it all comes to a head

Maybe we’re just falling out

The way ancient things always do somehow

The history corroded and rusted

And I shot the bullet that left it dead

Maybe we’re all just too busy

Doing what’s important, picking a priority

No time for relaxing and companions

Instead eating out time and cramming lessons

Maybe I’m just being selfish

And a melodramatic conniving bitch

But I needed alleviation, yet no one showed

Until I left my whiskey out in the cold

Maybe things are simply changing

Just like how they should be carrying

Life is just seconds from detonating again

Now we don’t say if, but we say when

Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter anymore

That this little ritual of ours has become a bore

Maybe you stopped to care, but it’s sad to say

When I needed it the most, no one arrived to stay.

~*~

And I’m screaming at the top of my lungs pretending
The echoes belong to someone, someone I used to know
And we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go…

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Suicide is Imperative; Dying is Relative

Stop me before I go to waste
For every heart that’s born can easily be torn away
I can’t comply to this state of consciousness
That we call life, and though I stand here to perish
I will stand here ’till I die…

~*~

Suicide is such a selfish word, isn’t it?

An exquisite hum never to be whispered

And muttered under cautious hushed breaths

But don’t let your sweet little girl pull the trigger

And send her down along to her early death

It’s the last resort to someone who has nothing

Failure is relative, but then again so is dying

An easy way out, you don’t need to leave a note

Be an open ending with your last pages never wrote

Jealous hearts seek clarity in forms of twisted mentality

Bladed sobriety, I wish someone would find me

But no dares to ask, and no one dares to kindle and ignite

The bonfire that might burn down the entire midnight

The attempts I’ve hidden behind star-spangled band-aids

The promises thrown away like an extinguished hand grenade

Guilt, pain, contrition shaken up like a secret toxic potion

Three cheers and toast to us, and here’s to murderous emotions

For the lifelines we destroyed, the stars that will outlast

The existence that will never be, the sulphurous bite of the past

For giving up the ghost so hard the grim reaper gets chills

For the recovery that is bullshit misery, for all the numbing thrills

Don’t decode the snarled banter, dying’s really just entertaining

A childish amusement, they say it’s serious, but why am I laughing?

It’s so easy to throw yourself to the vultures instead of the sharks

There’s nothing left to be salvaged if you’re already torn apart

Suicide, it’s such a disgustingly beautiful word, isn’t it?

For the bruised minds that keep slipping under the lack of leverage

Three unlucky syllables can never sum up all the sussurous pleas

Never to do it, for our spines never to be avaricious nor weak

But sometimes, enough is just fucking enough, isn’t it?

Never mind the big picture of the future if the details are flawed

The decades I have left won’t compare to the halcyon thought

For the peaceful centuries of eternity that my corpse has left to rot

Life is difficult. I should just kill myselfshouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I?

~*~

Stop me from making more mistakes
Fallen friends have learned their lessons
Fate their teachers taught them all too late
Don’t teach me too late, just hide me from my fate…

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Fast Nights in Baltimore Bars

I took a walk for the very first time
On the dark side of the dance floor
Lit a match just to heat things up
But I got more than I bargained for
Mixed drinks, mixed feelings of elation
I should have known it was a one night invitation…

~*~

Stomachaches and bloodshot traffic lights

Sessions under the sewers and later nights

Angels drink in the city’s insalubrious pubs

Travesties and immoralities, say it’s all love

.

Cause a scene, say what you mean and dare

They’ll fall asleep, knowing you’re not there

Imbibe a dose of reality, a handful of ativan

Lose all trace of humanity to become a man

.

Locked up behind closets, seven minutes tore

Therapeutic unzipping for the playbook score

Five vodka tonics and a misdialed phone call

Acrid tang of mouthwash and bedroom walls

.

Champion friends turned cutthroat solicitation

Pleasantaries choked in stones and desperation

Prized devil horns mounted above the fireplace

Stories of grandeur stitched and tailored in lace

.

Cutting problems with kiddie scissors and unglued

Riveted jaws hang open, loathes passed like the flu

Bad bickering of dollar bills paid under the counter

Chances of stolen jackets and spiels of spilled water

.

Billboards of painful neons, signs of dim fluorescents

Hundred-storey buildings and pseudo-smiles crescent

And if we die tonight, then we’ll die feeling more alive

If they find our remains tomorrow, again we will dive.

~*~

Don’t sweat it, forget it, everything is a-okay
Just let it, go then it’s, off to find another face
I make you come just to watch you leave
You walk around with my heart on your sleeve
Don’t sweat it, it’s over now, our time ran out…

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averted ambition

i’m so tired

from chasing

after empty air

and looking

for something

that isn’t there

i want badly

to believe that

it’s more than

it ever seems

but am i just

fooling myself

is it just a futile

otiose dream?

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Credence Revival

I gots a lot to learn
But I learn a lot, I’m not concerned
You’ve got a lot of burns
From all this pessimism you said
Miscommunication…

~*~

Regrets adamant, remorseful shame sternly pressing at the back of my throat

If I’ve held on to my beliefs tighter, would that make it harder for faith to let go?

I’m attempting to beat down the monstrous odds with a bantam plastic sword

And disregarding the tongues they have cut away so that I can get the last word

.

I took their plans, drawn and carefully-laid out, and I spilled my blood all over

Until my moral compass and the road to vices are practically indistinguishable

This is a cosmic sitcom, not blatant sanctity that can be written on plain paper

I’m fucked for simply thinking I have a motivation that is never extinguishable

.

Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, ask for blessings but receive a curse

Desperate for a reckoning, delirious over second chances, drinking against thirst

In the atrocity of life’s reliquary, I’m only wishing to find any smidgen of cohesion

But all the platitudes of confidence and trust were nothing but blank superstitions.

~*~

Fake apologies (Fake apologies)
Can I just call it quits, I can’t take all of this
Fighting all of me (Fighting all of me)
I want a second chance, but I’m so broken…

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backwards looking forward

the future excites me

but it also scares the fuck out of me

for it’s quite fun to dream

about all those little what-ifs

and could-haves

and all the things yet to do

in a future that’s not carved in stone

but i still need the notches

as a leverage to hold on

and life is handing me the chisel now

i wonder if i would take it

or let my fear get the better of me

and take the plunge

as i let myself simply fall

even though i know fully well that

i couldn’t fly.

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A Letter For Future Youngbloods

As little moments fade, they come forth at night
Demanding all I think about, maybe it’s how we roll
Well, I can’t get better of stone, I won’t be letting her
Out and I can’t keep drowning this down…

~*~

Don’t let my arrival stutter this departure

Hostile eyes for bankrupt hearts endured

A balance between cosmos and dopamine

Atrium burns irascible, drunk on kerosene

.

High time to return my inimical courtesies

Retaliate and sophisticate, lavished parody

Atrophy my sanity, perversity on the floors

Convalesce as I lock up the revolving doors

.

Moments of sunshine, share words of harm

Briefcases brimmed blue, serpentine charm

Girls in the courtyard as boys make amends

Falling dollars, promises and lies to be spent

.

Cutting corners, raised stakes, paint, repent

Gamble equivocal disgrace, true half-meant

Situation at its vertex, but it never escalates

The venturers and inveterates said retaliate

.

But the end’s always the same as all the rage

Lying all alone and sleeping on spare change

Waiting for the world to reveal its only hand

Children of men, don’t pretend to understand

.

Glowing eyes extinguished by the fading moon

Kings of contagious plagues, stonewall’s gloom

Force of habit take society’s fashionable design

What is yours is mine and what is mine is mine

.

If I gave you all of my decency, showing up my only face

Ostentate, create, but don’t spend all of that in one place

Dear unfortunate youngblood, where did your youth go?

Your future’s squandered away, there’s nowhere to be so.

~*~

Oh, your eyes they glow
So pretty, they’ve lost their word
They king me the love
And I know I’m dead inside
I’m reminded every night
So girl, just know it won’t be me…

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Disasterology 305: Dial D-E-A-T-H For Disaster

Can we create something beautiful
And destroy it?
Nobody knows I dream about it
This is my imagination…
If every living thing dies alone
What am I doing here?

~*~

If I taught you to dream, would you finally learn to sleep?

I’ll amaze you with the million stars I hide under my bed

Build me a wreck from a beauty I created but I can’t keep

You’re bad for my health, I’ll take one aspirin for my head

.

Catatonic hearts scream, from the energy keeping us awake

And shafts of sunlight beat down harsh on beautiful victims

Another unwritten telegram on the ceiling is all that it takes

For our getaways to run away, as your provenance is sinking

.

Will you pick me up if my mirror starts bleeding phantoms?

It hurts less if I pick up my pieces and drink my own venom

The words are running away from me, should I try to chase?

Clockwork temper with your contagious distractions in place

.

Will you be there when I die? Are you too caught with fame?

Are you just a nightmare? Do you even remember my name?

The acid answer would be the reason that my wineglass falls

I’m tired of waking up to a reality of answering machine calls

.

Buried close together in a shallow grave which was built for only one

These flower wreaths are choking me, cliché roses left for cliché suns

Wounds and bandages tangling, unraveled in farewell of a handshake

For dial tone sessions with your dying voice, I don’t mind staying up late.

~*~

If every living thing dies alone
What am I doing here…?
(Fuck it!) If it’s the end of the world!
If it’s the end of the world!
You and me should spend
The rest of it in love!

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