Tag Archives: reality

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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Ex Nihilo

Oh, but don’t you see? We’re made to destroy

Shooting arrows onto the pockmarked ceiling

Until it loses its shaky grip, and begins falling

Finding another home in the chasm of our skin

.

Creating the chaos that even god won’t decimate

The first sin and final revelation, we will recreate

Holding back the maelstrom, a cataclysm presents

With every pain and agony, the loathing we resent

.

Chasing back the darkness, like starved animals we breathe

Savages tearing apart throats to shreds to get what we’ll need

Bleeding, bruised, medicine refused, suffering keeps us awake

Or we will never stay alive under the weight of all our mistakes

.

Running away from reality, breaking in nothing as we stalled

Tortured eyes seek wandering lies, and scratching at the walls

They make signs and burn our names in the wake of destruction

That we caused with our dying hands, genocide of the generation

.

Can I just have one more, one more…can I just have one more taste?

I won’t make it, won’t make it—I won’t make it through another day

Pleading and obliterating, until all that’s left is you and I alone to die

We’re made to destroy this decomposing world of devastation tonight.

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The Game Played Right

Is there anyone who can make me see?
Help me breathe
Is there anyone who can make me feel alive inside?
Sink or swim is all I know tonight
Well take me to the bed, it feels so right
Wake me up…

~*~

I keep on lying. The silent pieces remain unapologetically in my lips, melting and melding together and apart, clashing like shades of blue and gold, until my smiles are mutated and my bated tongue is in shreds. Fear is an embrace I’ve learned to take upon myself, selling myself short to it, buying away the final remaining original thoughts I’ve slaved over in myriad sleepless nights until I’m a-la carte. Change is to blame for the causeless effect, and I’m asking for more from what can’t be taken away from me, cutting corners and targeting the contrition with a bolted gun, as if that would solve my problem. Would that open the deadlocked box of hope, containing those transient reminiscences of what used to be faith, keeping my wrists from giving itself up to bladed handcuffs and abrading ropes?

No, because it’s been open all this time. I’m merely pretending that it’s fully out of grasp, stuffing the sunshine in a pocket with a hole, then feigning remorseful surprise when I grasp the cloth and fail to feel its reassuring outline. I won’t get away, just as the moon can’t break away from its cruel mistress, no matter how hard it tries. Dependence requires sustenance, never mind if one’s getting hurt, never mind if one’s just wasting time and lightyears, never mind that there’s someone who sucks on the cigarette and there’s one who gets snuffed out in the ashes of its former companions, and both are slowly dying with each harmful, addicting, nicotine drag. Perhaps it’s better to move on, burn my house down with the lighter, and stab a flag on top of a desolate mountain, letting the frigid Arctic breeze pierce my lungs, reminding me that I’m dead inside, day by day, every single night.

Yes, the truth hurts worst when you’re lying on your back in a hollowly-carved bed, watching the tick of the sagging clock draw frowns on your dripping beige ceiling, the crude notches on the bedpost your only substitute for a calendar, not even the gathering dust on your windowsill keeping track of your blunt existence, but is that really such a bad plotline to read into? After all, I’m a mere instrument of conflict, and if I do not fulfill my function, I have no point, and dull instruments are of no use to anyone but the junkyard. So, what’s the point but pointlessness? What is there to release from arrogance, from selfishness, from egocentric human needs and desires, shallowness sucking away the will to speak in freedom, constantly starving for lust and lusting for starvation and dying from either loneliness or hunger in the end?

Give me that. Give me an answer that would morph my vulgar counterfeit laughter back into a purely genuine jubilance, give me a reply that would wash away the contracting fallacies in my conflicted mind and make my craving lecherous soul finally taste the decadent truth, give me a statement to swim in and sink under as I ponder deeply upon it and spend all my cashed-in stars to figure it out until I may finally repose in peace, give me an oratorical rhetoric that would drag me out of the hands of the angels in the ambulance and shock my heart into sinus rhythm, give me something, anything at all that would set this hellish perpetual carousel in a dead jolting halt and wouldn’t throw me off the cutthroat ride, give me—give me what I want. Yet, is what I want really what I need?

Never. Because in this reality, the parallel cruelty prevents any chance of a perfect alignment or even a destined intersection between any limits, and it’s all we can do to keep walking in the thin line and keep a painful positiveness, because backtracking to the negatives would devour us whole, render us irrational, and count us as impossible. Yet, despite knowing all of those and sharing such meaningless contrivances to the eyes that refuse to perceive and the ears that refuse to listen, I still want you to lie to me. Lie to me until your lips are mutated and your bated tongue is in shreds, lie, lie, lie, until the wrong turns right, until forward becomes backwards, until the truth is the ultimate lie, and I’ll gladly do the same to you. After all, we’re just doing what we need to do. We’re just doing all we can do.

~*~

These self inviting auras
Made me bring out the sun
Your body’s played its role
It’s ruined my game
And now I can’t believe I’ve done it
But somehow I still feel
But I still feel, so far gone…

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Filed under Prose

walking on sunshine

nary shall i seek

the sun in poetry

radiance and warmth

an optimistic aesthete

.

rather, i dost seek

the sun in reality

combustive and burning

a dangerous desecrate.

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Synthetic Love

I want to hurt you, I don’t deserve you
Unlace your body, I want total control
Like maggots from the host, you drain, I decompose
Swallow your faith, submit and fuck until we overdose…

~*~

And it’s the kind of love

That makes me slit my wrists

Just so I can prove to you

What you might dare to miss

And if the sunlight dares touch

Your skin, I’ll burn it all out

Darling, you’re simply too much

To satisfy my hunger and doubts

Anyone who speaks your name

Will find themselves maimed

And I’ll burn down all the towns

Of the bastards that left you to drown

Let me taste your writhing agony

Let me hear you scream for me

Let me chase for you with a gun

but I won’t ever hurt you, it’s all for fun

And I’ll slowly pluck off my fingers

To count the days we spent together

Whether you love me or you love me not

We’ll both still be stuck here forever

But it’s the kind of love that makes me

Bleed my heart and slit my wrists

Because I know the reality of you and I

Dear, it will never fucking exist.

~*~

We said this was “the last time” over and over again
(Blind eyes) The closer I get is the further I feel
(Hands tied) And I’m losing my grip on remembering what’s real
‘Cause our synthetic love is all that we know
My head is a mess, and it’s going to explode…

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Life and all Its Fickle Insanities

Is there a right way for being strong?
Feels like I’m doing things all wrong
Still I’m here just holding on
Confess my heart and forgive my wrongs
Just trying to show you something more…

~*~

You’re trying to keep from going insane

Biting down on your heart to keep from crying out in pain

Walking away from the tomorrow they promised

Would be a grand illusion of borrowed pleasantries

.

If nobody loves you, maybe you deserved none

Existence won’t wait for your fickle mindless derisions

Capture the scars, display them in an album

Filled with bad memories and flickering momentum

.

People might stay for the night, but won’t build your dreams

And the sunset taking back the light is more than it seems

You’re just trying to place the bets on the better

Picking the monochromes and greys in a palette of technicolour

.

Hanging barely on the tightropes by your two fingertips

And the audience might just cheer if you happened to sneeze

If nobody takes you, then maybe you’ll take yourself

Don’t bother trying to pick diamonds out of your golden chest

.

Your fractured ribs will give way to the recalescent candle that stares

Breaking the tongues of forever until you’re naif and unaware

Fighting back the night and holding on to the twisted path of right

Dying again and again until you find that final guiding light

.

You’re just trying to keep from keeping insane

‘Cause ain’t that the way of life and its arid little games

Walking towards the today no one will ever give you

But yourself, this illusion may be grand but the escape won’t beat you.

~*~

Nobody’s gonna love you
If you can’t display a way to capture this
Nobody’s gonna hold your hand
And guide you through, it’s up for you to understand
Nobody’s gonna feel your pain
When all is done and it’s time for you to walk away
When you have today, you should say all that you have to say…

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narcolepsy

how can one

go to sleep

if they were

never truly

a w a k e ?

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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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