Tag Archives: run

Consumed


Entrée # 1: Hors d’œuvre

There’s blood in my fingers from where you broke them clean

Take another bite of my quivering torso, gut the blade in my spleen

I’ll be alright, my bloodshot eyes roll back at your finer tastes

If you’re planning to murder me, dear, just don’t let me go to waste


Entrée #2: Apéritif

I couldn’t lose it, I wouldn’t lose it, this time, this time I swear

They all look so goddamn tantialising to me, they’re all so unaware

My cracked lips are watering at the thought of flesh rather aged

I’m five seconds away from counting down and going into a rampage


Fine Dining: Plat Principal

The rioting voices in my head screamed “Run, why don’t you?!”

But I’m afraid I’m enjoying my own homicide scene far too much to stop

Turn around, let me see the perpetrator, let me take you through

It’s not fair, with every gland and chemical, they ruptured in another trap


Save Some Room: Assiette à Dessert

What…what the fuck happened? All I see is a decaying cadaver still smiling

And sweet postmortem laughter digging at the back of my head, latching to me

I searched for a drag, lost restraint again, and satisfied myself with my  f e e d

I said that I’ll stop killing for greed, but I never said I’ll stop for what I  n e e d.


 

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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run boy run

and i just don’t want

to spend the rest of my life

chasing down another

hollow-pointed ambition

i’m already too late, so

i need to start now, or else

i will never go on.

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running mouths

you don’t know

just how difficult it is

and how much

i fucking try

because it’s much

harder to stay clean

than it is to relapse

but i thought i could

with every faith i’ve got

i fervidly believed i could…

until your snide remarks

threw every effort

every restraint, and

every chance i have to

change my ways

all out the damn window

insensitive callous cunt

you think it’s all in good fun?

well, it fucking hurt me

worse than the blade ever did

and if that’s your sense of humour

you’re just fucking sick

and now you ask me

what’s wrong

as if it wasn’t your fault

that i’m this way now

and that my breakdowns

got a little bit too loud

i’m sorry, am i disturbing you?

how inconsiderate of me

i’ll try to keep it down

you ask me if i need

medication, or counseling

why? so other people could

clean up the mess that

you fucking made?

i’d take up on your offer

but i’m too busy trying to

contain my relentless shivering

and begging myself

not to do this to myself anymore

and i’m trying to convince

myself not to die right now

so it would really be best

if you just left there and then

and wallow in your own ignorance

because there’s nothing else

you can do for me

unless you want to exacerbate

the fucking damage, then

in which case, please

fucking go, and have at it

and don’t hold back this time

you’re welcome to give

me a reason to continue this

or just stop everything permanently

but just as i’m calming down

and picking up the pieces

of the fucking mess i am, i hear

you gossiping upstairs

shamelessly, bitching out

to fellow ears as incredibly shallow

and as stupid as yours

as if that would ameliorate shit

you want to make things better now?

well you fucking can’t

get that through your thick skull

and your overly-inflated ego

and just fuck off back to legoland

in your happy little place

of neurotypical munchkins

that don’t cry for no reason at all

that don’t hurt themselves

that could stop being depressed

when you want them to

when you tell them to stop

it’s such a shame that you

just had to ruin what could be the

beginning of a clean slate

ending it with a tactless joke

you just had to set loose past your

reviling, inconsiderate tongue

and what sickens me the most

is how true it all is

how this fucked-up family

does indeed make me slit my wrists

you want me to live up

to your alecky bullshit chides?

fine. i’ll fucking do it

it’s easier for me anyways

if it’s what you want, it’s what i need

and shit, how can i even complain?

after all, you goddamn well know what’s best.

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california soul

Stay young and at the top of our lungs
Our hands are free, our lives have just begun!
It’s getting dark, we should go back
But what’s the use if what you love is what you have?
And I could die right now for something beautiful
To take me somewhere else; oh, I try to calm down
As I drag myself along these severed hands…

~*~

stay young

and keep your hands on the gun

don’t move along

and stay for the night

for the dark night that bleeds

in drunken colours

away from everything else

in the picasso paintings we called home

before we calmed down

and stopped severing our songs

so break me down

break down the better parts

that make us scream in the backseat

of crashing red cars

and i won’t run this time

so run me over

i’ll tally up the torques

torture me with tiring promenades

and hand grenades

and alcoholic stories that leave my cheeks numb

and when i pass the fuck out

carry me to my door

like you never promised me before

and i’ll leave you to stare

at the closed windows

throwing brick walls to play fair

just don’t bother with praying

don’t bother me

if the burning sun persists to remind you

don’t listen to the rain

listen to the suffocating hallways

give me what you can take

and if you still think you’ll be sorry

darling, your voice is keeping me awake

so what if i forget regret?

by then i wrote all these apologies

a thousand fucking times now

until i could taste the wounds on my tongue

until my hands are dragged into the ocean

until i don’t know what it means to be alive

what does it mean to breathe?

you lacerated my lungs

and monopolised my oxygen

so i guess i asked the wrong person

and i would do it again

until you love every broken bone in my body

but do you even give a fuck

that it’s cold outside

and all my mutated veins are frozen over

into dismembered accidents

of a lifeless smile?

don’t keep haunting me, darling

texas may be forever but california isn’t

and we could only wish to swim

against inferno summers and dishwater hurricanes

parched throats like a pyromaniac

before we crash on the rocks

and end up losing our bedrooms in the sky

did you fall away?

heaven is yours to plot my demise

when we’re stumbling over west coast clubs

and deadlocked in socal lies

i make the best mistakes to choose

when you’re wearing my lipstick and i’m in your shoes

crying until the lemon groves grow

and turn our memories of encino holidays sour

desecrating sacrilegious in santa cruz

saint anna has nothing left to lose

and los angeles is chanting ooh, la la la

the walk of fame is tipsy

the stars don’t remember their fame

hollywood is getting far too busy

and we’re covered in blood in san francisco

standing by the earthquake’s fault line

trying desperately to find out

which of us pushed the other one

but i’ll remember all the disasters forever

like how we convulsed with laughter

dissecting, exploring our decaying anatomies

relapsing into recovery

dancing circles around the hospital

and never even asking what’s happening to us

as we’re dragged under hispanic dust

dizzying in spin the bottles and betting hack money

ferris wheels and carousels and vomit

confusion reassuring with promises full of shit

the happiest place on earth feels sorry

disneyland’s just a ride away

watching movies at anaheim driveways

falling asleep at the rolling credits

diving into high tide currents of long beach

until one of us drowns deep

and we hid away in sulphur kisses

poignant in mission bay high

crushing red cups in san diego backyards

digging crowns and graves in clairemont for the day we die

so hold your mouth, we’ll be fine

i’ll tell you you’ll be okay, but i would be lying

for romance, for a chance

to entrance the devils pumping blood

for a nonexistent god

for you, for me, for loveless mercy

for love and everything that’s bad in this world

you whisper “baby, i’d kill for you”

oh honey, don’t you see? i’d fucking kill you

i’d count the sugar on your lips

i’d count the stars that collide all over your skin

i’d count all the chemicals that saturate me

when you count the sand on the shore like sweeter sins

soaking me in

breaking me down

until i’m wasted on your voice

until the wine tastes cheap

and until we’re entangled

like grey cobwebs and red tapes

and starving friends preaching eloquence

like our elusive selfish escapes

so please shatter your mirrored soul for me

and i’ll paint them over in stained glass

for the hollow cathedral

we’ll murder our lusted vows in

we both knew this moment would never last

cause i loved your shameless destruction

and that was a fucking mistake

i should’ve loved everything else in your dying eyes, darling

because that was all it would ever take.

~*~

I’m gonna buy a cheap bouquet before it dies on the display
(Gonna break down) Break down the better side of me
(The better side of me) Well I know, I know if I die young
Then we can wake up screaming in your bed
And our lungs are begging us to calm down!

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Beware The Rattlebones

“It was perfectly dark, now, but the opening door disturbed the air, and I heard things rattle gently, like dry bones in thin bags, in the slight wind. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.” ~Trigger Warning; Neil Gaiman

~*~

Beware the rattlebones, my child

Who runs every hallow’s eve in the wild

Beware its sharp teeth and sharper smile

That charms like a flower and bites like a file

Beware the thin fingers and nails of green

The chants of red and whispers of mean

And trifle bones that rattle and shake

As if your own heart, it quivers and breaks

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

For its soul is black and mind grimmer wild

When the fell night is sparse and serene

It goes click click click through the evergreen

As yonder ravens forebode a shrill cry

Still under ominous mist and past the starless sky

It thus waits, for a wandering victim to walk

Into its precarious winds so the poor one it could stalk

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

Who treads the forest beyond the wild

As its glowing eyes of blinding white

Shall take you on with such a vicious sight

Beware the inky blood that steadfastly drips

From its mangled dry skin and stretched-out lips

Touch not the roughness of its crackled flesh

Hear not its bloodcurdling cackles, or else

.

Beware the rattlebones, my child

For it lives and breathes not only in the wild

It can sneak up to your bedroom window

And no nightlight nor blanket can make it go

But beware if it visits you as you peacefully repose

For you are chosen to be its supper close

If you do unfortunately meet the rattlebones, child, then

Run like hell, or you’ll become one of them.

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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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excuses

may i

please be

excused

for the

rest of

my life?

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Shortsighted Longviews

Sit around and watch the tube, but nothing’s on
I change the channels for an hour or two
Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit
I’m sick of all the same old shit
In a house with unlocked doors
And I’m fucking lazy…

~*~

Life is heading nowhere

Let’s beat up junkies in this dead-end shit town

I’ve smoked my eyes red

And turned my whole life and brain upsidedown

My room is a total mess

Of posters, porn magazines and week-old pizza

But I don’t have to stress

If I clean it up, I’ll lose track of my own paranoia

My remote is so worn-out

Surfing the channels but I end up watching static

A tidal wave of chips and soda

Of trash and junk piling up under this ratty sofa

There’s no bullies I could fight

No school walls I can spray paint with fuck you

And I’m sick of thinking right

And looking for a father that I never even knew

My skateboard lost one wheel

And my knees are too skinned to recover now

Afternoon heat’s suffocating

I hate having to go out and have a blast anyhow

There’s nothing else to do

All my friends are busy making out behind diners

I can fake my own death

But I’m just too lazy to think about it any further

Soggy, bathed in apathy

Wasting time by counting the hairs on my head

Being a creep to the girls

Acne on my face spelling loser, I’d rather be dead

They say I’m being dumb

But I’m just another stupid kid who has the right

And I just wanna be numb

To the pain of thinking of growing up overnight

Am I whining again, mother?

This broken home I live in still hasn’t fixed itself

My head cracked like the streets

You don’t have to care if it’s all bad for my health

Playing the same old cycles

I’m just a hairy dog trapped under the summer rain

So where’s the motivation?

It’s fucking lonely, and I’m the only one who remains

I lit fireworks ’til I burned out

There’s no light at the end of this suburban purgatory

Nothing but a juvenile doubt

Picking scabs and bleeding, let me escape this misery

Maybe I will run away again

Hitch my way or maybe jump over the turnstile train

Until the pighead cops catch me

And send me back to bed, busted-up and beaten badly

I still wonder what the hell to do

They say it’s teenage angst, but I’m too fucking angry to listen

I don’t know if I’ll have a better view

When I come around the noose, and I’ll still be jaded even then.

~*~

Bite my lip and close my eyes
Take me away to paradise
I’m so damn bored I’m going blind
And I smell like shit…

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The Last Young Renegade

Long live the reckless and the brave
I don’t think I want to be saved
My song has not been sung
And long live the fast times, so come what may
I don’t think that I’ll ever be saved, I know
Our song has not been sung, long live us…

~*~

The first time strikes

Like a fatal blow

As the anarchic trite

Is a puerile glow

Passing fickle crimes

Consenting none

Pioneers of renegade

Bring out the sun

Youth and the world

War of a reckless

Glamour and talking

In tongue feckless

Long live brave fools

Mayday, they say

Profound, old school

Friction burn day

Trapped in suburbia

Caught on tarmac

Trainers worn-down

And hoodies black

The nights to arrange

Fast times dignity

Run out from normal

And old modesty

Tread black-top lines

Of spastic change

Spontaneous fervour

Could be arranged

But if rebels surmount

Punctual refugees

Restrained and recede

Scant probabilities

An unforgiving planet

Looks are deceiving

They’ll take the crown

But you’re winning

And the last time strikes

Descending in storms

And this juvenile chaos

Is worth fighting for.

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