Tag Archives: sad

Saudade

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my source of discomfort stems from sweeter apathy,

the one that subtly shifts behind frayed sweaters and

bubbles up from under clogged drains; the kitchen sink

is stained with petrified rose petals, your disinfectant love

creeps like cold chlorine under my tongue, and your kisses

taste like taking a deep breath under a swimming pool

but i don’t know why i cough up sea salt in my lungs

and the sand gets in my eyes and my fingernails, the

irritating grit keeps me vainly scratching all throughout

the night. you don’t seem to mind, for you have the covers

wrapped tightly around your body like a quilted cocoon, and

there’s a steady rhythm humming beneath the sweaty pillows;

of oxygen, and slowing pulse, and being unable to dream

while i dream up enough nightmares for the both of us

and the noisy skeletons in our padlocked closet. nobody’s

around to witness me jumping to conclusions, just an

inch of mattress that translates to transcontinental throes

you are so impossibly distant, whilst i quietly sit in the same

chair by the jammed window for hours and let myself wander—

perhaps i might chance upon a fairy tale place where home

feels like home, and not simply another temporary kingdom to lose

your keys; and where you are no longer a strange extraordinary metaphor

but rather, just a tiring contrary cliché that i’ll be more than glad to call my own.

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Febfair

Pondering all alone

Sitting with cold grass

Between curled fingers

And unfinished coffee

Making lips quite sticky

My unplugged earphones

Afraid to make sounds

.

Myriad stands flickering

With flashes of neon colours

Selling dresses and candy

And music and rowdy revelry

But just tell me, Mr. Vendor

Please, where can I buy

Someone to walk with tonight?

.

The crowds passing by

Friends, family, familiarity

Cheering, laughing, enjoying

When there is none for me

Surrounded by old strangers

White noise for humming ears

White noise for sad eyes

White noise in my tired mind

.

From thinking about eternities

Until there is nothing but space

Lost and loved and lost again

An unsent greeting hovering

Anxiety creeping and crawling

As I patiently wait for a person

Who doesn’t even exist at all.

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wanderlust

you are

raindrops

trickling into

my blood

.

the sight of

the new world

after a long

tiring voyage

.

rusty chain links

rattling against

the street youth’s

scuffed shoes

.

five thousand

ways to say

maybe i like

the way you are

.

warm sunset

trapped in

a mason jar

and buried

.

an innocent

kind of swear

the one that

draws a blush

.

the humming

at the back of

a sad song

in b flat minor

.

a ticklish

kind of green

sticky clumps

of feline fur

.

the start of

a good movie

a back-alley

kind of kiss

.

a saturday

forgotten

a leap year

birthday blues

.

argonaut dreams

and cosmic hail

and candle wax

and old poetry

.

you are all

these things

and more, but

you are not

.

h e r e

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down by the fairy ring

oh, this wayward glow

i catch sleepy lightning bugs

and send them off to space

with one last quiet hug

they’ll light up the horizons

for you, when i failed to

do the very same, only you

melt me down like the

plastic jewelry you wear

the crude good luck charms

tarnished promise rings

and the ancient silver locket

with our very first picture inside

the one i always hated

because my hair stuck up

in such strange places, but you

thought it was funny and i

found myself laughing along

recklessly, almost afraid to

let my contracting insides show

pushing down the declaration

building castles in my head

though there’s no one in distress

inside to swoop in and rescue

only my monstrous self

just another forgotten tale

in a dead language no one speaks

but for a moment, i wondered

if you understood it—if you

understood me; the way your

delicate dimples danced to your

own melodies, a half-wit grin

dripping with sonatas and sonnets

and sweet sarcasm, somehow

endearing me like a lantern mystery

buy the paper sun is never mine

to keep, and so away it floats

up to that sky with its purple moon

and flaxen lightning bugs, and

you will nestle perfectly within the

crook of andromeda’s final embrace

for you belong in a place i lost

you belong in a place i don’t.

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malencolie

whenever i am

struck with

melancholy,

i seem to find

that you are

both the cause

and the cure.

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lukewarm mochacchino and headaches at 7-11

Ride into the sun, ride into the sun
Where everything seems so pretty
When you’re lonely and tired of the city
Remember, it’s a flower made out of clay…

~*~

it’s been almost an entire year and then some

since the whole flock last roosted just to stay

we’ve had our cue cards and five seconds of fun

and last call of sour fries and cold waffle cakes

but now only two wasted bodies dance under

bright purple lights and the sedated aspirations

nodding heads, from the bassline, from the sleep

and from the sheer lack of plasticine inhibition

when the world is too angry, we still scream back

the past songs of the fallen, clearly left to attack

show me your secrets, then i will trade you mine

senselessly sober, these parallel lives in decline

but cough just once and we’ll have the sad truth

from stretches of lonely nights and elephant tattoos

inside the small cube you call your own freedom

rainbow sheets, cracked mirrors, limp curtains and

claw machine teddy bears protect your kingdom

it’s not much, but something is better than nothing

while i lose my shadow on concrete and let it do the talking

as time revolves unwound and with it the hopeful euphoria

along with false promises of “see you soon” and highschool drama

and somehow i feel a subtle digging tinge of irrational envy

for the things i badly want to do and yet i couldn’t really be

still stuck in all my childish drawings and untuned melodies

but peter pan, it’s time to grow up, now where’s your reverie?

a painful jolt—raging reality, and all the things i will surely miss

crash and cascade along the failed scars coating my flimsy wrists

consumerism and city blends, and chipped black nails left to gripe

old fairytales forgotten a bit too fast, falling victim to the call of life.

~*~

Where everything seems so ugly
When you’re sitting at home in self-pity
Remember, you’re just one more person
Who’s living there, it’s hard to live in the city…

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Sick Sickly

I go through all the trouble
Of keeping it within my walls
I try to be as subtle as I can
Assume that nothing needs me
All I’ve done defeats me
It looks like you were right again
And again, I let you find it on your own
Then I found myself alone…

~*~

I feel kind of sad today

It’s the type of sad where

I somehow feel physically sick

Of everything and nothing

Of myself and everyone

Of whatevers and howevers

All at once and all I just wanna do

Is curl up until the hurt starts

To wane away—if it ever

Wanes away—and yet I don’t

Even know why I’m so sad

I don’t know why I feel wrong

I don’t know why I’m complaining

When I have scars to remind me

That this is what’s supposed

To be a normal feeling for me

And it shouldn’t come as a

Surprise that I still missed this

I miss feeling like shit, feeling

Like I’ll always miss you, feeling

Like there’s really nothing left

But this miserable stasis I

Locked myself into, and it will

Always be that way, no matter

What I do and how much I try to

Distract myself because it’s

Always going to be what’s left

For me in the end. Just me and

This fucking sickness, the type of

Sad that feels so unreasonable

The type of sad that sticks in my mouth

The type of sad that makes me

Feel okay that it will never be okay

And I should just learn to live with that.

~*~

The more I want in, the more I want in
The less I know, the less I know
But I’m forgotten, I’m forgotten
I’ll be alone, I’ll be alone, I’ll be alone
With everybody watching me
Uh oh, where can I go?
Everybody’s watching me…

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clutter

you are mania

and sad playlists

and pencil-sketched lips

.

you are sweetness

and cold headaches

and portraits, unfinished.

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26 – madness, malls, melancholy

i chase for my friends

forgotten i may be

anticipating the warmth

and better memories

.

breathing the anxiety

in countdowns from three

homesick, carsick, plain sick

hoping for deluded tricks

.

until my blind eyes light up

and my voice gets too numb

from talking, laughing, and

cheering at every little sound

.

though there is a disconnect

that sadder sense of longing

to know they’re moving past

without my outlier belonging

.

i’ll still chase, even when i trip

and show up at every single revelry

with crass smiles and crude gifts

hope i didn’t ruin your birthday party.

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14 – error404: title not found

awful days like these, my brain simply stops working.

it’s a lacklustre string of poetry, an unfinished verse here and there, a crudely-constructed metaphor that even i can’t begin to understand. it’s desperately needing to write, but also not wanting to, somehow. it’s like liquid frustration in a glass bottle.

(see what i mean?)

usually, my creativity is in perfect synchrony with my depression. it’s almost as if every part of my system is also very much willing to expel whatever repressed bullshit is running through my head, and within good reason. i find morbid inspiration in mourning, and writing becomes a whole lot easier for me.

but when it starts going against me like this, fighting hard and fighting long until it gets exhausted and ultimately walks away—and now i feel as if there’s a stopper lodged between my hand and the pen—that’s when everything else in my overthinking subconscious completely goes to hell.

it’s basically being sad without benefits.

such a disgusting thought, isn’t it?

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