Tag Archives: sanity

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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Filed under Prose

Missed Call

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”
~Stephen King

~*~

Every night after his funeral, I always called him on the mobile phone that was buried with him to hear him speaking on the voicemail. Call me rather morbid, but it was simply a little ritual that somehow kept me sane after the loss of my dearest beloved. Though after the events that transpired tonight, I do begin to wonder if I really have managed to retain my sanity after all. Just like any other night, I dialed his number and tapped on the call button; but as I did so, I suddenly heard his ringtone play loudly under my bed. And just as if things couldn’t get any worse, the phone on the other end of the line picked up.

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Filed under Prose

Senseless Serenades

I’m on my toes and there she goes again
The final throes of summer time well-spent
Oh, there she goes…

~*~

d ‘ e s t a t e

In summery throes

Cascading velvet sunlight

There she goes again.

~*~

n o t t e

Night vulnerably

Sordidness regulated

Finite fragile plea.

~*~

l a v a g n a

Chalk on his fingers

Her gold nickname erased

Dust faintly lingers.

~*~

e m i c r a n i a

Pained speculations

Of an acute sanity

Migraines imprisoned.

~*~

m e s s i c o

Little brown niño

In your red and green streamers

Where did your song go?

~*~

a u l a

Chewed pencaps clatter

Silence drowned by clamouring

Whispers in smatter.

~*~

l u n a  p a z z o

Moon rippling sullen

Weaving lunar tendencies

For one more madman.

~*~

i l  p u z z o n e

Dark dismal nexus

And violence infectious

Broke solar plexus.

~*~

z i t t i r e

Falsetto facade

Lips moving, but no sounds have

Reached beyond her veil.

~*~

a r m o n i a

Oh, dear harmony

When did you lose your aesthete

Into catastrophe?

~*~

Backseat serenade, dizzy hurricane
Oh god, I’m sick of sleeping alone
You’re salty on a summer day
Kiss the pain away to your radio…

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry

Dear Medication

I got a year’s supply of capsules
I got a bottle full of friends
They’re always right around
To come show me the town
Delivered through a filtered lens…

~*~

My stomach all tied up in specular knots

As I hide behind abandoned parking lots

Bite down on the bittersweet medication

To unravel the noose and become human

.

Tribulations raring to return some control

Damaged sprockets needing factory recall

Offset chemicals slick as oil quietly leaking

Inside a system that requires dire repairing

.

A dose for breathing, one more for demons

Counterfeiting volition that I can’t summon

Blank and washed-out, it’s better not to feel

Losing doubts in a bottle, tasting acidic will

.

Cold cuts numbed and a pressed-down mind

Wonderland candy leaving me severely high

Living or existing in bouts of prognostication

A coronary slow motion, lost in convocations

.

A corrupting hold to sanity of a harmless little kill

Vices forgotten, bleeding tongue against chalk pill

Incriminate not the release of the sterile pharmacy

Rather, blame me for attempting to induce humanity.

~*~

Chemical angel
Comfort I crave
Don’t come around no more
I’m already saved…

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Filed under Poetry

3 a.m. cake and day-old coffee

I can’t afford the kind of love you sell
But I can’t afford to ever watch you leave
Won’t you come and put your sugar on my tongue
You’ve got your spell on me…

~*~

i would pretend

that it’s to mask

the bitterness

and overpower

it with even more

bitter grounds,

or to dislodge

the hard lumps

forming in my

drying throat,

but i’m not that

deluded or fucking

melodramatic—

or maybe i am.

the cloudy creams

of ivory frosting

melts with a touch

of tawny coffee,

perspectivism

and disillusions

blending madly

as i sit there,

stuffing my rictus

with pastries in

the darkness, like

a total gluttonous

shameless piece

of poison pie.

i am disgusting;

but i’m merely

enjoying crumbs

and leftovers of

my ant-eaten sanity,

trying to kill time

and soured anxiety

with decadent sugar

and innocent tongues,

all while attempting

to ignore the fact

that the immense

sweetness makes me

want to throw up.

and i indulge in the last

few poignant pieces

of a humbled life,

before this cold cake

and day-old coffee

becomes my final meal.

~*~

I’m the only one who knows
The secret places that the light don’t show
(The light don’t show) You know…

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Filed under Poetry

Beasts, Burning, Bloodshed

I’m keeping the monsters warm

With my own blood and self-harm

They lick away every sedition

Ripping apart each single conniption

.

Teeth like carved metal tetanus

Dark with every slurring and cuss

As alcohol shuts down the bane

Intensifying the numb of the pain

.

Another fucking demon to encounter

My own control I couldn’t conquer

Sucking away all the shades and colour

Until all there is to do is surrender

.

Black roses thrive by the grave

Of just another nameless great escape

Damnation’s all there is to save

Again and again, my sanity is raped

.

The sulphur blister and brimstone bite

As solemn shadows devoured the night

Death decreases my chances to survive

But these feral beasts are keeping me alive.

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Filed under Poetry

A Wayward Child’s Empty Pen

((The following entries are transcribed from a waterlogged brown journal, found along with a dried blue pen, in an abandoned park bench in Southwark, London.))

~*~

01/13/??; 01:25 AM/PM.

It’s so cold.

The Arctic rains pour angrily, beating down in relentless torrents

The languid sky is shaded with an amalgamation of sickly grey

Under my tattered umbrella, I attempt to figure it out but I can’t

If the lost sun is falling out of its orbit, or just breaking the day

Perhaps I wasn’t meant to know.

.

01/13/??; 02:00 AM/PM.

Nothing but unadulterated trouble, problems arising from the start

A cautioned winter’s tale as thorny and ancient as Eros’ pierced heart

It warned, leave that wayward child to find its way in a crooked path

For avariced Hell hath no fury than wicked disappointment’s wrath

At my current state, I know they’re right.

.

01/13/??; 02:26 AM/PM.

So I shattered all the best of china dinnerware, and bent all the tines

So I melted my sister’s only set of crayons and lied to waste their time

So I played hooky, hung in alleys, and started a chaotic playground war

So I scorched half our house, maybe a pet, just for a speck of warmth

But that fire was just so pretty.

.

01/13/??; 03:15 AM/PM.

I plead and begged and beseeched, but unfortunately, to no such avail

It seems that my dearest loved ones wish for me to simply fail

Wounding thorns clung to my sullied dress like demented hands

For they’re the only company I find reassuring and I can understand

Hello darkness, my old friend.

.

01/13/??; 4:00 AM/PM.

I know I’ve been a guilty bastard, I’m all but holy, or God forbid, saintly

I’m a cragged diamond, cracking under the pressure of my turbid sins

My weak conscience wrestles and grapples with my slippery sanity

Perhaps this time, I’ll cease being the referee, let one of them win

But I know I’m not that strong.

.

01/13/??; 4:55 AM/PM.

Counting all my remaining days away on my bloodstained fingers

The tragicomedy death of my feminine art nouveaux still lingers

Withered skin falls in fragments, peeled from my chapped ivory lips

Catch it like fairy dust or white snowfall, and make a quaint wish

Snowflakes taste like faith.

.

01/13/??; 5:01 AM/PM

You’re lost, you’re lost, my scalding mind accuses, accrues, accosts

An inane foulness of its profoundness breathlessly traipsing around

I’ve been nothing to seeing stars and dottiness but a gracious host

Honestly, why dare I even complain, what dare I even maunder about?

I saw it coming from miles away.

.

01/13/??; 5:27 AM/PM

Why thou’st I abated thy tempt, thy lust, gluttoned thy forsaken monster?

Borrowed words I’ve spoken now, chagrined regrets not mine, all rust

I was caught unawares in a graceless predicament tryst lacklustre

I discovered amidst the fuss, I was never worth my weight in stardust

I’m so sorry, mother and father.

.

01/13/??; 6:00 AM/PM

As this wayward weather ages, the jaded hurricanes growing much old

That lush aftertaste of bliss’t twilight indented within the fiery cosmos

I nearly hit a brick wall staring upwards, waiting for comets to unfold

Once again, I’m stuck at a dead end, regent shadows my blanket close

Ah, so it was afternoon, after all.

.

01/13/??; 6:30 PM.

Cold…it’s so cold.

I wish for a coffee, chamomile tea, or maybe a chocolate chip cookie

The frosty mist from my mouth is actually my frozen soul leaving me

An ebony feather drops from my back, searching for my palace free

I will amuse myself with black burnt matches and burnt out reveries

Yet no chthonic demons cackle nor heavenly Seraphs beckon me back

Rejected by both sides of the cruel horizon, sky beat blue and black

Walking like a spectre, even though I know that I’m no longer breathing

Cold…I’m so cold…please…why won’t anyone just…please…let me in?

.

01/13/??; ??:?? PM.

I’m all out of ink.

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Filed under Poetry

The straw that broke the camel’s back

There comes an epoch

Where I feel quite jaded

To the point where even

It sickens me to heaving

If I dared open my mouth

And stuck my pale tongue

A creature might crawl out

Black, viscous abomination

.

Tears refuse to fall anyway

For they have hardened into

Ivory pearls, just too painful

To egress my lacrimal gland

And when they clatter to the

Sullied floor, you pray caution

Or you might topple on them

And fracture your fragile spine

.

I could listen to the synapses

Laid within my strained mind

As taut as overwound strings

On a soundless archaic guitar

Attempting to create melodies

Pulled hard ’til it breaks away

And I could hear a symphony

Of tumults, snap, snap, snap

.

Thus webs of my sanity vaporise

The dewdrops start to rain down

And insects released themselves

From their hapless fettered state

Buzzing about inside my system

Stinging my heart, sucking blood

Until my heart rendered anaemic

All vital signs cease to be present

.

One small spark is all it takes for my heart to burn

One wrong turnpike to cause a wreckage collision

One hypodermic needle embedded of a numbing lie

One last hay strand’s weighing me down until I die

The last vestiges of hopes are sullenly acquiesced

Sempiternally expired, lost by the devil’s workshop

What’s left are unpalatable tastes of failure, enough

I can take no more, you can have the ghost—I give up.

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Filed under Poetry

Purple Ink (an adventure in absentia)

You accidentally slipped in purple ink and died

Because you were busy pacing, too preoccupied

Chewing nervously on the end of your dented Biro

Accentuating every last thought with a sigh hitherto

.

Upon waking and discovery, you jolt in a dazed state

Your dirt-beaten striped sneakers noisily squeaking

As you dusted yourself and held your awaiting fate

You began your unlikely journey and start travelling

.

Wandering lost upon a forestry of a wildlife mind

Every thick foliage a verdant idea finely efflorescing

Every path an untraced road of the life you left behind

Crushed carmine blossoms plucked away and wilting

.

No sense of direction. Where are you? The lunar ostentation

Pierces into your amour-propre, setting it blindingly alight

With your foolish absurdity, in bland starless observations

Of the complacent monsters you’ve yet to encounter and fight

.

Chasing after creeping vineyards, when their wine is parched

Do you understand? They’ve nothing left to give your thirsty soul

A paucity of the former, this broken forest you vainly marched

What’s the endgame to this latent excuse of a failing goal?

.

Your sanity has turned upon yourself, hordes of screaming demons

That reach for your insatiable hunger, in a lusting of the brain stem

Where’s the exit? Where’s the exit? You attempt vainly yet stumble, gone

Reaching for the light at the end of the tunnel as they devour your lumen

.

Consciousness prods at your eyes, the form of an almost irritating light

Hear an alarm of a beeping machine like a metronome and salty liquid

Your head shall be fine, you’ll recover, doctors assure your ghastly sight

Their placated shiny smiles of false relief dripping disgustingly insipid

.

You accidentally slipped in purple ink, hit your head, and yet surprisingly survived

They said it was a nice miracle, but then again, the Vatican fabulists love a good lie

For the creatures slopped their saliva all over your cerebrum, infecting you thereon

Think it a ludicrous story? Dear, you should’ve seen that slimy ink you stepped upon.

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Filed under Poetry

Will Graham

Once peaceful in isolation

Will, are you sure you’re okay?

You don’t seem at all fine

When Jack told you to go play

.

Did Jack push you over too far

And made you stumble over?

Did Alana take your choked heart

And pluck it like a four-leaf clover?

.

Are you still dreaming noises?

What has happened to your head?

Did you listen to the mad voices?

Did you follow what they said?

.

Has your time run out for you?

Grains of sand off the hourglass

But the devil didn’t want you to know

Psychiatrist peppered in stardust

.

Are you over with this mad game?

Cat and mouse with Mr. Lecter

Checkmate sets the King aflame

But he moves both sides of the picture

.

Why did you let Jack control you?

Why did you let Mr. Lecter fool you?

Will, now what seems to be the matter?

Is your sanity crumbling like Graham crackers?

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry