Tag Archives: self

Fill The Void

Started with a little bit
Now I don’t know how to quit
Always feel inadequate
Same way that my daddy did
Mama told me not to try
And I should have taken her advice
And now I’m all twisted
When it’s all gone, I miss it…

~*~

I’ll delude myself with one more week

As if that would make any difference

Feel the rush of false accomplishment

Before the eleventh hour wears it off

.

Control drags furious scars down my limbs

Daring to tear past my cracked pretence

But I just want it to take me by the hand now

And lead me towards that pre-dug grave

.

For a minute of rest, I’ll shut myself

Close my lost eyes and simply throw it all away

The key, the lock, what I’ve worked for

That pointless persistence only fools dream of

.

When the spinning cycle makes me too dizzy

And my dragged footsteps are going nowhere

It’s much better off to be prepared for the worst

I apologise, it’s okay—I’ll be going home soon

.

Because this is always all the same, over and over

I’m tired of being tired, and I’m tired of being me

Distracting myself just so I could make it out alive

When I know there’s nothing left, so why should I be sorry?

~*~

I’ll fight just to do something
I’ll fight ’cause I got nothing
Else that gets me through the day
Till I find another way
I’ll fight just to do something
I’ll fight ’cause I got nothing
Even if I lose again, I can’t quit…

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Unreachable

Maybe it’s just jealousy
Mixed up with a violent mind
A circumstance that
Doesn’t make much sense
Or maybe I’m just dumb…

~*~

Don’t dive headfirst into the raging currents

And loudly flail for help as you start to drown

Don’t dare to sit on that empty rusted throne

And get beheaded for the sake of an old crown

.

Don’t plead and weep and cry out to a missing god

And solely blame them for being bitterly cruel

Don’t vie for something you know you can’t have

And end up playing this world’s desperate fool.

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(Don’t) Turn Back To Me

Somewhere along the way, I somehow convinced myself to play

The waiting game like it meant a thing, like I wouldn’t lose anyway

You were the part of my mind still clouded with nostalgia

But lately, it’s now been replaced with a nicotine-grey paranoia

.

Still, you kept me hanging on with all your hooked apologies

And dragged me on for miles despite having nothing but weak excuses

How foolish I truly was, I thought the violent bruises looked pretty

A vicious reminder of the time we spent—a fucked-up memento mori

.

But now I’m getting really tired of having to constantly check in

Obsessing over your absence, getting caught up in that empty nothing

Somehow, that’s the only thing you’re always consistent with

But the rest of this connection is a mess…was it all just friendly bullshit?

.

I understand that you’re busy, and I have no right to be hurt at all

But a sliver of conscience would have been nice, instead of the way you stall

I don’t even know why I’m still trying to paint myself as the bad guy

Spitting poison in my sharpened words in an attempt to catch your eye

.

But maybe it’s better off this way, and maybe I should stop pretending

That I’ll be worth a single damn to you, that I was ever even anything

I just wasted my breath when you never listened, we’ve done this all before

Though I guess this time, I just don’t have a place in your pretty plastic life anymore.

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Last Answer

You see I’m wasted
I can’t quite get up yet
You see my head’s off resting
In this delusional stare
The room kept spinning and spinning
And spinning and spinning
And I’m a fucking mess…

~*~

this is the silent kind

of slow suicide—

the one that withers

you from the inside out,

the one that leaves

no tear nor bloodstain

on the canvas of your scars,

the purest kind where

there is no solace,

no escape, no more cry for help.

only a suffocating scream

welling up and banging

against your ribs,

begging to be felt, to

be heard, to be let out now…

but you are too empty,

and to let it out is to free

yourself completely

from all the numbness,

all the questions, and all of the

fucking weight you’ve been

carrying inside your mind;

dragging you down

fast into deep quicksand.

and if you allow that,

and you allow yourself to float,

and you allow nothing else

to keep you from holding on,

would you do it?

would you take the chance

and completely slip away, instead

of still suffering from the

slow kind of silent suicide?

~*~

So I closed my eyes
I shut them so tight
To witness explosions
Of pure colour and beauty
The room kept spinning and spinning
I start to think a little differently
At what we are
I watched the colour drain
From the world that day…

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Imbecile

This foolish brain

That can’t contain

What’s less of more

Or more than pain

I could pretend

I’m a taste of clever

But that’s just a lie

And I know better

Than to convince

What’s worth a damn

I’m not a snowflake

Just a bland human

Living a grey life

In zeroed nothings

A cross on my brain

I’ll never be anything

Thought I had a chance

But the mess is too great

Thought I can be me

But that’s just a mistake

‘Cause let’s be honest

Who am I to kid?

Deep down, I know

I’m just fucking stupid.

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fight the flight

when i said

i’d fight for you,

i didn’t realise

it also meant

that i’ll have to

fight for myself.

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Afterall

The promise of control.

It screams and sighs and starves me,

it makes me feel so empty.

But the hollowness,

the hopelessness,

the hunger,

it makes me feel so fucking fulfilled.

The promise of control.

The promise of hopeful tomorrows.

The promise of getting better…

But no.

Not when I’m sick.

Not when I lie to myself.

Not when I’m tired of having to give up all over again.

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28 – hesitant hope

i know you aren’t sick

of that five-hour coffee yet

or even making a mess out of

expensive watercolours

but you better stop laughing

while you’re down and out

.

and you also don’t care

for the farewells and five a.m.

headaches making a mess

out of your cheapest apologies

but you better start fixing

that wretched old life of yours.

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27 – musings on gil puyat station

oh, she’s like this cardboard city, with the subtle way she’s barely holding herself together.

she’s an anachronism, of late-night guilt and freshly-brewed coffee; no sugar, no cream, barely sipped. she intertwines her deepest confessions inside my vulnerable chest cavity and suddenly constricts without warning, completely sucking me dry of resentful consciences and clever second thoughts.

though i talk with corroded shackles beneath my tongue, i care not for the sharp tang of rust. while she solemnly weeps for fictional infinities on the other side of the country, i impatiently await that impending reply as i absently gaze outside the window of a clattering train, basking at this city, built upon centuries of dusty grey smog and busy promises—of fragile bodies barely touching, barely stopping to breathe, barely existing.

she has an irrational need, that insensible girl, to save what can no longer be saved, to control what is far beyond her means, to create as it destroys her. the pleading words on the dull glow of my screen are a tangible whisper, tasting of colliding tears and bitter shame. “i want to help you, like they always did for me, but—i fear…i fear i cannot.”

can you not, indeed? my ulterior rejection is swift and bordering on impolite; but i still listen, and descry for mutual understanding. for though i shall never admit it out loud, your blithe persistence undoubtedly plagues me; to the very throes of my lavender dreams—resting beneath the stars as i turn my back upon that flimsy conversation and that paper metropolis, and allow myself to think clearly again.

to her, i am the eternal glue that holds her together. to me, i am the stranger who mercilessly ripped her apart in an attempt to reconstruct her to my own selfish beliefs.

who is right? what is the relative concept; of wrongness, of forgiveness, of sudden change and reconciliation, of the flismy trust that you broke, and the tested faith that broke you?

and who am i to tell?

the verdant landscape of laguna finally greets my wandering eyes and thankfully pulls me away from the echoing cries of that city, that poster past of a coalescing city that fills up my thoughts with a charcoal haze and renders everything else an unfamiliar slate of grey. my sighs are comforting once again, and she no longer appears to be just another one of the million impostors i came across today.

she means well. she meant well.

though—call it nihilism if you may—at the very least, she should be tolerable to her qualms and fear not the fortunate reality of losing me; arms unfolding, heart reaching, mind forgetting.

and fade away, i will. a plastic boy like me has no place in a cardboard world like this.

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22 – covet me, still.

i’m careening out of the control

i never had—i never had it in the first place

because all i’ve been doing is avoiding

and lying from ear to ear as i make

my smiles easier to disappear from again

it was a lot easier to think i had one.

but the meaninglessness of it rests like

a shuddering sigh at the back of my mouth,

almost choking me to death as it tries

to hold all of my fucking screams within...

i’m locked up in my room, throwing up all

the contrition and uneaten apologies

for the people that i nearly killed—

and for the people who nearly killed me.

i don’t know how long i could keep up this act

and i’m so close to losing more than a friend,

more than dial tones, more than myself…

i wish i wasn’t so goddamn selfish.

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