Tag Archives: sense

Simple Explanation

I.) Mismatched Cultures And Dead Parents

He’s got a bullet where his brain should be

And broken toys where a heart should beat

The stripes on his sweater had begun to fade

The nostalgic photographs lied except for one

So he’s turned to smoke to keep himself awake

And he’s turned to secrets to keep himself alive

But it wasn’t enough to save him from phantoms

Now he’s carried on the wrong side of the casket

No one saw it coming; no one can figure him out

Whispers of self-sacrifice, but quiet murder hung

Of the boy who played with fire but didn’t put it out

It was a mystery—it didn’t make sense to anyone but him.

~*~

II.) False Cancer And A Secret Trip To Rio

A dying man seconds away from his final breath

And his wife by the bedside that couldn’t take any

Collapsed on the floor, the debilitated cried for help

Of what seemed to be a miracle, a feigned recovery

They would die for the other, just another ancient lie

There’s no love without guilt and no guilt without love

The operating table was prepped for a wrongful death

To save the irreparable, it’s too late for her, but not him

The grief was mistaken and the medicine was not taking

All because of a surreptitious slip to a beach without sun

He lived to tell the tale of how she flatlined before his eyes

Under premises of a truth confessed too late, and what it had done.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

quotes

i’m only

borrowing

inspiration

from poets

that i loathe

because all

their words

make sense

while mine

has no worth.

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Filed under Poetry

Neurotic

Sadness is sadness

Until it’s reversed

Frowns turn to madness

And smiles perverse

.

Writing is writing

Until a mind notices

Words turn to endings

And stories to sense.

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Failing Light (One Hundred Sleepless Nights)

Do you still love me? I am dying to know
Or did you forget what we shared?
Out of sight, out of mind, I was never even there…

~*~

Above anything else, I would let you bury me tonight.

The stars do not weep in the presence of the moon. Hearts wish not to rend themselves apart and souls no longer magically turn to gold simply because of your silver lining. Oceans remain a mystery, and space remains a final frontier, only left for your lips to discover, and for mine to wonder. I’m fully aware that I wouldn’t chase shadows. You know very well that you wouldn’t hurt the darkness. Nothing else makes sense anymore, but irrationality itself.

Do I mind? Would you care? There is no mercy left to be scavenged in these cold, lifeless hands of ours; hanging by a diaphanous thread, desperately raring to furtively unravel. But I won’t leave. I won’t let you down again. I won’t let this skin be filled with scars that tell no tales, occupied with hurt that leads to blind dead ends, embraced with an eloquent love that never existed. These are but synesthetic bouquets of eternity, laid in an empty grave for the unborn, wilting, wilting, wilted. Only you are the darling evergreen; fragrant, flourishing, faded.

Your voice is the exquisite cadence with which my pulse chooses to hum. My blood dances elegantly at the incipient sound of your hello, and it dwindles into a soft lamenting waltz when that final goodbye echoes, an ethereal lullaby that no deity nor universe can fathom, but it keeps me up from midnight diminuendo until the morning crescendo, wretched by my own asthenic humanity. You are lissome and restless by your personal cozen design. I am revered synthetically in my own chemical lassitude. We are clashing and colliding in the reckless throes of a gossamer accident, writing a halcyon tragedy.

But dear, keep your summery thoughts free of winter miasma. Worry not the deceptive haze of your alabaster reveries, don’t mind the labyrinthine obscurance of my obsidian nightmares, and never fear their contemptuous amalgamation, for I’ll take all of them far away from you, beyond the reach of birthed supernovae and black holes, so you may carry on saving astral symphonies with your lungs, and I can take my last fated exhale with a mellifluent memory. Your bed may be worn-out, but I’ll keep myself warm on the traced outlines you left. And I’ll keep on sleeping. And I’ll keep on dreaming. And I’ll keep on waiting for you to wake me up.

Until then, immortal repose is mine. And yours is immortal repose.

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Filed under Prose

Of Feminine Odds And Endings

I swear you complete me
Pink and blue on the skyline
Don’t the demons take this time
So raise me up, never say you’ve had enough
And you know it’s love when it’s bottled up…

~*~

Spent ten days counting dandelions in a field

Like time was miserable and needed camera thrills

Painting a scene that wasn’t quite as wayward

As a night filled with stars in some cheap postcard

Distance is effervescent when I close my eyes

Lips pulled into an idyllic smile, trying to play nice

.

Waking up when the collapse is felt in earthquake faults

Visions stifled with thorazine, my art is charcoal cold

I’ll dance like it’s the apocalypse, I’ll sing loud like I mean it

Spin a tornado with the air I have left in my lungs sweet

I’m just a mess trapped in sunflower swirls and pastel dreams

Tinderbox between my teeth, aldehyde ignites my screams

.

I don’t mind that it’s mindless, I don’t make any sense

The windows show my only escape from pyrexia bleakness

I’ll cast a spell and make the golden in the sunshine die

Plucked violets intricately lacing, like delinquent butterflies

Traipse by coastlines ’til the shore is nowhere to be found

Staring at the hypnotic horizon until I cannot feel the ground

.

Heavy, heavy, heavy dahlias; transient mysteries I’ll never solve

The morning’s further past over, and the mourning’s getting old

I’m a melancholy melody, I’m a symptom of severing snowdrops

A feverish heart cured by faux rhinestones from a psychic’s shop

Contrary crazy, I only miss the rain when the weather’s at it’s best

Drown in myself, I’ll keep looking for an exit out of this baby’s breath.

~*~

I had a dream that
I drove my car off a mountain
I fell back into your baby’s breath
Wish I didn’t miss you
Kiss me like it’s the apocalypse
I fell back into your baby’s breath…

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Will The Real Author Please Stand Up?

Do you ever get envious of other people’s words?

The way they’re so intricately, elegantly, genuinely made. The way that the sentimental fervour and tortured passion rings out plangently from beyond the curled pages of the book and strikes sharp aches and twinges in even the most desensitised heart. The way you could read them for days at an end and never get tired of the intangible shapes they form, the sophisticated literary art they create, the breathtaking stories they tell. The way that you can never really understand what that individual meant, what they truly felt, and you aren’t quite sure if you could even place yourself in their perception and situation, but despite all that, they’re still your emotions. They’re confusing. Messy. A foreign tongue that no soul, living or deceased, can ever know how to speak again. But you can feel them latching in your hair, your skin, your eyes, your lips, speaking your mind, all the words you don’t know how to say, all the senses you never knew existed in the first place, all the thoughts you don’t know how to feel.

And so you feel inspired. And so you attempt to write.

But your words, on the other hand, are rather insipid and unamusing. They’re the proverbial rain that never gets written about. The damp, stuffy, erratic kind of drizzle that relents to the point of irritation and drips down cracked ceilings and forgotten open windows. The kind that’s well-meant by the dear weather, but never makes its humble way in poets’ thoughts and poetry books, except occasionally to emphasise a depressing thought. You could stand outside that downpour for days at an end and get not a single drop of water on your skin. Your words feel cheap and secondhand, sharp edges worn-down to cliches and dull torpor, no wit to be found anywhere. Your words are no one else’s and you aren’t quite sure if they’re even yours, or just by the ghost that resides behind your empty ribs. It’s confusing. Messy. A foreign tongue that not a soul, living or deceased, knows how to speak. They’re all the words you can’t say, all the thoughts you don’t know how to feel, but you try to make sense of them anyway.

Do you ever wish…that you couldn’t write?

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Filed under Prose

I Will Be Nothing (Without Your Love)

~*~

Breathing In My Words

Let me make your lungs burn

With the fire and the smoke

Feel the wrath of the temperature

Bring your heart back up to choke

Let me make your lungs burn

With the cigarettes and the dirt

Taste the wrath of this vindication

Bring your heart back up to hurt.

~*~

The Shadow Of Who I Was

It doesn’t make sense to haunt me

If all the ghosts are still sleeping

But I’ll be your rough concrete grave

Don’t close your eyes while I’m dreaming

Your disappearing act is getting subtle

Static song whispering to the radio

I don’t ever want to see your head ache

But I have to dissect it to see what you know.

~*~

Time, Like The Lines Are Red In Between

I’ll sink into the tangled web you weave

Find safety in the voice that sinks ships

Drowning’s a mercy than to watch you leave

And arrogance will make me cold and sick

I will be nothing without the skyless sea

But you’re next to nothing to ever envy me

And come this morning when I take the abyss

The tidal waves behind you won’t ever miss.

~*~

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Filed under Poetry

Would You Turn Me On?

You took what you wanted
You got it, you know it
I’m haunted by everything that you gave me
You made me, you broke me, you saved me
I’m crazy, but I’m not done…

~*~

It doesn’t make sense to breathe

When the air is dry and stuffy

Hit my head against the bed when

You said you will never give me

What I want is what you need

So I spend my days counting greed

Breaking my backbone just to fix

Your hurtful words in fragile sticks

So if I’m right, then just blame me

And if I’m wrong, turn to punishment

But if there’s another chance for you

To forgive, I won’t hold confident

Because it doesn’t make sense to leave

When I’ve got nowhere else to go freely

Hit the road when all you have said

Are promises you could never give me.

~*~

So when you gonna give it up?
You’re giving me such a rush…
Just another pretty face
But I want one more taste…

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N*U*M*B

I need you to show me love
‘Cause I’m getting numb to the feeling, yeah
My tolerance is going up
And I’m getting numb to the feeling…

~*~

numb soul

numb heart

where does

the hurt start

numb soul

numb skin

physical pain

gets boring

numb soul

numb eyes

from seeing

life too much

numb soul

numb mind

lost to paralytic

sense and touch.

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Filed under Poetry

Lie to the Truth

When I started out writing you this song
I was heels over head in love, but you had your doubts
‘Cause it took too long to finally see what I
What I’d been doing wrong…

~*~

My brain no longer contracts

Or twists in circles at the thought

My blood no longer circulates

And my heart fails to leap a beat

.

Oh, this tragedy of fugacious whims

Beating down the numb with too much sense

Compromising to entangle red strings

Hoping that two souls would starve the same

,

But three’s a crowd, and the painful hunger persists

It’s time to throw one or the other to the tides

The way of happy reality is just a sorrowful mystery

As double half-truths last longer than the truth

.

I attempt to convince myself of the erroneous fact

As if that would save the submerging illusion

Pretend I’m not drowning under as I take on water

And hold the hands of the heavyweight elation

.

Feelings disappearing before orion storms wash away

Agitated pulse screaming of kerosene fires and laudanum

Pulling my drifting self behind in a cage of indecision

Before all that I have is confiscated from my faltering eyes.

~*~

We tried to be true but you still loved him so
I’ll keep my distance and lie to the truth
I lie to the truth, I lie to the truth’
Cause you lied to it too…

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