Tag Archives: senses

Mad Mary Lennox

I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now—
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now…

~*~

You were the tears I could never release.

I am imprisoned for centuries in an impenetrable ribcage, feeling the lemongrass harshly piercing my calloused feet but never allowing my deprived senses to take in their ethereal fragrance, holding blossoms by their fragile throats and quietly wishing for their efflorescent scarlet to return and splash colour on my filthy grey dress again, and forevermore shackled and watching the suspended horizon; but a mere intangible memory playing tricks on my open lips.

It was beautifully haunting. My demented secret garden.

You alone held the key to the concealed gates. That particular key was crudely carved from roses and bones, finely forged of romance and blood, chiseled from my consumed heart and threaded with my vulnerable veins, but akin to the overflowing ocean of the tears trapped within my tired, pondering eyes, you released me not.

But will I despair? Never. I shall merely smile at your vicious cruelty and wait for patience with all the grace and forgiveness the pallid moon has adorned me with. I’ll peacefully sleep on my bed of fallen feathers and butterfly ashes, and I shall awake again the next day, my marred body still glimmering in a breathtaking fairy tale iridescence, to tend to my own share of bruised paradise and to sing my laments to the ardent stars in the missing sky once more.

Because this exquisite garden shares my every pain, my solitary desire, my one secret, and not simply the very secrecy itself. This sanctuary is mine to hold in eternal memoriam, and in an infinite someday, these silver chains will rust off and unfetter, as the reckless revolution of this damned planet will halt and reverse, away from the sun. And when that happens, you will find yourself starving for sweet freedom and clawing at the iron bars haplessly, forever banished in my grotesque heaven, where all the scathing thorns bear your broken name and all the flowers wilt at the very despicable thought of your nonexistent soul.

And you shall weep. And I, finally, along with you.

~*~

Where has my heart gone?
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh, I, I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I still remember.

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Filed under Prose

Hold On, Fall Away

Do you know
I count your heartbeats before you sleep?
I bite my fingernails to bone
And then I crawl back under the stairwell
To a place I call my home…

~*~

Hold on, she says, and her suspended voice feels like a serpentine blossom, mutinous choking thorns wrapped gracelessly around the wall of my deflated lungs’ chambers, puncturing them effectively and leaving me gasping for the air that never enters my mouth.

But I can’t breathe anymore, I implore.

Hold on, that simple phrase again, manipulative and senseless, gently caressing the convoluted scars on my wet face like quietly-raining feathers from a fallen divine being’s cast wings, the burning touch barely grazing past decrepit flesh, ethereal and gossamer.

I didn’t want to miss anything, but the wind is chafing my dehydrated eyes. So I blink. I suddenly feel dizzy and nearly fall flat on my back, reveries resting as I attempt to steady myself. Sleep would be so merciful right now.

Hold on, another rousing round to jolt back the drowsy senses of my rapidly-decaying nerves. Each uttered word is like the sweetest taste of corrupted fruit in an exegesis dream, and I can’t allow myself to swallow it anymore, even if I took the first bite of sin.

Don’t make me do this. A foreign voice breaks the muffled barrier, and I flinch in static shock before shamefully realising that the unfamiliar sound was my own. Who…who was I now?

Hold on, the conversation hits like a loaded shotgun with a chipped bayonet, bullet penetrating the back of my head and cracking my skull once, before the sharpened blade cleanly slices through my wandering brain, a merciless double kill for certainty. Bang. Crash. Slash. Crack. Death.

I’m forgetting the colour of your hair now, the dainty lavender scent that follows you around everywhere you flutter, the way your plush lips mouthed serenades that collided and lit up fireworks in my reflection; I’m forgetting the sensation of seeing you, of wanting to see you again.

Hold on, the promenading whisper has amalgamated into an earsplitting scream now, dangerous hedonism dancing in demons and demigods around my shattered ears, past my constricting throat, relentlessly waltzing in wearied circles over and under what used to be the armistice memory of you.

No—My deteriorating vision blurs and falters, cascading and collapsing in iridescent shades of gold and silver, coalescing in glistening hues of diamonds and rubies, fluctuating in pastel blossoms of jasmines and forget-me-nots, all before shutting down into that damning void of sempiternal blackness. The last thing I saw with my weakening sight was her colourless ashen eyes tear up once, twice.

Hold on…was the last thing I ever heard.

~*~

Murder the moment!
My god, I’m the serpent
I’m sorry, I can’t see
That you truly love me…

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Filed under Prose

fill in the blanks.

“And it’s four in the morning
I’m just trying to fix myself
What the hell did I do?”

~*~

blankness.

a constant void

washed-out

into a bleached white

still dirty, yet everything

has been scrubbed out

fastidiously, like

the writings on a blackboard

and the chalk dust

lingers in your fingertips,

the kind that you can’t blow away

and you’re stuck with

that unpleasant texture on your

hands for the rest of the day.

you’re zeroed-out;

multiplied, divided, and subtracted

until even the calculator

doesn’t know how to answer

except for a shameful

syntax error…

you don’t know where you

went wrong in your calculations.

now you’re staring dully

at the beige ceiling

listening to the rhythms

of a nameless music attempt vainly to

make your heart bleed, but it’s

all fucking static to you,

just another distraction to

keep you grounded

as gravity drags

you down in your grave

without even so much as a

respectful funeral or a dated tombstone.

your thoughts are as

senseless as every nerve in

your once-hurting flesh

your body got used to the pain,

one might dare guess

but the truth is you can’t feel it anymore

because it’s no longer your own—

to control, to use, to move around in to

your free will and accord

and you’re just pretending to perform,

waiting for the fateful day that the

puppeteer snaps your marionette strings, and

you drop lifelessly on the

shabbily-decorated stage of your existence.

you don’t even know where these

nonsensical thoughts are originating from;

all you know is the constant empty

sensation, a flatlined perception,

draining every bone in your borrowed body

physically, emotionally, and mentally

until you’re nothing more than

an amorphous bag of viscera

dripping numbly on that plastic chair

still gawping insensibly at the

rorschach beige ceiling, all the way to pure

b l a n k n e s s———

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Filed under Poetry

Café & Concerto

I need you like the flower needs the rain
You know I need you, guess I’ll start it all again
You know I need you like the winter needs the spring
You know I need you, I need you…

~*~

overwhelming—

the crashing tidal waves

of concerto and palatable

patisserie tastes alike

strummed electric strings

intertwining with bitter

yet dainty chocolate rumble

rough vocals like rough sketches

of rembrandt’s lost art

interlacing and intertwining

in rosaceous thorns like earrings

around my wilting lungs

and caramel macchiato sips

dripping on cherry ink.

beatbox, wind chime, cymbal

symphonies and deep bass

thrumming withing the pulse

of my heart’s sanctity

like the tick of woodblocks

guitars twanging, reverberating

in ceramic sugar jars and

lilliputian silver spoons

placed aesthetically in tables

of a checkered cloth blue

siting under ruby rotund lamps

and incandescent fairy lights

the spill of fountains and tree roots

mellowing down tired eyes that

even the most glaring of

tiny glowing screens cannot

disrupt nor ever distract—

as their helter-skelter classics

bring me back to the past

among decades and centuries

of the good olden days

sixties, seventies, eighties

losing to rustic country music

losing track of time

losing sense to the rhythms

losing languorous repasts

losing myself and finding out…

until my drink is lukewarm.

and the sanctuary of the audience

humming, clapping, cheering

in pleasant pleasantries

sweet teeth stuck in a smile

effete tastes and composition turns

crashing and colliding,

disorienting and dizzying,

blinking and blocking;

until the beat of my halcyon heart

is chiseled to the atmosphere

of that whimsical place

and i feel like i completely belong…

overwhelmed.

~*~

And every day, I’d laugh the hours away
Just knowing you were thinking of me
And then it came that I was put to blame
For every story told about me, about me…

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Filed under Poetry

You Better Get The Door

Wash away these memories, silent and proud
Blood won’t confirm on these curtains
Your blood, my hands, your blood, my fucking hands
Run for the hills, your strength, from the dead afar…

~*~

A moment of delusion, celestial superfusion

Wander, demand her, a second of confusion

Seven to heaven when I find the intersection

Logistics and statistics that I failed to mention

.

Broken and unspoken, for the days I set unnumbered

We’ll plan this sheer madness until we’re torn asunder

Mayday don’t you say a thing, now don’t you maunder

Relay and decay me, the taste of suffering feels blander

.

Sorry, you know me, a crack away from the brick bracs

Gave me what you saved me, and the senses that I lack

Then we’ll set up for the kill, the trigger’s left unlocked

If I leave my morals ajar, maybe someone else will knock.

~*~

Run for the hills, your strength from luck
Cut this off, and if you think you’re alive,
Then you’re better off fucking dead!

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Invisible Hands

When all you’ve got is these four walls
It’s not that hard to feel so small
Or even exist at all…

~*~

Senses desensitised, screaming silently, chained to my own body

Blindfolds and folded gags and covered hands stifling me

There’s a trap in my soul, shadows eclipse my heart

Within the midnight of my mind lies a sky, starless and dark

.

For the words I can’t speak drips like cyanide off my mouth

And it tastes more bitter and deadlier than poison when I’m unable to shout

Lips stained scarlet, eyes tear-stained, as suffering festers in doses of pain

Manacles fettered to my sanity, I can’t set free, here I’ll remain

.

The unsaid ferments in my tongue, and drowns the abyss and pierces the glass under my skin

Every nerve, every vein, every shiver, every twitch, every beat of my pulse is rebelling

For the taciturn glance that tells of a million rampaging emotions, I can only hope you understand

That I’m not at fault for this cruel affliction, I’m simply being held back by invisible hands.

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Filed under Poetry

deep cut

I’m relapsing down again

There’s desperation everywhere

And it’s fucking contagious

It’s just another one of those days

Where I’m sinking in misery

And suffocating in my own self-pity

For no rational reason at all

That it’s almost pathetic

It is fucking pathetic.

I’m feeling the need badly

To colour my world with carmine

And murder my twisted veins

But I can’t, I shouldn’t—

I thought I called a ceasefire

But it’s burning in my heart

Tearing apart my mind with screams

And making my senses recede

Into senselessness that ironically

I can cancel out with one

Silver glint and a single slash

But I won’t, I musn’t—

And yet I really fucking should.

The crave is almost unbearable

I can’t resist falling in from the sin

Please pray, please understand

I need the pain to breathe

My lungs refuse to provide oxygen

I need this pain to live

I really don’t want to…

But I have to.

Please don’t let me touch the blade

Please don’t let my skin touch the blade

Please don’t let me…

D o n ‘ t . . .

I’m sorry.

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Filed under Poetry

Senseless

The taut feeling of endless jubilance

Peach skies and clouds dashed lovely

Lighthearted touch with a dainty dance

As the new borne day awaits patiently

.

The playful tastes of puffed cinnamon

And mellow lip sticky of New York honey

Dripping saccharine onto my tongue

Scarlet cherry pies all sweet and sunny

.

The sounds of lilting and lifting hearts

And hear a tinkling music box melody

Quaint interludes, the coda’s piano part

Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, and Debussy

.

The beautiful smell of scented souls

Like jasmine, gardenia, and rosemary

Pink perfume playing its perfect role

Soft petals showering ever so flowery

.

The amazing sight of blazing sunset on the horizon

Another sinking day’s clashing orange and crimson glory

But the senses that I have entertained and felt further on

Will always be retained forever in my senseful memory.

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Filed under Poetry