Tag Archives: silent

sulk

influences

on the red of

her lips, and

her cornflower

hair glowing,

an autumn moon

sulking by a

riverside bank

as pastel waves

kissed out the

drought of spring

and i remembered

how to forget…

bruised knuckles,

twisted hallways

filled with ghosts

that no one can chase

but her all alone,

and a room which

held my dark fears

but never let them out.

and left nothing but

silent discontent,

wrong phone calls,

her umber eyes under

the influence of tears

until they turned red

and drifted off into

a sleepless dream.

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Figments

She’s a taciturn ghost

At the back of the room

Speaking in silver poetry

And in dead languages

But no one could hear her

.

She’s a mere phantom

In everyone’s faded mind

Translucent, except for

The scarlet ribbons

Threaded through her veins

.

You can only see her

At the very corner of your eyes

And if you ever briefly turn

Your head to try to find her…

S h e  w a s  n e v e r   t h e r e

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Eighteen Years and Twenty-Somethings

Was picking up pieces when you
Gave me a reason to be
Falling down the middle
Crawling ’round a little
And I see that space in your head
And I want to fill it in…

~*~

I want to throw my irrational fears down my favourite set of stairs

And fade away the wounds that once defined my unsteady hands

I want the chance to breathe without polluting my lungs with ashen doubts

Drag me out of the skin I’ve beaten within until they can understand

.

So take the breakdowns that broke me up and replace the faulty intuition

The devil on my shoulder won’t compare to the angels in the television

Hang up on this week-long hangover and stop hanging my neck by the rafters

Still deluded by bad choices and old mementos and happy ever afters

.

The kids are not alright these days, and their clothes are stained with sad

But I didn’t think I know that I knew until I have it bleeding out and bent-up bad

So there’s a little cold weather, that’s gonna get a little better, maybe there’s a little sun

Maybe it just doesn’t exist in my head, maybe my moon will have someone

.

So maybe hope doesn’t belong to me just yet, and these noisy voices won’t shut up

Maybe I’m suffering from silent anxiety, shot through the ceiling, it won’t stop

But this time I won’t let it win, I’ll catch it by the tail and let myself spin

Spiraling all the way to space, I’ll crawl through constellations until I find that something.

~*~

I won’t lose my grip, don’t let go
No, I won’t lose my grip, don’t let go
I think I found that something
I think I’ll finally breathe right in
I think I feel that love I won’t give up
I think you soaked into my skin
So much has come from nothing…

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left in stitches

my father sat beside me

and his eyes were in stitches.

i fidgeted, and touched the linoleum floor

with my cold bare feet;

my father didn’t say a word.

he merely stared at me with needle looks

threading unspoken thoughts over and

under my skin in tight crisscrosses.

i flinched, once again, and my feet instinctively

twitched to graze the floor, but i only

felt frigid air and a million miles of

nothingness beneath my cold bare feet.

i was starting to bleed profusely

and my numb fingers were convulsing

from the relentless tingling that was

overtaking every inch of my

breaking-down body

and still, i didn’t have a clue on

what was happening to me.

i tried to call out for help

but, it seemed that my crying mouth

was already sewn shut, and

my father was embroidering his

guilt and blame on my face,

cast fault and lost sins forming eternal

patterns of this knitted contrition,

writing down personal confessions

that were not even mine to begin with

and will never be mine to keep.

my eyes were slowly shutting now.

and with the last strength that i could

muster up within me, i pleaded silently with

my father, screaming “what have i done to you?”

but my father, with his eyes in stitches

and his love for me trapped in a needlepoint,

he finally looked away and murmured

“what have you done to yourself?”

i think i may have shed a tear (or lint?)

before the last of my vision was tied off

and i was nothing but endless unraveling threads—

i woke up quietly crying and suffocated

by my blanket, feeling soft prickles on the

numb arm i accidentally slept on.

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Silent Films

For all I know, the best is over
And the worst is yet to come
Is it enough? To keep on hoping
When the rest have given up?
And they go…

~*~

Set the tone to soft sepia and watch me come to life

Like my favourite vintage movies, but silence is optional

I hate to mouth the words but I know that I’m right

And it’s better than to face the music composed in your journal

What you see is what you get, but it’s more than it seems

Amid skylines and downtown fiction, stories of nameless streetcars

I’m waiting under an umbrella, seeing neon signs in rainy grey

Until your clicking red heels arrive to light the pavement up

For the film is never complete without a dazzling star.

~*~

I hate to say I told you so
But they love to say they told me
(Throw me into the fire
Throw me in, pull me out again…)

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The End of an Era

Here he is, he saves a grin
He wants to be the one who doesn’t have to sink a level
Indiscrete, in his retreat
All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride
He held in her name…

~*~

Limits have their breaking pointss

And can fall in utter disrepair

What used to be bound with ropes

Now dangles by a precarious strand of hair

.

Mirrors have their cracking webs

And when they spread, it can shatter

No matter how hard you try to fix it

It’s won’t show the same reflection ever

.

Bodies have their wounds and sickness

And we’ll always try to slowly heal

But someday no medicine could cure

And we will then be rapidly killed

.

Words have an end to their capacity

Someday you might run out of meaning

We talk and take things for granted

And in the end are left silently staring

.

People have their gentle push

But sometimes it comes to a shove

And no amount of closing apologies

Can ever return the former love.

~*~

He’s in love with an isolation from emotion
Here he is awaiting sentence
A fool to think that anyone can escape guilt and anguish
A subtlety that can’t be learned, a subtlety that can’t be taught
He is caught in the lure of second thoughts
He might still care, as he settles down well aware…

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How come no one heard her when she said—?

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful
‘Cause no one’s ever told her so
And the demons that she hides are all she knows
And maybe she can fall in love
With someone in her life that she could trust
And tell her she’s enough
(Will someone tell her she’s enough?)

~*~

How come no one

heard her when she

was screaming in her

bedroom at three in the

morning, scratching madly

at the pristine walls until

her fingernails broke and bled?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was crying in a bathroom

stall, all the things they threw at

her leaving marks, and all

the ugly names they chanted at

her still ringing violently in her head?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was slicing and hacking

away at her unhealing skin

so fucking audibly, and when

she slipped on that liquid

and fell with a thud, bruised and

bathed in puddles of dirty red?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

moaned as she rested fitfully

sleep paralysis taking full

control of every recourse

mouthing all the words

to the nightmares, those things

that she’s always left unsaid?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

vomited bile and empty air

kneeling faithlessly in front of the

porcelain god, sharp ribs poking

through her paper chest, even when

she ate nothing the whole day,

with herself she was still disgusted?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was laughing, singing, and

talking by herself, and striking

up lengthy conversations with the

imaginary friends she made up

and the demons that she wed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

asked relentlessly for help

begging and pleading, saying

that no doctor nor medicine

could ever cure her, and perhaps

an iota of support and care

for her was all she ever needed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she was already

being so earsplittingly loud

blind eyes and deaf ears

blaming nothing but the victim

“it was her fault” they say

“she should have said something”

but they all ignored her when

she actually piped up

keeping the regret to the very end—

and now she’s silent forever

and all her words went ahead…

tell me, how come no one

heard her until she was already dead?

~*~

Maybe I’m better off dead
If I was, would it finally be enough
To shut out all those voices in my head?
Maybe I’m better off dead, better off dead!
Did you hear a word, hear a word I said?
This is not where I belong
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…

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Nightly Vigils

her broken fingers trembled

as the vivid scars on her pale neck

drew another drop of blood

and dripped down her cotton gown

.

the dim lamp pulled back

arches of demonic silhouettes

sleeping beside her with

their fangs bared beneath fragile flesh

,

she was terrified to move

even a sinew or a twitch of a muscle

frightened that she might get hurt

scared that she might feel pain again

.

the stars cackled their sympathies

in the cracks of the closed venetian blinds

and the moon was like a watchful eye

under an impairing blindfold

.

the night was dragged by the ticking

of the ancient pendulum clock

every now and then clanging boastfully

but she didn’t flinch; no, she daren’t

.

simply lying there in silent agony

without a warning or a clue of

the dust that gathers in her eyes like

the old tears she couldn’t shed anymore

.

and her incensed thoughts were louder

than the wailing, moaning, and screeching

of the vile creatures she was damned

to remain in ill-fated company with

,

she gritted her teeth and clenched her knuckles

as the abominations stirred, squirming and

writhing in her mattress, and every touch

felt like a thousand tiny pieces of rusty razors

.

her catatonic body was stiff as a corpse

as she counted the hours until morning arrives

when all the monsters disappear from her room

so she could stop holding her stale breath

and bandage her freshly-cut wounds.

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fever dreams

i hope that there

are times when

the silent hitch

does not break

to vernal death

.

where ultimatums

and eidetic dreams

are not distractions

from your idle ides’

varicoloured aching

.

let the fragrance of

cherry blossoms lull

us into oblique sleep

falling into aesthetic

advents of febricula

.

as i lose to twilight

fend off paltry beats

of my delicate pulse

and lay me down in

melancholy pastures.

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