Tag Archives: sleep

pseudonym [4]

alive, i dream, i sink

.

nothing to fear, i blink

death, your high, my low

.

yes, your maybe, my no

.

clever, a lie, a white noise

insane i sigh, my warm voice

zigzags, my path, your straight

even, my crooked, your gait

.

killed, i sleep, i levitate.

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Quantum Immorality

find caution, cascading in

myriad throes of guns and

faded starlight, held back

only by the darkness, stark—

bleeding. animosity presents

in the manner of a wornout

theatre pantomime, painted

faces, lacklustre marionettes

scarlet eye and lithium inhale

redolences and sedated mire

platitudes forsaken by saints

cathedrals of human blasphemy

and in absentia, soulful requiem

chanted towards their heavens

crescendo. swelling lamentation

a bitter reluctance held forth by

admonition of sins baptised for

vile manipulation, underwater

torture, clergies in brothels and

a tempest in allegro—a visceral

cacophony revolted and created

polarised transgressions feeding

on facsimiles, cautious, nebulous

sleep now and forever hold your peace.

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astir

there’s a

phantom

i tuck to bed

with me

every night

and he sleeps

safe and soundly

at the cost of

my own dreams.

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Caramel Oreo Milkshake (for Artemis.)

It’s only late, you have time
With any reason that you find
Somewhere in slumber
Is someone who didn’t see it coming
If all this leaves you behind
And everything starts to rewind…

~*~

gentleness in the crook of my left arm

sweet coffee and tasteless milk, dripping

against the pale of graphite and in

sleepy moving pictures, just some tired

faces tumbling through colder haze

of unfamiliarity and restless curiosity

from not really knowing what to do, but

a tiny heart beating against mine, it

guides my senses into instinctual concern

for a companion which replaces the love

i cannot truly keep; that similar butterscotch

twist against marbles of innocent aegan

another clever yet cruel coincidence

still speaking to me, to you, to us, to the

furry little darling dreaming of better days

like i have, like you will, like no one else

has ever dared to wander before…will my

arrow collide with the bullseye in your

chest, or will it miss its mark once again?

only time can intertwine these loose threads

pulling at empty air, until we find ourselves

finally curling up comfortably in quiet belonging,

saving all of our leftover warmth for crestfallen rainy evenings.

~*~

Tell me you’ll feel better
When you’re sleeping through the day
And I’ll tell you how you missed it
When you wake
It doesn’t mean anything…

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Woozy

Crazy

I’m fucking

Crazy

And nothing

Else

Really matters

I just

Want to sleep

For a

Million years

Without

Thinking about

All of the

Consequences

Awaiting me

In sunrise gloom

I just want

To lay in my bed

And think

About nothing else

But nothing

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a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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Fluorescence

Let’s spill into my bedroom and leave the lock open

I want your neon bones to glow against mine

You’re the only mess I won’t hide away in my closet

You’re the reason I always oversleep every night

.

My mind’s getting stretched out into a thin veil

So much so, that you could see through my thoughts

Is it immodest, love? Is it too vulgar to even care?

You said you’ll be a martyr but you don’t believe in God

.

Exposed to the acrid winter, still shrinking and shivering

I’d find it abhorrent if I wasn’t the one lost to a blizzard

Crawling for your warmth, your doors were never open

Would you leave it ajar for me, or leave all the lights shut?

.

But I won’t be the letdown that you’ll stand on and fall

And I just never know myself like I knew you at all

This chemical decadence is rotting my plastic heart

Convulsing my fragile veins as it’s tearing me apart

.

But I’ll spill into your bedroom even when it’s locked

I need your neon bones to extinguish against mine

You’re the mess I love to count when I’m not feeling tired

And the only reason I oversleep just to wake up every night.

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deliria nervosa

mass hysteria,

melting down into

a million jagged

pieces—of pure

nonsense and

plastic panic

philosophical

diatribes taken like

placebo medicine

lost in a wreck

unopened letters

hanging by a thread

shivering hands

no longer sane

reaching still for

the final claim

so find out before

time inches

forward, a sharp

blade straight down

the left lung,

searching for a

cavity that’s about

to detonate

from cortisol and

mad serotonin

blown out of

proportion, mixing

in confusion but

finding no answer

next to liars and

cancer; euphoria?

pure mania? take your

colours, it’s over

it’s over, the deed

has been done

the consequences

hold the lock, the

key is missing now

and the demons

have been unleashed…

calm your mind

from bad decisions

anxiety’s grasp

will suffocate you

like it did—

like it does and

it will—but please

just keep it down and

let the concrete set

before you sleep

on another pile of

instant regrets.

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…and skyward, to come home.

save my

sensibility

the wrongness

of being right,

ludicrous—

mothballs taper

off to fixtures

on the wall;

your portraits

five. nine. nine.

not knowing

the date and place

but persisting to

hitch a hearse

for the winners

and you sleep

and you slept…

cheek to the gutters

like rainwater and

dry ice melting

but the puddles are

still far too cold

to be touched

with bare hands

.

your malevolence

my destiny

a love, chased

down with laudanum

and bitter spirits

starving for fire

not mine, no—

but angels won’t

exist just to see us

fall away and die,

and if i do so

let it be beside you

and these memories

of springtime

and soft sadness

discoloured fingernails

pointing to the sun

sending wishes

holding on tightly

never there?

never where—

not the awful thought

of losing you out

to another bore

.

when i’ve got

good stories to tell

and a bad heart

to prove innocent

hear me out, please

your music speaks

in earthquakes

and perfect fifths

though abstract

the ends may seem

myopic gaze

did you lose sight?

so save my sorry

humanity and

your flesh betwixt

mine again

for countdowns

don’t matter if

time doesn’t

make amends, when

you’ll be just fine

i know—but then

what am i?

what am i now?

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