Tag Archives: sorry

Nervous Wreck

You’ve got a lot of nerve

At the tip of your tongue

When you were the one

Who made me feel sorry

I was still even breathing,

The one who made all my

Dreams feel secondhand

And just a cheap thrill drug,

The one who made it seem

Like underground reposing

Was the only option for you.

.

You’ve got a lot of nerve

On your mouth, and none

On the organ past your ribs—

But that’s alright, because I

Lost mine when you twisted

It into a noose and made my

Cold throat feel numbed-out.

That’s alright if you want to

Murder trust and then act like

You’re the fucking victim here

Just don’t drag me down again—

You could do that for yourself.

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The Last Victim

We are the walking dead
Swallow the lies we’re fed
Uncover your eyes, uncover your eyes
Uncover the truth and you’ll realize
We’re hanging by a thread
We are the walking dead…

~*~

I was convinced of myself, at first.

Before mercy turned to failure and hell begged over to madness, everything seemed to be quite rational. Perfectly-planned. Dare I even say, elegantly beautiful. The conceived scenario played out in my head like an unraveling film spiel, woven into a viscid, intricate web and ensnaring naive hearts, and the sharp, unexpected twist and blunted violent stab of that final ending made the jagged suspense, the heart-wrenching thrill, the never-ending mystery and uncertainty, every slighted emotion thrown out and ravaged by the starving sharks, all of it…made everything worth it.

But now all I have is murder in my tongue, lies over my eyes, and your blood on my hands.

How did it all come to this?

Everything looks so red, even after I thoroughly scrubbed myself clean of the transgression. I made sure to meticulously tidy everything up. White walls, white floor, white bleached palms, white light pouring over the windows, a whiteness so pure and bright it’s fucking blinding, but the red obstinately stays. And it stains. On the white walls, on the white floor, on my chafed shaky hands, all over the room’s white-blanched windows like a sinner’s stained glass art, that redness so dark and demented that I can’t even clearly discern anymore where the colour ends and the shadows begin.

I have no excuse. I have no absolution from the crime I’ve committed. I cannot be pardoned, cannot be forgiven, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done. I know I deserve a punishment of nothing less than death. But I didn’t know it would come to this. I didn’t know what I was doing.

But I’m not sorry. And if I had to do it again, I would. Without any hesitations. Without thinking twice.

Without thinking about it all.

God forgive me.

~*~

Can anything bring us back to life?
Will anything make us right?
Can anything bring us back to life?
I’m willing to make us right?
‘Cause the further that we’re falling apart
The more that it breaks my heart…

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i’ve got a rusty crowbar to your arms that says you won’t do a damn thing

Let’s have no sadness, furrowed brow
There’s nothing new in dying now
Though living is no newer
Though living is no newer
And it was written in blood…

~*~

everyone’s doing it

it’s the latest thrill

set up sanity in rivets

for the latest pitiful kill

it makes you special

oh, ain’t you so brave

got miracles to pay for

and sins at the nave

got a little peach mark

and that fool’s little smile

hey trooper, you did it

you’re unique for a while

but blood doesn’t last

and fiction is just fiction

say that it stays forever

as you conjure up emotion

faker than those tears

sweet as your death breath

facade made for bitching

to write about yourself

but hey, get the comedown

and sleep the sorry away

it’s suicide season, baby

and you’re the latest trophy

everyone’s doing it

it’s the latest fucking bore

‘cause what’s a better fashion

than the sleeves you wore?

~*~

Like roses, we blossom then die
Like roses, we fall apart, like roses, we fall apart
Though living is no newer, though living is no newer
It was written in blood on a fucking suicide note
The day before he died…

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a mindless monologue

The blood, the blood, the blood of the lamb
Is worth two lions, but here I am
And I slept in last night’s clothes and tomorrow’s dreams
But they’re not quite what they seem…

~*~

i need some therapy

and a hundred seconds alone

i need room to breathe

and support from the bleed

i need to stay silent

and talk my problems out

find another friend to bother

and do nothing but joke around

i need to admit something’s wrong

that i can’t do this by myself

i need to keep myself going

and be just a little more strong

i need bitter medication

i don’t know why i stopped

guess i don’t want to be an addict

my brain feels fogged and rough

i need to hurt myself less

throw away my blades and insecurities

i don’t want to keep companions

and end up in a fit of jealousy

i need to absolve all my mistakes

to stop hurting the people around me

always on the brink of an apology

i need to stop being—and feeling—sorry

i need to channel my thoughts safer

but i just don’t have the skill or talent

i can’t make anyone any promises

and my future is scary and hellbent

i need to keep on dreaming

but not too much to drown in the tides

i need to stop worrying neurotically

about what’s what and the right of rights

i need to be me and more than this

i want to figure myself out before it’s too late

to be assured of myself, the things i can do

to provide myself with no more of hate

i know i can never undo the long-term damage

caused by my self-destructive ways

but i know that i could always be better

than what i think i deserve—i need to change.

~*~

I can move mountains
I can work a miracle, work a miracle
I’ll keep you like an oath
“May nothing but death do us part…”

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No Offence

your snide smiles

desecrating my spine

making my insides

burn and curl in time

deny me the arrogance

satisfaction’s engrandeur

make my tongue sorry

it ever spoke sad words.

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mental block. (3)

***

why did

i say

s o r r y

when

i was not?

***

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enough said

You wanna move mountains? Go ahead
I think I’ll suffocate instead
A change of scenery won’t tame
The endless earthquakes in my head
They’re all in my head, so I’ll suffer through
A means to an end, it’s all I can do…

~*~

i’m not the one at fault

but i’m the only cause you see

so i have to take the effect

what do you want me to do?

i’ve cut myself up until

both my mind and veins are drained

but not of all the guilt that i carry

and still, would it be enough?

would it be enough for you?

.

i’m just so tired of waiting

until i stop being such a fucking liability

and i start being your healthy host

that you parasites can ravage

just so i could atone for what i did

or at least just so you would see it that way

because what else is there?

saying “i’m sorry” when i don’t mean it?

that wouldn’t be enough for you, would it?

.

but then again, it’s my fault

for being way too fucking optimistic

i don’t accept good and bad luck

and that this time i struck out

no, it’s all about positives and negatives

call it a karmic irony, if you may

find a way to be a little happy for once

and life drags you down through 7 layers of hell

tell me, loved ones, was i never enough?

.

and i couldn’t even write about it

because you’d call me selfish and shallow

that i have no right to be depressed

because i’m living the “good life”

and that i see only myself in all this

well, of course i fucking do

i need to place myself somewhere

otherwise i wouldn’t see the bigger picture

but don’t you see, loved ones?

will you never see that i’ve had enough?

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Know Thyself

I’m calling you from the future
To let you know we made a mistake
And there’s a fog from the past
That’s giving me, giving me such a headache
And I’m back with a madness…

~*~

When I reevaluate myself

Where do I start to draw the line

Between the beginning and the change

Down my brain or with my spine?

.

When did my hands start shifting

To change pure gold into black rust

And lucidity became obstinate

Covering the mirrors with cold dust?

.

What place was my starting line

And when did I stumble and trip?

Did I get to the checkered finish

Or trampled by my opponents’ feet?

.

Why did my pen become cynical

And my heart run out of honest ink

How did my eyes fail to see the picture

When did my mind cease to think?

.

Have I truly changed for the better

Or did I just become a stranger shape

From fitting out of the cramped box

Because I wished for a little more space?

.

Did I drift away from my audience

As their applause started to sound the same

Was I meant for a moment in spotlights

Or was I meant to hide away my own name?

.

Were these lines on my face here before

Or the lines on my arms and thighs?

And the lines I once thought avant-garde

Are they now nothing but banal lies?

.

And why did my tongue get longer

But the accuracy in their wings clipped

Confusion may soar abound the sky

But my heavy body refuses to lift

.

Regrets and problems, I once could carry

Have broken my back and my will to be

The things I loved, reduced to wistful smiles

Memories once happy turned sorry

.

I wish I didn’t sulk and drain myself

Turn off the lights just to be haunted by ghosts

I fucking wish I didn’t have to be so insecure

To let emotions linger like a gracious host

.

Sometimes I think I really know myself

Until everyone says the complete opposite

And everything I do turns upsidedown

I become less uncertain of my purposeful visit

.

Just who was I? Or rather, just who am I now?

When I reassess, all I do is think and rethink again

It hurts my head, and I’ll just start to lose myself

Better to keep the present than to bury myself in past skins.

~*~

I got rage every day, on the inside
The only thing I do is sit around and kill time
I’m trying to blow out the pilot light
I’m trying to blow out the light
I’m just young enough to still believe, still believe
But young enough not to know what to believe in…

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Out Of My Mind

“Nobody wants to hear you
Cry about your breakup, so drop it.”
Well, that’s fine too because
I’m fucking sick of talking about it
Let’s talk about shows and ghosts
And shows and clothes…

~*~

beat me green and blue

until my eyes have tunnel vision

nobody wants to hear me

shed bullets and load ammunition

as the screws in my head

are just twisted too tight to be right

and you can spin it around

and around, but you’ll lose the fight

utter an overplayed excuse

i know i look like a burst drained pipe

and i mix up cryptic words

so you can’t tell or tread on which side

and i’m the human definition

of infinite futility and endless frustration

acting upside down and under

over and over like a patience in remission

so beat me up in black and grey

until my porcelain skin turns deathly pale

i’ll send my wretched self home

at least one of us lived to tell the tragic tale.

~*~

See, I’m like you without good moods and
My cave’s my room where I’ll cave too
Yeah, I’m like you without good moods
And you’ll be sorry when you come to…

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first act, insanity; next stop, recovery

“I never meant to hurt nobody
I never meant to hurt you, no, no…”

~*~

acrid laughter is ringing in my ears

good-natured, perhaps, to them

but the sound pierces like twisted barbed wires

straight through the caliginous corners

of my teeth, bared like a regurgitated heart

and almost—if not just as—crimson

as the fucked-over severity in my demented head

but sometimes it feels good to simply pretend

that the banter is a little less than risque

and i let my agitation be fooled…what an idiot.

as i’m sorry plays like a stenographic record

etching deeper grooves in the back of their stares

but never playing the right kind of music

am i screaming a typhoon in your clear day parade?

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i want to cut it out

i want to cut my fingers open to point it out

and take all the sharp-edged blame all for myself.

but my testy temper rides on the flexible bullet

severely mutilating this nascent entertainment

that masqueraders and pantomimists have played

for the melancholic, esoteric, plastic actor

and you insisted on applause and receptivity

despite my initial protests against it all

for i am not your contagious chemistry audience

but i surrender my scab blood to you anyway

and keep clapping on and on until my hands fall apart

like a marionette’s lamenting swan song;

like this borrowed skin that sheds itself as we speak.

their laughter is mutating into vicious sneers

stabbing like blunt edges of a mangled fountain pen

and making me grit my shattered teeth—

your fogged-over eyes interpreting it as a smile

amused, but i’m simply bemused by my endurance.

i’m tired. i’m tired. i’m so fucking tired.

of the teasing testing taking terrors tampering

with my dysfunctional mood, its revolution ever retrograde…

it’s not your fault. did i ruin your sunshine again?

i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.

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