Tag Archives: story

It’s Not The 1700’s, My Crime Doesn’t Deserve The Guillotine Anymore

Meaningless materialism lights up cities in overdrawn sighs

Catch the drip like a bad acid trip and put me under the lies

This divine persiflage only lasted as long as surgeon stitches

A prelature to nicene creeds, the preamble to salem witches

Set the sky for ignition, to suffocate the zealots complaining

Truthful traitors run the blood thin with a little bit of ritalin

Withstand isolation with a myriad riot of defective firearms

Safety only counts in guns and padlocks like sadistic charms

Let lineages be mismatched, and let sobriquet names renege

The deceivers couldn’t bring back hell without getting singed

Don’t avoid the prejudice, let it seep in like desires in clothing

When murderers become heroes, let false history be rewritten.

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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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Wrong Weekend

03.10.18. Saturday, 3:02 AM. Manhattan, New York.


He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes
Started making his way past 2 in the morning
He hasn’t been sober for days
Leaning now into the breeze
Remembering Sunday, he falls to his knees…


It’s three in the morning when I lock my heart behind the closet doors

And then I take another drink so I could forget what it was fighting for

Everything is louder when the sounds of a life once held are long gone

I’m crashing and cresting like the tidal waves of this bathroom tantrum

I’m looking for someone that has disappeared from newspaper tragedies

Hey mister, have you seen this person in the photo that was never taken?

It’s another hazy day wasted, but I guess I’ll go home just to burn it down

Write a song on my six-stringed guitar, and I wonder where you are again.


Forgive me, I’m trying to find
My calling, I’m calling at night
I don’t mean to be a bother
But have you seen this girl?
She’s been running through my dreams
And it’s driving me crazy, it seems…



07.16.18. Saturday, 3:57 AM. Manchester, England.


I’m not coming back (forgive me)
I’ve done something so terrible
I’m terrified to speak (I’m not calling, I’m not calling)
But you’d expect that from me
I’m mixed up, I’ll be blunt, now the rain is just…


It’s three in the morning when I put on my coat and slipped past the doors

After an evening of drinks so I could forget that I’m even fighting anymore

Everything is louder when the sounds of a life once held begins to fall apart

I’m collapsing and colliding just trying to get you out of that bathroom stunt

I’m losing myself and slowly disappearing under a pile of newspaper eulogies

Hey miss, can we delete ourselves, to pretend that this photo was never taken?

It’s another hazy day spent, so I guess I’ll go home in a place where I don’t burn

Right by the six-windowed room, and I won’t ever wonder where you are again.


You’re driving me crazy, I’m—
Washing you out of my hair and out of my mind
Keeping an eye on the world, from so many thousands
Of feet off the ground, I’m over you now
I’m at home in the clouds, and towering over your head
Well I guess I’ll go home now. I guess I’ll go home…


 

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The Girl With The White Bracelets

Oh, pretty girl, keep batting your eyes
‘Cause when you breathe you lie, lie
Oh, pretty girl, you better think twice
‘Cause second chances are rarer than I
How can we forget who we have become?
I’ll give it all up, please wake up
Every breath you take is a lie…

~*~

She asked for death, and who was I to refuse

She got sick of the radio and wanted the noose

She didn’t want another dance, just the last one

She sold all the bullets she had just to buy a gun

.

She was sick and she was tired of feeling pathetic

She didn’t like the smell of the hospital antiseptics

She was the class-act patient but she was no victim

She fixed her wounds but got worse off and broken

.

She screamed for mercy to taste all their cruelty

She was running away from all their emergency

She emerged from hell, to be thrown back again

She asked for demise at the tip of her bloody pen

.

She tried every method and every single execution

She went by the blades, gas, a wrongful transfusion

She beat her body in bruised painting of a night sky

She didn’t look for any help and nobody asked why

.

She was the girl that I still dream about in my head

She was the girl I wanted to save from this deep red

She was the girl begging for this chance, but instead

She’s the girl who is restrained and laying on my bed.

~*~

How did you ever see me broken?
Well, you forced me to find out everyday
Did you ever see me open?
Well, you forced me to find out everyday…

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The Bulls Are In Broadway

Some people have it and other people don’t
You’ve been making some threats, got my name and address
I’m breaking habits you don’t want to know
Though I’m wearing my clothes feeling cold and exposed, yeah
Don’t say you miss me, you probably don’t
Well, I’ve been crossing some lines that most folks won’t…

~*~

This is the academy of wasting second chances

And the maggots in my eyes are drying up my tears

My intuition knocked itself out on cheap champagne

As the discourse turned to an allegory dance severe

.

It’s a sociogenic alacrity, and my dress is on too tight

But I’m far too smitten by repertoire to call it a night

So remind me again, what’s my capacity for secrets?

Tell me with a gun to my head and I swear I’ll keep it

.

My lips are shivering from these hemlock-laced canapes

So admonish me for all my bad manners and mistakes

I’ll just downplay the lust for another fractured spine

The consequence for saving the best for the worst lines

.

Mismatched manipulation, but they will take it in anyway

Blink back the altercations and accusations that ricochet

With a sympathetic sigh overstepping the plague’s carnage

Like finest red wine, tragedy gets better when it’s aged

.

This transition was intransigent, an accolade for incoherence

Bent backs turned upon lacquered lies and marble-carved doors

You don’t get to die on me, not after my life has taken the perfect end

So won’t you let write the last chapter on my unresponsive monitor?

~*~

Oh, don’t say you’re more than this or above all this
With your blah blah blah and all your friends
Don’t say you think you know, when you know you don’t
Because tonight the Bulls are in Brooklyn and you’re still at home!

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anatomical dissection: bones

when i was a kid

i broke my left arm

when i climbed up

on our neigbour’s

backyard oak tree

.

and when i grew up

a scar grew with me

it climbed up when i

fell down and spread

to the rest of my body.

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Euphoria

A withheld stare, innocent amusement building up in the corners of his lungs.

“What’s he doing?”

That grin, so boyishly charming, a flustered cherub could strike an arrow straight between his teeth.

His fingers slightly shivered. A deceptive thought bubbled in his afflicted chest.

He didn’t pop it. He wouldn’t dare.

Cobalt eyes quietly blinking with mirth. Delicate figures dancing solipsistic circles over gloomy minds. A feeling so delightful, yet unsustainable and fleeting.

He was alone. And yet he laughed like he wasn’t.

“Being an idiot, that’s what.”

He was.

And for that feeling of happiness, he would do it all over again.

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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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Rhyme and Reason

I’m a stray for blue boys and a songheart for little bo-peeps.

I wish I didn’t exist in dusty novels and forgotten storybooks the way that your obscene breath does, the way that your dreamscape wings fall off into ashes, the way that you simply do. Always in the ways that I couldn’t.

I despise myself for being a complete upside-down fool, madly limerent for this fiasco of a game that I’ve lost the moment before it even started, violently surrendered and beaten blonde and black to the point where I start doubting myself in bitter gunshots and giving my sweet bullets all up just so I could be your unsigned scarlet letter.

Do you understand me? Because I don’t.

I wish I would have written a hundred synesthetic postcards left unsent, but all I have are these hundred meretricious words to tell you what you don’t know. What you won’t know. And what you never will.

Stay lost, blue boy. Or you’ll end up like me.

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Dumb Damsels and a Purple-Haired Knight (A Heroic Story You Don’t Wanna Hear)

When you do me like that can you tell my brain turns off?
No, my favorite set of stairs is the one up to your room
And my heavy set of cares evaporates all around you
Evil comes in pairs and we like what we do
You’ve got me feeling like a walking love song…

~*~

You make me feel like a kiss in the park

And hiding away all alone in the dark

Tangling my fingers when the distant night starts

To visit my messy bedroom, to play its part

You make me feel like a four-leaf clover

And a dandelion in the breeze, dancing together

Lucky twice, make a wish and repeat

Pluck out the shamrock and carry the wind

You make me feel like sunshine lovely

With a heart of bright yellow and words of blue honey

A trip down spiraling staircases until I’m dizzy

I’ll miss a step and fall down, won’t you catch me?

You make me feel like a warrior that just lost

But the princess’ spell is theirs in the end, what matters most

My system is awry with the chemicals that feed

On my serotonin mind, and I feel you like my greed

You make me feel like a poet, and you know it

And all the books that I’ve read don’t compare to your wit

My head’s far too stupid to be making up dumb stories

But I’ll gladly write you a trilogy if you say please

You make me feel like another kiss that was not

An embrace for the shadows, a quiescent game of say what

You make me feel quite funny, but I don’t want to laugh

So I’ll just smile about you in my dreams and let you have the last.

~*~

Let’s tangle our legs again
The world doesn’t need us to leave our heads
Let’s tie our breath in knots again
Nothing’s complicated if we pretend…

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