Tag Archives: surreal

Myiasis

PicsArt_03-19-07.47.38

she pushes the blowflies—

in her mouth—at the very

back of her throat, when

she tells me she loves me

.

like a corpse of flowers on

the table centerpiece, she

drags a painted hand across

her plate to keep the maggots

away from her meal—futilely

as she is dining with their king

.

and my missing fork is lodged

between her sternum, just above

her left lung, yet she still thusly

refuses to return it to me for

the rest of the evening. all before

.

a farewell kiss; that tastes of

burnt steak and congealed blood—

i don’t know if she means it, but

all i have is bitter saltiness in

my hypoxic lips, pulled up into a

tight puppet smile, mimicked by

.

her scarlet ones. she turns and

imperceptibly coughs—once, an

escaped wing fluttering—and caresses

silver in my veins to mark her goodbye.

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A Spoonful of Stagnancy (The Fix)

I woke up sideways trying to find clarity at the edge of my bed

‘Cause I thought I would meet a liar, but I met you there instead

With the knife stuck in one eye and a strange leer in the other

Before I could start to understand, you held our heads underwater

.

And let contrition flood my nostrils, let your heartbeat send the tides

Where old treasure chests and pirate bones can only dream to hide

My veins phosphorescent, a sickly glow, the predators won’t let me go

Sand in your lips like a velvet bliss, send me beyond cyclones and snow

.

A traitor in my midst, our ribcages interlocked beyond befallen stars

Fine silver melts at the very whim of your ire, spin a mysterious nebular

For where the mind shall go and where you let it roam is an open road

And you dragged me by the skin and teeth, jammed inside the folds

.

Beyond lost libraries and cathedral halls and the closets of your home

Our somewhere that we both could share just to leave ourselves alone

When your iris takes on some colour and the rusty blade begins to recede

Far away from angels and enemies and god, farther away from you and me

.

As I woke up sideways trying to find an elegy at the edge of my unmade bed

I just wanted to meet another dying sinner, but you left me one instead

With the knife out of my spine and your bloodstain roschach on my shoulders

Before we could start to understand, we were ending before it was all over.

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Macrocosmic Defiance

Heaven knows that I’m born too late
For these ghosts that I chase
With these dreams, I inflate
Painted skies in my brain
Every day, I’m Carl Sagan in space
To escape this old world

~*~

Lift me up to where the sun hits my eyes just right

Ascending the ardent blurriness of reality itself—

.

Hushed diatribes alongside dug molehills of promises,

Reaching the peak of Everest itself, our still momentum;

The gravity of the situation feels as heavy as lost comets

On the ground, daydreamers with their heads crushed

By nimbus clouds, the senseless thunder that lingered

And threatened to take a strangle at wispy-thin necks

.

Caught in a modern guillotine, but who pulled the twisted rope?

.

So hold my hands and twist my wrists nearly backwards

We shall let the gallows humour simply speak for itself again

And carry every fleeting memory to where it aches—where it matters.

~*~

And when I fall to rise
With stardust in my eyes
In the backbone of night
I’m combustible
Dust in the fire when I can’t sleep
Awake, I’m too tired…

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In Moratorium


[ ∅ . ]

“ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ sᴛᴀʀғᴀʟʟ
ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏʟᴅ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ
ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀɪɴ
ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ’ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ…”


[ I . ]

You are arcane desire, and influential mania, and the sweetly vulgar taste of expired novocaine hanging above my quivering tongue like eden’s forbidden fruit. You are the contagious, infected swelling beneath the base of my throat that I madly vain to scratch away with both trembling hands, that I constantly want to carve out with a blunt scalpel in a resolute fit of psychosis. You are the deliberate misspelling of a foreign name that sounds frustratingly familiar, but only ever-so vaguely. Not close to a centimetre, teasingly grazing tiptoed silver slippers and half-buried memories. But not quite there yet.

ARE YOU LISTENING?


[ I I . ]

The resonating scream beneath my temples is starting to taper off into a sound akin to the mewling of a crippled fox; gunpowder and bullet hole smouldering in one leg, a rather patient hunter quietly praying by its burrow, steady fingers clasped tightly to the trigger as it sets up the final triumph with a whispered amen. It might just be from the severe blood loss, but my darling hunter, your gentle trilling call sounds almost alluringly enticing to me now. Me, a clever, cunning fox. You, a foolish, bumbling hunter. And yet you always seem to victoriously capture your kill in the end. Am I your final trophy head to be displayed in your cabin with the grandest fanfare, or shall my carcass simply be ferociously gutted and the scrapped remains fed to your rabid, starving dogs?

WHICH ONE SHALL IT BE?


[ I I I . ]

You are convoluted ecstasy and LSD and heroin in its rawest form, a most potent kind of prescription drug that instantly presses through my arm like hot steel and directly flows into my veins—though the hypodermic needle is missing and the vigil candle has completely melted away into stained tears hours, perhaps even weeks ago. But it is incredibly easy to lose track time with you, is it not? Every inch of the rampant hallucinogens traces highways back and forth on my scarred flesh and all over the wrinkles and grey matter of my deliquescent brain, smoothening out track marks and neurons alike as it gradually transforms me into an obedient porcelain mannequin. Just for you, I’ll forget to exhale, so let your guilt swirl through my charred lungs for all it’s worth, and I won’t suffocate. I promise.

DO YOU?


[ I V . ]

There is a new emotion blustering within me as you speak; something that feels like crudely sewing obscure adjectives on the underside of my clavicle, something that I don’t think anyone else with four chambers in their heart is supposed to ever feel; lest one of it inevitably clogs up and withers into paralysis. It renders every paranoid afterthought blindly unresponsive to the rest of my starving body, and sleeps right next to the nerve that could send me straight to comatose if pressed the wrong way. It takes the tiny spots from below your right cheek and collides it together into an explosive myriad constellation, an overwhelming universe that barely begins to abstract the way your unfathomable soul works. It is you: ad infinitum, deathless, enraptured. And me stumblingly trapped in the middle of it all, mere insensible creature hysterically perplexed by your stark impossibility. Dare I ask…dare I ask you why…why this is and should never be? And if I do—god help me if I do—

WOULD IT EVEN MATTER TO HAVE EXISTED AT ALL?


[ Π. ]

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ sᴀʏ?
ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ɪғ ɪ sᴛᴀʏ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
sᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ
ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ? ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ?
ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ
ᴡᴇ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ…”


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Diesis

i revere you

with clenched jaws

grinding bones

scream, scream

.

ulysses defeated

a sisyphean darling

crushed by mere pebble

and then over again

.

arcana uncovered

red eyes and whitecaps

cigarettes after dark

hypanthium reborn

.

or apoplectic laughter

in a shockwave cadenza

and a swindled affair

wet milk and ballet

.

luxuries losing out to

sensationalism and

tabloid embolism, finding

adverts for martyrdom

.

black flies swarming

on the gloom of my

eyelids, lithium to fend

off the vulgar answer

.

saving the worst for last

submerge all the colours

to confess before the lie

here comes the hurricane

.

yes, i revere you with a

ruthless antagonism

but to love you, mon cherie?

i wouldn’t ever dare.

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down by the fairy ring

oh, this wayward glow

i catch sleepy lightning bugs

and send them off to space

with one last quiet hug

they’ll light up the horizons

for you, when i failed to

do the very same, only you

melt me down like the

plastic jewelry you wear

the crude good luck charms

tarnished promise rings

and the ancient silver locket

with our very first picture inside

the one i always hated

because my hair stuck up

in such strange places, but you

thought it was funny and i

found myself laughing along

recklessly, almost afraid to

let my contracting insides show

pushing down the declaration

building castles in my head

though there’s no one in distress

inside to swoop in and rescue

only my monstrous self

just another forgotten tale

in a dead language no one speaks

but for a moment, i wondered

if you understood it—if you

understood me; the way your

delicate dimples danced to your

own melodies, a half-wit grin

dripping with sonatas and sonnets

and sweet sarcasm, somehow

endearing me like a lantern mystery

buy the paper sun is never mine

to keep, and so away it floats

up to that sky with its purple moon

and flaxen lightning bugs, and

you will nestle perfectly within the

crook of andromeda’s final embrace

for you belong in a place i lost

you belong in a place i don’t.

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Elizabeth and the Zealot

His embittered smile proclaims of an innocently senile man, but his rancid breath reeks of irreparable psychological damage.

Outside, a group of children playing tag in the playground across the street, clambering across loose gravel and joyously shrieking as outstretched hands willingly grab for their shoulders, caught unaware and simply caught.

Inside his shirt, the old crucifix his long-deceased mother gave him on the brink of her deathbed, clasp half-broken and several priceless encrusted jewels missing; a toothless grin, unfaithful gaps. The tiny metal weighs heavily against his unwashed chest, the unpleasant sensation almost burning a hole through his heart. Sometimes, he mutters a memorised creed out of reflex, though no one believes in it anymore. Perhaps not even God Himself. But him?

Mindless gazes. The chipped, mouldy statue of a weeping wooden saint in one dark nook of the living room, rotting food and dusty candles its ever-resilient offering. The mirror, barely reflective, smudged with soot and cobwebs and his tuberculosis-infected saliva. The closed window beside him like a sleepy eye, tiringly wary as it occasionally betrays a resounding laugh or a glimpse of excitedly-billowing hair. He forgets so many things nowadays, but he always remembers. The children. He must watch the children.

Or else?

Or else…

Grabbing his ragged coat from the settee, the man coughed into his fist once, twice, and absently wiped the offending knuckle onto his beige pants. He headed for the door and resolutely grabbed the tarnished doorknob with a shaky hand. The hinges squeaked. A child, perhaps the acting leader of the pack, called out for everyone’s attention as he insisted to play hide and seek.

A countdown, and the palpable air of small bodies scattering. The man decided musingly, that he would humour them and join in their little pastime. He’s always been good at hiding. Though, he sighed out in quiet lamentation, with his old age and raging rheumatism, it would not really make the job any easier for him.

But only one child would win the game that night.

No one would ever find her.

He’ll make sure of that.

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pseudonym [5]

align the circumstances, hold crossfade

nebulae nightfall, slow ebb and cascade

dazing daylight dying out to desecration

younger aspidistras, bloom of cataclysm

.

chasms christening the edge of this infinity

imperceptible yet infallible, my invincibility

zoetropes of crushed sympathy hold back a lie

elysium and eloquence to pray forth when i sigh

kerosene for my lips, my bones to scatter the sky.

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Filed under Poetry

somewhere in balington drive

you’re every

city street

i picked tender

flowers out from

the ones that

bloomed from

the footsteps

you left behind

on rough pavement

as sodium lights

slept and doors

closed to the rhythm

of a hypnogogic

reverie—hush

but not quite still

silhouettes shifted

bodies left imprints

some alleyways

left a window open

for latecomers

and lost stragglers

and outsiders

i being one of them

but there are no

open anythings for me

only the bitter taste

of neon grey and

a last-minute wave

as you held your breath

and the flowers fell

from my shaky grasp

but there was no one

else around to pick

them back up

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(p.s., i think it’s spelled with a c, not a z)

caffeine resurgence

i’ve chewed my lips

.

half to death, and yet

nervousness twists

.

gordian knots down

the line in my body

.

where the blood and

bad ideas connect

.

rushing all the way to

my head, making me

.

feel dizzy, half crazy

extricated motions

.

my consciousness

craves bitter humour

.

barking laughter, but

i’m far from happy

.

just another white lie

of another blurred face

.

you’re making it kind

of awkward to think

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