Tag Archives: sweet

pink and gold

sweetest surprises

wrapped in ribbons

and in sing-alongs

and broken wrongs

twisting my lungs

twisting like snakes

twisted apart, i am

like plaited braids

.

but it’s not about

the silver wrappers

or the pastel anchor

to see who’s better

tasting saccharine

tasting like venom

tasted it all, i did

like glitter in honey.

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sweet sundown sky

there’s a peach hanging from the sky

or maybe it’s an apricot

or a freshly-ripe pomegranate…

but whatever it is,

it looks deliciously sweet and succulent

and i’m very much tempted

to pluck it off the honeycomb fade

of the descending horizon

even though it might burn my fingers—

and take a bite of that tuscan sun

to taste a million explosions

dancing and flaring on my excited tongue

for a final palatable moment

all before the golden platter sunset

is ushered away from me

and the table is draped with velvet ebony

embroidered with scintillating stains

of sparkling yellow sugar

presented marvelously before me

and i open the silver tray in anticipation

only to be delightedly surprised

with a half-eaten moon pie.

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in which love is just another imagined story by a hopeless writer who has dysgraphia

“and though to my arms you are forever lost,
you are a prisoner in my fantasy.”

~Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

~*~

you are my sweetest fiction,

conjured, derived from the very ends of

the lacklustre impediment

that is my algid imagination.

light calla lips flushed pleasantly

(though, i may only be imagining it so)

elusive soul a taunting fugitive

(from which i could never hope to catch

with bare hands and bare feet)

cerise smile melting upon liquid gaze

before i then realise—the blood was my own.

missing birthdays, unsent letters

piling into sealed dictionaries upon my oaken desk

and again, i weep the night sky

in the grievous absence of your starlight.

falling, falling; lilies, lilies,

plucked like shimmering innocence

from the skin of my gritted teeth, sighing

irreplaceable—!

though, your divine body is not mine

to ruin and revere relentlessly

under eternal storybooks and lost volumes of

anthologies, the empty pages

all at once interjecting: “impossible?!”

but, is it always so? must my fluttering shyness

be short-lived like your tyranny?

surely we must not always adore the

blinking butterflies, cascading iridescence

billowing solemnly into my reverie—

accidental interruption.

aralias, aralias; painful, painful;

i am to dirty fly as you are to decadent fruit

dragged down rather cruelly into

the ad infinitum of your fiery veneration

and i am unable to twist my words into cathartic

crashing, collapsing, holding it in…

but, i do not mind at all; for i lost mine

the moment you slipped from enthrallment into

the ache of my charismatic sternum,

submerging me in pacific oceans of desire—

enchantingly alluring me into the cozen, shackling confines

of the prison you call your heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry

waves of whimsy

I’ll be your optimistic black hole
Full of love I can’t control
Let’s keep each other safe from the world…

~*~

happiness

comes in little waves

of sipped hot cocoa

and marshmallow bits

warming quiet souls

on a rainy sunday morn

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of day-old biscuits

and mouthfuls of chocolate

and a faint bite of pink

in strawberry and caramel

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of melancholy songs

and purple boys wrapped

in twinkling fairy lights

resting beneath telephones

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of such lone-star musings

huddled under covers and

writing epistles for sunrise

as ink stains the skylines

.

happiness

comes in little waves

of whimsical contentment

and peaceful nothings

amid beating quiet hearts

on a rainy sunday morn.

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A Happy Kind Of High

I know that there’s no dealing
With the way I’m feeling
I’m so out of touch with everyone 
And everything’s a blur to me…

~*~

I’m super high on happy

The dopamine nearly kills me

Bouncing like an excited puppy

Smiling wears me all the way to revelry

Slightly crazy, mostly high

But right now I’m too stupid to die

I may have ditched the walk to town

But playing sour notes won’t get me down

I could talk about love all day

But don’t get me wrong, ‘cause it’s easier to say

Than to complain about my cold coffee

The sugar tastes sweet, laughing over candy

I’ll never be royal and I don’t wish for gold

But I just don’t want to do as I’m told

I might have missed another point

But keep your eyes off me until you appoint

Life in blue and colour-coded pastel

The empty picture frames I have can go to hell

I may be tired, but there ain’t nothing to it

And I won’t stare and quietly sit

Because I love songs that scream, songs that dream

Songs with titles ripping at the cover’s seams

I love songs that I can dance to at the top of my lungs

And songs that don’t make any sense, I won’t leave them unsung

Made in America, from Houston to California

A wild party in Baltimore, childish theme parks in Florida

From Australia to England, each road and tour a trip

For each minute I walk and listen, ain’t anything I’d skip

I’m dizzy and frisky on this unfamiliar feeling

My hands raised in devil signs, my feet touching the ceiling

I’m confused, almost passing out from hysteric serotonin

But still I want more, enough to take me all the way to heaven

I’m super high on happy, and I will write a million words

About my eccentric thoughts in this square-cut world

Because I may be sad all the time, but that doesn’t mean

That I’m not allowed to have fun, and in the rarest times that I do

It’s more than what I need to carry on and crave life again.

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sweet candy (clap and kneel)

She do a dance
Slides down a pole
She turn a backflip
Make your heart roll…

~*~

get a syrupy dose

i’ll have you clapping

candy that lasts all night

sweet but not too saccharine

lust like a parched rose

desire is just another word

until my lush lips utter it

i’ll have you screaming “what a world”

a messy and clarion intimacy

let’s murder the lights if we must

my sovereign eyes will set you free

in cavorting pure we trust

but no, don’t be fooled

by my colourful lollipop taste

i’m far from innocent, my darling

and i’ll let you go to waste

and when you’re finished taking it all in

my sweet taste will slowly fade

and leave an acrid palate that will last for days

even when i’m gone, you’ll taste staid.

~*~

Caught in a spotlight
Crawls across the floor
Calls for attention
The boys yell out for more…

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Ash & Tongue

Ash is just a word, but why does it taste so ironically bitter in my mouth? Does it hurt to say it, because the conflagrating embers originated from my pharynx, tactlessly ignited after I accidentally swallowed phosphorous nitrate and it corroded against my sandpaper throat and set me on fire? Who would kiss a person with a mouth this filthy? Even the most affectionate of mothers turn their backs away from my chapped sooty lips, bleeding of halitosis and ashes and lies lies lies.

There it is, that word again, pulling my voice under hell and waking me up when I’m having the sweetest dream in my acerbic existence. The exit signs are glowing softly in delicate overtones, yet my bloodshot eyes perceive it as an uproarious neon scream, blinding my eyes, deafening my sight, blackening my vision. The water’s getting colder, I’m caught up in the rip, and my footing has slipped away. I’m swimming, no, drowning in the hazy fumes, dizzy from the medication-addled ozone, and still I could not hear a single truth amid all the false accusations.

He was a man until you destroyed him. You were a girl before I desecrated you, cautiously building you up brick by chalkdust brick, all the while as I’m hiding away the solitary intention of vulgarly demolishing the body that is your temple. And it was all too late for you when you found out. Did you survive all the devastation I caused and rose up from the rubble like a newly-reborn phoenix? Or have your devout worshipers fled the havoc and left you suffocating and buried under all the debris and ashes? Ash is just a name I used to call in my sleep, but why…why does it taste so painful between my teeth?

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Liplock Torture; Suffering Greys

And I can’t tell if this is all a dream or if I’m really here
But as long as I can feel you, I don’t really care, I don’t really care
Can we pretend like it’s just you and me?
I wanna act like I can feel something
And you don’t have to give it back to me…

~*~

do you feel me

breathing in your sins

and suffocating in third degree as

you mercilessly watch me die?

.

i wouldn’t care but

a single rejection would be nice

.

any reaction, even if

you laugh at my suffering

it doesn’t have to be an outcry of protest

because i know it never works like

that, you’re not a dreamer

.

i’m losing the feeling

in my fingers, but still, you won’t

hold them and pull me back

.

i’m dangling like

the burning cigarette between your lips

and sooner or later i will be

falling like the ashes

.

i could swallow

a million razors right now, and

still, you’d act as if it was simply sweet

.

i didn’t know what to expect

i can’t fathom why i even expected anything

you’ll always get the best of my worst

blue oceans pulling me into pacific

shooting my veins under a loaded gun

leaving my eyes with a vacancy

.

i could hope for a million years until it kills me

and even then, you wouldn’t cry.

~*~

‘Cause I can’t promise much of anything
I see in shades of grey, I’m going blind again
But when it comes to you, my world is red
I see in shades of grey, losing my mind again
‘Cause when it comes to you my world is deep red…

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Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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Merry Christmas Is Too Cliché, I’ll Burn Down Your House Instead

Now I hope you’re happy with yourself, ’cause I’m not laughing
Don’t you think it’s kind of crappy what you did this holiday?
When I gave you my heart, you ripped it apart
Like wrapping paper trash, so I wrote you a song
Hope that you sing along, and it goes
“Merry Christmas, kiss my ass!”

~*~

I waited 359 days for the day

You’ll wake up and see the star blink out

On the top of your christmas tree

And I’ll be just fine and merry

‘Cause baby, it’s cold outside

And the weather’s as frigid as your soul

But guess you knew all that

When you buried me under the snow

And the bells may be a’jingling

But my face is numb and tingling

From all the endless and forced laughing

As the carolers continue wailing

Say you’re Santa Claus ‘cause you went to town

I got my eggnog when I got you down

You once were sweet like striped candy cane

And now you’re just stuffed like a red stocking again

But 12 days ain’t enough to keep you satisfied

I’ve had my fill, now I wanna throw up

The silent night turned into total manic chaos

All I want for christmas is you, to shut the fuck up

I’m on my own, so wrap me up

Like a delicate present, and rip me up

I’ll be the cookie drowning in your sweet milk

The soot in your chimney, coal and ink

And play, and play all the songs once more

About how this holiday is keeping score

Month of goodwill, hope, and festive season

When it’s nothing but a festering commercialism

Naughty’s being nice, and Santa ain’t true

But even if he was, well he won’t ever visit you

Gun down the sleighs, trip the reindeers

Ho ho holy shit this whole thing is just a derriere

But christmas miracles do happen, so they say

And your good-for-nothing face went away

I hope you choke on your tinsel and peppermint

I’ll hang myself by the christmas lights like an ornament

The sense of rude nostalgia, and all the childish feels

Of you begging for more presents, you got me hot on my heels

And if the decorations are blocking your misery

Call me gingerbread man, because you can eat me

And tonight I’m gonna burn the mistletoe down

To forget what happened under its boughs

And use it as minty poison on my lips

For your goodbye kiss, pucker up, and I’ll take it real slow

‘Cause I waited 359 days for the moment

Thar I could write another trite and cliched song

About my damn trashy special little snowflake

And how everyone got this christmas bullshit all wrong.

~*~

No, fuck you girl, I’m going out
I gave you my all, but our love hit a wall, now
I’m jingle belling, and everyone’s yelling
We’ll drink ’til the bars shut us down
Ain’t that just what Christmas is all about?

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Filed under Poetry