Tag Archives: threat

Transmogrify

They spit me out right through the teeth
I can’t pretend, ash in the wind
Won’t blow again, it was a breeze for you
These hurricanes inside of my brain
Let it rain, made it look easy
Can’t look away, you love the pain…

~*~

I’m sick of feeling happy like this.

Like a hollow happy, all fractured sticks and carved limestone facades and a mimicked genuine smile that does absolutely nothing to quell the bitter, devoid, pathetically-quivering feeling viscously building up in my throat. The desperate, acidic kind, the awful one I just want to violently throw back up but can’t. Fake-real happy.

Fuck that, why couldn’t I just be normal happy?

This dangerous selfishness, it’s like a howling werewolf without a full moon, and I’ll always fall immeasurably short of what I truly feel. I only provoke the worst kind of boiling rage frothing against my curled lips, a bloodstained rabid displeasure—but nothing more—at the fact that I’m happy for you, but not really happy to be so. Empty fucking threats. Instantly dying out short and flat. The synthetic skyline glimmers back to me in a derisive snarl; taunting,

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

I want it to tear apart my flimsy skin and reveal the perverse goddamned feral beast hibernating inside, I want my soggy eyes to glint a jaundiced yellow and my grotesquely-disfigured mind to lower its inhibitions and reset to a primal scream, my rewired guts are churning corrosively as they crash away at my torso and starve for some more guts, and my grin at this point only resembles a sinister bared sneer, all vicious teeth and reckless abuse.

If I can’t have it, then everyone else will.

I just finally want to shed off that repugnant, powerless, shaky lie I call my own farcical humanity and then completely let go. Of you. Of everything else. Of everyone else. Including myself. Especially myself.

Maybe then, I’ll truly be happy. Please. God, please.

~*~

I paid the cost, yeah, it’s all my fault
That I ain’t giving up my soul
It’s all my fault, watching me bleed
You cut me down on my knees
No matter what you believe
I think we both can agree
That you can’t blame it on me…

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Filed under Prose

L.D.N.S.F.G.T.

Mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle
Clear your throat and face the world
The verdict falls like bachelors for bad luck girls
Only breathing with the aid of denial…

~*~

Baby girl, I think that some vulgar words

Just aren’t meant for your pretty little ears

.

You can throw away all those dirty looks

Or drive yourself home drinking sweeter tears

.

Don’t threaten me with a good damn time

Like the way your skirt curls when you stand in line

.

And the way life turns pure with the touch of a finger

That middle spot is so pristine, now ain’t it better?

.

Baby girl, just don’t strain yourself thinking

When the world’s too dumb to accept your sinking

.

So don’t waste that pretty little breath on your scream

Save it for when you’ve got something realer than a dream.

~*~

Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can’t lift his headache head
Isn’t it tragic?

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Filed under Poetry

In The Presence of Perdition

“And it is from this world of darkness
Which come the evil, destructive forces of man’s nature.”

~*~

Come one, come all, to the audience of the deceased

Have a taste of the pleasure that your rotting tongue missed

Sit before the actors regurgitating lines in vaudeville sarcasm

And your skin is stitched directly to the burning emblem

So curse all the horrors and scream at the fainthearted

A minor threat, a copycat’s tragic death, bloodshot gazes averted

Give out the two-faced masks that conceal the grotesque

For that flimsy veil of deception that only ire savages protect

So hold your breath and shut your lungs, there’s no other place for the living

Break your grasp and lose control on the mausoleum graves we’re dancing

I’m built for blame and bland on sins, severed eyes won’t see the true vision of hell

And I can’t be saved by devotees and war-bent crimes they preach on the chapel

But don’t worry, I’ll still clap along to the act until my blistered hands catch on fire

Dante’s inferno is just a burlesque caricature compared to this hellish life that even the devil desires.

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Filed under Poetry

A Covetous Call Of Clarity

Just like a tick, I’m itching the back of your throat
You miss the beat while I’m hanging on every note
You gotta choke cause you swallowed a problem
Not gonna take this, not gonna take this!

~*~

I despised your guiling swords of histrionic eloquence

Sharp tongue slashing cuts to the point of garishness

Every clanking word like an aged hard treacle in its tartiness

Your kisses causing me tooth decay and imminent stress

.

“Oh you silly bird, I’m not a threat” you oh-so silkily assured

And how careless it was of my ineptitude to believe that

All your prior motives were bleached white, strikingly pure

I bit on the card, despite the murky venom you clearly spat

.

How was I, a desperado, to have foretold this tragedy?

How was I to surmise that you’ve hidden a weightless dice?

When I look back on your lifelines, your inscribed litanies

All I envision is an ostentatious parade of chromatic lies

.

Where was my head in all of these? Distorted in the grey clouds

That you created with every breath as you sat smoking your pipe

A most rancid smell, yet intoxicating, of tobacco compound

But I was too indulged in the bittersweet nicotine to fight

.

“Oh, I’m an incarnadine goddess, a quite reliable vial of blood

Just let me be your saving grace, let me be your TNT spark”

And I let you flambeaux up the resting embers in my chest

And despite all my cautious prayers, I detonated nonetheless

.

Now where do I stand? Sullenly relaying your past discourse

The way an ashen-faced prisoner would steal a fallen lamplight

Just to read his personal announcements, bereft and morose

Clutching tightly a letter about his execution by hanging tonight

.

I’m defeated by your idiosyncrasies, your imagination is a tight rope around my neck

It pains me to even conjure the thought that to your fabrications I’ve been a gracious host

In the end, it all comes down to a single statement, a mouth with a flair for the dramatic

I’ll let your virtuoso hands pull the trapdoor lever, fingers trembling as I give up the ghost

.

A final violent shade of verdure is beginning to spread, clashing against my bruise-blotched cheeks

Blossoming briskly, an ironic requiem, though I’ve sorely wished for nothing but for them to already wilt

Somehow those sentimental chemicals in my asphyxiated brain keep acting as a mercurial fertiliser score

My last deathwish is that you’d be kind to pluck them from my heart, loved one, after all, what’s a single tear more?

~*~

I swear your head is bigger than us all, getting bigger
Go slit your own throat, slit your own throat!
You’re more turned on than anyone could be by yourself
Go slit your own throat, slit your own throat!

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Filed under Poetry