Tag Archives: time

metal & skin (xi.)

waiting for the right

time to come

isn’t really helping

all it does

is further intensify

the agony

that you’re prolonging.

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Concrete & Clocks

Time is ticking like pewter rocks

Another stony glare for the clock

Paralyse, stupor, lethargic, stuck

The yawn escapes, I’m outta luck

Time is ticking, wasting the clock

Ideas hit me but they fail to knock

Ennui colliding like massive trucks

I’m falling out and dead like a fuck.

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break the fall

sorry to break

it to you now,

but you’re not

special, love

you’re barely

worthy for a

clap, let alone

a white dove

sorry to break

your beliefs,

dear, but you’re

just not worth

any of my time

if i’m coldblooded

in your sad eyes

then be a friend

and fucking pay

for your crime.

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angel mine

let me fly

and steal your gun

kiss the sky

let’s have some fun

let me fall

against your wings

time is up

so why don’t we sing?

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The Backyard Boneyard

In the backyard where stars are buried

The moonlight’s dim, no spectres solid

Black bats avoid the sharp razor trees

And maggots festered under disease

.

Hell awaits, encased in cold grey stones

From coffins of red and velvet bones

The devils bartering souls for sale

Salvation was but a fairy tale

.

Lost souls vie for their damnable fates

Pray to saints only when it’s too late

Decaying like fruits, plucked rancid fair

Monstrosity farm, ripeness they bear

.

Centuries pass, generations chime

Can’t turn back the decomposing time

Ghosts fed to minds to lead them astray

Again the cycle completes its prey

.

Cemeteries of death and roses

Existences gone with no losses

In the backyard where stars are buried

The moonlight’s lost in shadows solid.

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry

sentenced

time moves

too  s l o w

when you’re

waiting for

death row.

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Dornröschen

Your direction two steps I take quietly, you lay motionless; you were asleep
Paralysed, realised, I’m so cowardly, I despise myself for being so weak
Lights appear like the wind they’ve escaped my grasp; illusion, or the real thing?
Though this silence is impossible to surpass…my song for you, I’m singing!

~*~

Mute song soundwaves under the glass

Winds of illusion and desert sands pass

Your encased tears washes over a wave

Crashing consequences, a smile I crave

.

Despite regrets, I leapt past like a wren

Both hands are numb from flying again

My fallen ideals paralysed the unspoken

I’ll burn my throat and drown in chlorine

.

Breaths of briar thorns, awake under moonlight

Silver crown impaled on frail skin and midnight

Angel blonde and devil red, cursed of needle kiss

In a castle of clandestine shadows, deserted bliss

.

Can you hear me sing under the hazy ocean currents?

Pulled away into the depths of an unescapable dream

Graceful curtains dancing, flimsy like a lullaby meant

I know you’re still there, calling out my name, listening

.

Northern lights colliding against silence underground

As you lie past the fray, where you can never be found

Faint and asleep, as time ebbs and crystallises in snow

My heart ceases to find a garden where roses never grow.

~*~

Your voice whispers my name
My silent call, falls so faint
The still past, it will not change
Time just won’t slow down…

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Ephemera

Like violets stranded in eternity

I lay dying in here for centuries

Like snow and dandelion white

Melting on my paintings tonight

Like the incandescent butterflies

I’ll never crash, and I’ll never lie

Like taste of stars and lemonade

I’ll never be gone, I’ll simply fade

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Wild One

It’s been a year, kid.

I don’t have to constantly check up on you anymore, and be paranoid whether you are still breathing as you slumber, unknowing, naive, innocence in its most delicate form. I can only count your heartbeats, slow and steadily warm, whispering reassurances to me, making me believe still in a transient hope on a world so lost and pitifully dark. All the nights I’ve had to give up, interrupted sleep I’ve had to bide my tired mind by, the erstwhile activities and further indulgences I’ve had to forego to help in taking care of you, the stress, the weeping, the spewed bodily fluids, the horrid diapers, the sacrifices ventured and risks undertaken, everything and nothing all at once…I suppose it was all worth it in the end.

You’re still here, after all, breathing, laughing, crying. Living. One year in. It’s crazy to think just how much has changed, how everything has been elicited by insignificance, how everything slows down yet speeds up at the same time, nerves racing clockwork ticks, how much has changed, how far you have grown. It only feels like a trembling fingertip away when you were a newborn infant delivered from the hospital, and, lying there, ensconced in white silken sheets and resting with umber eyes wide shut, I saw a part of the universe that was apt with the stars in the sky. I basked in the warmth of someone who doesn’t have to be arrogant and jaded like the rest of the heartless horizons, a soul, that was a diamond moon, uncarved, pristine, an enigma. An incandescent light that catches the sparkle in every worthwhile heart. I left the room dazed that day, with ink all over my hands, holding a crumpled piece of paper, unsure of my own senses, pensive and ocean-deep.

Admittedly, I’m not the best babysitter. Sometimes I’m clumsy and end up panicking amid bloodstains and scarlet bumps. Sometimes I get vexed and irritated by your inability to act and your constant incessant shrieking, for heaven knows what reason. Sometimes I snap at you for your tantrums and for the things I know are not under your control. Most of the time I don’t know what the hell I’m even doing when I hold you. I know I’m a child-hating misanthrope that doesn’t take any shit from any other snot-nosed bratty brat that dare crosses my path, and I should be a choking hazard, kept fifty miles away from any person under 5 years old. But you are the exception.

Your shrieking laughter trumps all the crying and wailing I’ve endured from you. Your adorable cooing and chubby tottering alike, the fact that I was there for your initial steps, your first word (“Wa-ta.”), the numerous milestones that can’t be replaced by a million million-dollar paintings. The jubilance and uplift your cloudy childish curiosity banishes my demons temporarily and ties my emotions to a raspberry red balloon, sends me shimmering against your diamond moon, providing me an ephemeral glow, enough to get me though the day. You make me this incredibly maudlin and histrionic, hell, not everyone has the ability to do such a thing. And yes, I may have lost my room when you arrived, true enough, but I found a home in you.

To my sister’s chubby little child, stay wild and have fun, not only in your jungle themed party (which somehow has a clown?), but in this jungle of a life as well. True enough that your untainted whims may not last forever, but the memories remain like butterflies in my tongue, fluttering, tinting my lips with chromatic stained glass artworks, tasting of fairy dust and sweet sugary candy and an indistinguishable distinct bitter undertone, a hueful transfer with every cuddle and pinch and peck. You’ve got no reason to be sad, you need no reason to be happy, which is why you’re smiling all the time. You’ve got many people who love you unconditionally, so beat your chest and swing on the vines, you’ve got a lot to roar about. Don’t grow up too soon now. You deserve that much, at least.

Happy birthday, Gianni-ya.

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The Wrong Time, The Wrong Place

i got my dates

all damn wrong

but i went and

played along

for i was so

deluded by you

guess i lost

track of what

was still true

i wanted to

impress, but i

ended at a skid

just who the fuck

am i kidding—?

i’m so stupid.

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