Tag Archives: tired

Febfair

Pondering all alone

Sitting with cold grass

Between curled fingers

And unfinished coffee

Making lips quite sticky

My unplugged earphones

Afraid to make sounds

.

Myriad stands flickering

With flashes of neon colours

Selling dresses and candy

And music and rowdy revelry

But just tell me, Mr. Vendor

Please, where can I buy

Someone to walk with tonight?

.

The crowds passing by

Friends, family, familiarity

Cheering, laughing, enjoying

When there is none for me

Surrounded by old strangers

White noise for humming ears

White noise for sad eyes

White noise in my tired mind

.

From thinking about eternities

Until there is nothing but space

Lost and loved and lost again

An unsent greeting hovering

Anxiety creeping and crawling

As I patiently wait for a person

Who doesn’t even exist at all.

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Filed under Poetry

fine [print]

With me understand
These patterns
How can you live forced
Into parallel lines
All functioning under
The same mind?

~*~

i’m so tired

that my skin

is beginning

to drip off my

bones and pool

on the ground

and i think my

brain’s going bad

again, it’s curling

up in a corner and

it doesn’t want to

be found out now

.

the rushed high

felt fun, but it’s

quickly wearing off

and the usual numb

is back and oh, it’s

more numb than ever

i thought i was going

to be fine, and it’s staying

that way if i really tried—

but is that just another

one of my famous lies?

will life never feel alive?

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Filed under Poetry

Jouska (pointless monologue)

Closed doors, locked in, no keys
Keeping my feelings hidden
There is no ease, I need it to stop
And I want to be able to open up but
My feelings are fatal…

~*~

This much, I know, we will never be alone together.

I couldn’t ever bring myself to attempt to catch up

With you; quietly fearing this trembling uncertainty of

Completely tiring myself down with the futile chase

Only to find out that I arrived in dead-set last place,

So I’ll just allow you to leave me behind instead, as it is.

It just feels like the more happiness you’re getting,

The less of you I could have for myself—and though

I can’t and won’t deprive you of the things you’ve fully

Well deserved for a long time, I also can’t stop

Myself from being such a selfish machine, stupidly

Begging for something far beyond my taut reach,

Inadvertently trapping myself and wailing in anguish

When I have to chew at my own leg just to get out of it—

I just can’t stop myself from giving a damn about you.

But I guess that’s fine. You will never find me out anyway, and

Even if short-lived and shortsighted, I still dearly cherish

What little euphoric glimpses I had of your attention, even

If it meant nothing, I only wish nothing but the very best for you,

And I could only hope that this teaches me a final lesson;

One last acrid pill to swallow, hope I don’t choke this time,

No more. I could only ever endure too much. Please. Not anymore.

The more you feel alive, the more I slowly wither away inside,

But I couldn’t hate you for that. I could never hate you at all…

It’s not your fault I keep fucking losing control of myself.

~*~

How many times must I keep it inside
I need to let go and I swear that I’ve tried
But opening up means trusting others
And that’s just too much, I don’t want to bother
So I’ll keep it inside and bury it deep
I know it’s not healthy, but you won’t hear a peep…

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Filed under Poetry

unwanted

Watching the wings cut through the clouds
Watching the raindrops blinking red and white
Thinking of you back on the ground
There with a fire burning in your eyes
I only halfway apologized…

~*~

all you ever do

is fuck things up

with your grating noise

and bleed them dry

with your social razors

and yet you wonder

why you’re always

the last choice?

leave your duct taped

smiles all over the

peeling wall, before

you complain they don’t

know you at all

and force your feet

to dance like mad blowflies

decaying under heat

they won’t notice it’s a lie

a sour abandonment

burns the roof of your mouth

does it hurt not to care?

or to be cared about?

scratching at your arms

like that would take it away

quiet redness blossoms

but the scars look okay

so when you pull out

a cold disappearing act

rest assured they’re all tired

and glad you’ve stopped

because you’re insufferable

all you ever do is fuck things up

so, what do you say?

won’t you do everyone a

favour and please go away?

they won’t need you.

they never needed you.

they don’t fucking need you.

go away. go away. g o . a w a y .

~*~

So I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There are things we have to do
That we can’t stand
Oh, I’ll be sorry for now
That I couldn’t be around
There will be a day that
You will understand…

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black mold

the clock strikes five, and then there was one.

bathroom floor. feels cold. unnaturally perfect. comforting. alone.

fingers pointing to every tile—faded pink against mouldy lavender

grimly counting the grimy walls peddling for some peace of mind

mindless indulgence, please don’t run out, pleaseplease…but it does

148 tiles. not mine. five sleeping bodies outside, blissfully unaware

five dreams i struggle not to rudely wake up with my silent screams

one. one face. hounding the very verge of my panicked wiles

melting me into an incomprehensible mess. maddening, blaming

the perpetrator of the crime. blue. perfect blue. haunting blue

angel blue with cumulous hair, have you ever seen golden clouds

before? sweet and dimpled, stifle back a sour laugh, i’m falling before

i realise that i can’t fly, oh shit oh god, i can’t fucking fly—!

pulled back. 148 tiles. small cube. no sky. hell below. my shivering hands

prayer. tired kind of mantra, no don’t want this anymore, please i

just want to be okay, please i just want it all to stop stop stop stoppp

numb but hurt, reduced to fine shreds on 28 of the 148 dirty tiles

five unconscious bodies, enviously euphorically ignorant, another storm

but not from outside, it’s too chilly for that, my eyes blur as they fog over but

better than sorry little pissbaby tears trickling, i have to face this now anyway

there’s no proper decorum for dismantled fools like me. only life. only life.

light flickers shut. 148 tiles hide beneath the shadows. five bodies toss fitfully. one.

the clock strikes six, and then there were none.

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Filed under Poetry

initials

dear middle name,

don’t leave me with goodbye

you know i don’t care

much for music for tired eyes

but will they cut me up

into all the tiniest smithereens?

and leave geraniums in

my hair like it’s my sweet sixteen?

.

dear middle name,

i’ll give mine up just for yours

and it’s a funny spelling

one too many c’s and z’s, true

but if we cut it all up and

paste it into something stranger

i’ll leave geraniums in your

lips like we’re still giddy teenagers.

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Caramel Oreo Milkshake (for Artemis.)

It’s only late, you have time
With any reason that you find
Somewhere in slumber
Is someone who didn’t see it coming
If all this leaves you behind
And everything starts to rewind…

~*~

gentleness in the crook of my left arm

sweet coffee and tasteless milk, dripping

against the pale of graphite and in

sleepy moving pictures, just some tired

faces tumbling through colder haze

of unfamiliarity and restless curiosity

from not really knowing what to do, but

a tiny heart beating against mine, it

guides my senses into instinctual concern

for a companion which replaces the love

i cannot truly keep; that similar butterscotch

twist against marbles of innocent aegan

another clever yet cruel coincidence

still speaking to me, to you, to us, to the

furry little darling dreaming of better days

like i have, like you will, like no one else

has ever dared to wander before…will my

arrow collide with the bullseye in your

chest, or will it miss its mark once again?

only time can intertwine these loose threads

pulling at empty air, until we find ourselves

finally curling up comfortably in quiet belonging,

saving all of our leftover warmth for crestfallen rainy evenings.

~*~

Tell me you’ll feel better
When you’re sleeping through the day
And I’ll tell you how you missed it
When you wake
It doesn’t mean anything…

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Woozy

Crazy

I’m fucking

Crazy

And nothing

Else

Really matters

I just

Want to sleep

For a

Million years

Without

Thinking about

All of the

Consequences

Awaiting me

In sunrise gloom

I just want

To lay in my bed

And think

About nothing else

But nothing

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Filed under Poetry

a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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Filed under Prose

deconstruction

mistakes,

i am built of

pencil shavings

lingering with

backaches

bitter sugar

a life-changing

flick of the wrist

stuttered change

homeless thoughts

gloomy showers

drenched in loneliness

small conversations

smaller smiles

overthinking

and undermining

deaf solfeges and

melodic dissonance

coalescing into

lucid obsessions

for somebody who

doesn’t exist

desperate need

pretty in pale purple

cruel in wrong red

damaged boy

starving for salt

like a suicide slave

hunger-crushed

ribs, leather scars

underlining the

scribbled prose

inkstains bleeding

nonsense, rambling

anxiety, trembling

neverending lies

nothing more

everything less

plain as paper grey

human unbeing

still unbecoming

j u s t . a . n o b o d y

is somebody…there?

bad and better

not so clever

tired of counting

can’t fall asleep

it’s been months now

centuries of waiting

yet still dying just

to find out

something, else

anything, right—

nothing’s right;

i am built of

mistakes

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Filed under Poetry