Tag Archives: trash

Doubt Is Failure By Design

We’re born to fuck everything up, I guess.

No one asked for this. I’m like a festering scar on the dysfunctional mind of a starving shark who mercilessly shoved me overboard, and my flailing limbs are weighed down with rocks and paralysed with guilt, with shameful culpability, with the handed-down heirloom of a cursed name—a mere letter and punctuation away from completely unpronounceable—come now, black sheep, where’s your fucking wool?

Absolutely deplorable. Every success-story sycophant resolutely cringes away as if touched by the devil’s acid itself, their gold-plated stomachs turning at the mere mention of us, rolling diamond eyes watering viciously at the sight of our squalid hands reaching out to extinct stars and begging for a shred of respite, if any at all, overfed jesters laughing like relentless hyenas at the classic repertoire of victimised beggars choosing to be losers. No change. No mercy. Miserable. We asked for it, didn’t we?

I take a single step into the path I meticulously measured before finally deeming to be correct, and end up breaking somebody’s weak spine instead; clumsy foot easily slicing through vertebrae like a sharpened sword through snowfall. Another mistake. Another cautionary tale. I hear my dead ancestors wail a steady plangent caterwaul, as they eternally scream and admonish me from beyond the depths of inferno and then perhaps some—from where I shall soon be sharing their fate as I join in with their ever-familiar sickly cries. Another generation. Another bad blood. It’s almost comforting, now.

Oh, well. We fucking saw it coming and let it happen anyway, didn’t we?

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Snap Out Of It

Forever isn’t for everyone, is forever for you?
It sounds like settling down or giving up
But it don’t sound much like you, girl
I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake…


🆂 🅽 🅰 🅿

Oh, she’s simply too good for you

She’s infinities and perfect evergreen

You’re a blander-grey kind of blue

🅾 🆄 🆃

Oh, she deserves better than you

Her laugh showers the horizons alight

You’re like a broken exhaust pipe

🅾 🅵

Oh, maybe she’s not the one for you

A billion pretty faces and yet you ain’t fun

Play roulette with a fully-loaded gun

🅸 🆃

Oh, now she still means everything to you

But why even bother when you know the truth?

She will never love a fucking mess like you.


If that watch don’t continue to swing
Or the fat lady fancies having a sing
I’ll be here waiting ever so patiently
For you to snap out of it
Under a spell, you’re hypnotized
Darling, how could you be so blind?

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Filed under Poetry

colic

you are like

a bloom of cancer

in the pits of my

empty stomach

wide awake and half

meant for graves

and ingratitude

scarlet vindication

a twist of white lies

telling me everything is

alright, when i’ve got

one foot in your mouth

another decapitated

by the knife down

my back, nonetheless

but i’m coughing out

my veins anyway,

you reason—sad to

say that i see your point

and pray to it like it’s

my fucking gospel

like i’ll truly be saved by

your invisible god

because that’s all you

ever want me to do

you make me love feeling

like i’m far too weak

so i hope you’ll do me

one last favour and pull the

plug on me, just before

they find the miracle cure.

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sceptic

this doubt

will outlive me

and will be

the death of me

all the same.

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lukewarm mochacchino and headaches at 7-11

Ride into the sun, ride into the sun
Where everything seems so pretty
When you’re lonely and tired of the city
Remember, it’s a flower made out of clay…

~*~

it’s been almost an entire year and then some

since the whole flock last roosted just to stay

we’ve had our cue cards and five seconds of fun

and last call of sour fries and cold waffle cakes

but now only two wasted bodies dance under

bright purple lights and the sedated aspirations

nodding heads, from the bassline, from the sleep

and from the sheer lack of plasticine inhibition

when the world is too angry, we still scream back

the past songs of the fallen, clearly left to attack

show me your secrets, then i will trade you mine

senselessly sober, these parallel lives in decline

but cough just once and we’ll have the sad truth

from stretches of lonely nights and elephant tattoos

inside the small cube you call your own freedom

rainbow sheets, cracked mirrors, limp curtains and

claw machine teddy bears protect your kingdom

it’s not much, but something is better than nothing

while i lose my shadow on concrete and let it do the talking

as time revolves unwound and with it the hopeful euphoria

along with false promises of “see you soon” and highschool drama

and somehow i feel a subtle digging tinge of irrational envy

for the things i badly want to do and yet i couldn’t really be

still stuck in all my childish drawings and untuned melodies

but peter pan, it’s time to grow up, now where’s your reverie?

a painful jolt—raging reality, and all the things i will surely miss

crash and cascade along the failed scars coating my flimsy wrists

consumerism and city blends, and chipped black nails left to gripe

old fairytales forgotten a bit too fast, falling victim to the call of life.

~*~

Where everything seems so ugly
When you’re sitting at home in self-pity
Remember, you’re just one more person
Who’s living there, it’s hard to live in the city…

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Minor Extraction

Darling, you punch in my throat

Like the neon drinks I just knocked back

But it didn’t give me half a buzz

In the way your lilting voice left me apart

You’re my lucky 11:11, if I didn’t

Wish out just a couple minutes too solemn

And let your photos do the talking

Silent as I was, pounding beat of the sirens

Mouthing lips into avalanche, and

Another crimson tidal wave just left to decay

I swear I wouldn’t do this again, but

Here I am, losing my sense to your sympathy

But applebee, you’re my only buzz

When all the bitter brews fail at their only job

And I would give hell to the blood

In my brain for another chance at this brittle love.

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happy hour

IMG_20191102_205745848.jpg

cigarette smoke

hangs heavy in the air

dizzy dizzy daydreams

i know i won’t care

a drowsy companion

and blue drip on my lips

the world is way too loud

four minutes away from sick

the way the music throbs

like a toothache in my ears

blaring guitar against my grin

another round of shots and beer

maybe six more for the road

and another, just to melt away

like the ice between our shoulders

and the night that’s left to stay.

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tabby blonde

you showed up

in my dreams

last night again

and i thought

that was that

.

but just when i

thought i’d awake

’cause it couldn’t

get weirder, you

turned into a cat.

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Filed under Poetry

so what was it that you were hoping for?

just an instantaneous reprieve

i still piss myself off with the thought

that it wouldn’t matter if i worry

you’re just a pretty name on paper

and my stuttering pen refuses to bleed

so my head does all the purging

again and again and i want it to be fine

even if i’m inconsequentially yours

because you’ll never find me out

i’m too shaded but i can’t cool it off

blindsided by your automatic ideas so

i guess i’ll apologise under my breath

every night, just before you save my

nightmares and leave the brake in

your clutch, ripped off like the breaks

in my heaving ribs, mouthing sorry

over and over and i’m not over it

i’ll never be fucking over it anyway

is that all you want? don’t even bother

i’m just the mirror you’re pointing at

and i’m just mimicking your baby eyes

it’s exhausting to let it glint all day

but who will care? you’re the best that

it gets, and i’m half as worse as i will get

and we’re all just a bunch of broken bodies

seemingly set for headfirst collision but

only narrowly missing by a sinew in the end

well i shouldn’t really get my hopes up

you’re far too clever for my cry for help

and my delusions can only cash in so much

before you’re changing your mind again

and i think for a second, maybe, oh

just fucking maybe—falling prey again

to your last instantaneous reprieve

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Dilettante

I just want to stop everything

I want to break all my pens and pencils and paintbrushes and throw away all my paints and burn all of my journals and sketchbooks and books and give away my instruments to someone else more deserving to play it

I want to exhaust every single word from my overthinking brain and let it spill out and completely leave my system without giving a damn, I want to gouge out my eyes and amputate my hands and rip out my vocal cords from my throat, I want to get a fucking lobotomy and be glad that I finally did

I want to stop pretending that I’m good at something, that I’m good at anything, that I’ll actually ever be good at the things that I like, if I try, if I TRY, if I try

I just want to stop trying too hard

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Filed under Prose