Tag Archives: violent

The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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Colourblind Memory

And when I see you
I really see you upside-down
But my brain knows better
It picks you up and turns you around
Turns you around, turns you around
If you feel discouraged
That there’s a lack of color here…

~*~

It was an easy kind of self-destruction; the one I never had to beg for.

After a few nights of staying awake and listening to cheaply-constructed songs on the static radio, I was already haunted. Copper chain links that stabbed at the fictional horizon and left unstitched scars on the exposed wind. Shy vespertine flowers that bloomed in the most coruscant spectrums, but only when no weeping eye was there to witness their exquisite grandeur and compose concerto symphonies about it. An infinite, arrogant, wakeless kind of blue that rivaled every transatlantic and pacific direction that I chased; but, unlike the oceans of this planet so drenched and cold and jaded to the bone, no one is ever able to cross it, and no one ever will.

And violet. A damnable shade, akin to roses-not-reds and forget-me-nots, that violet. A bleeding, dirty kind of violet that left filthy, undecipherable Roschach stains everywhere. Splattering the bruises of my halted tongue, shading the asphyxiation of my untouched lips, violently overtaking the rock-steady sorry secret that was divulged and diluted all too late. It painted a tragedy that only the most damaged and paranoid artists could understand, and rending shreds of the purest agony down my colliding ribs that not even the most genius maestros and starving dilettantes could begin to dissect; for it was a foreign anatomy. A different unknown. A beyond the beyond. It was brutally twisted inside my veins and gauchely discarded somewhere in between sense and sanctuary, photographed and arrested in another postcard vintage lie. I could write graphite letters at the back all I want, but I’ll never swim away from the indigo waves in front. It was our holiday memory, drowning me again and again and again.

Absolutely useless. It couldn’t aid my breathing. It couldn’t save my sleeping. It was a disease that was highly susceptible only to my atrophied words and comatosed syllogisms—the same unfortunate ones that are now leaving my chafed fingers but never my wornout mind, like you, like you, like you.

Unrelenting. Unsuspending. Unending.

All my colours were inverted. And no one can turn it back the right way.

If there even was one.

~*~

Please don’t worry, lover
It’s really bursting at the seams
For absorbing everything
The spectrum’s A to Z
This is fact, not fiction
For the first time in years…

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violent self-deception

I’ve been crawling circles in my skin
Leaving trails to where I’ve been
I’m still following
I’ve been tying knots in my muscles
Grinding down all of my bones
I’m paper thin, paper thin…

~*~

arrest the cloying hope

like the blood in my mouth

clotting, bitter, deep red,

barely letting me breathe.

i can’t justify myself

and my repeating hypocrisy

but i want to leave it all

behind…even if that means

being consumed by my

own fool’s ideology

and suffer disappointment

over and over and over again

for the sake of a dream;

just another tragic cliche.

that’s why my secret

is still a secret, and why even

the most vicarious pleading

won’t force it out of me

because if cold laughter is

the answer to a pending question,

then what good will it do me

to add my ambition to

their comedic entertainment?

it’s the only thing i have

left to fucking fight for anymore…

it’s the only thing i have left.

no, i don’t want anything grand;

i just want to have a little faith

even if that means lying to myself.

~*~

Give me something to believe in
I’ll give you something to forget
Just give me something to believe in
I’ll give you something to forget…

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anatomical dissection: legs

frustrated red nails

dragged down soft thighs

leaving redder marks

overlapping with older lines

.

red tresses torn apart

like the skin that once flays

leave red-shame faces

murdering a less-violent display.

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A Momentary Lapse of Judgment

I’m just interference, noise and whispers
A shadow on the light, I’m dust on the record
Stop a static, a click, a compromise
A discord, a spark, a silhouette
A shady ghost, an echo of what’s left…

~*~

Dissonance playing rhythms in my mind

My mouth is barely touching the ground

Both my eyes cannot find their way down

Back again, I am drifting without a sound

In momentary distractions, unmemorable

Surface words leaving the barest of ripples

On the distilled clear of the glacial lakeside

With every lambent flourishing and withers

Silver lines tying and intertwining intricate

Then colourblind separation falls apart like

A shower of collapsing glasshouse, piercing

Opalescent, as shatters of astern fragile skies

Alluvial perspectivism resting itself on hearts

That have never once touched pure rainwater,

The magnitude concealing itself within caprice

And presenting in caustic dyes of oasis failures

Cacophonies dancing tarantellas in my thoughts

And my lilting lips are barely tasting the sunlight

Both of my hands can’t pull their own weight up

Back again, I’m crashing violently without a sight.

~*~

Now I’m interruption
Infinite and momentary
A modest distraction
Incomplete and temporary…

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i can do shameless too (and this one goes out to you)

As we wake up in your room
Your face is the first thing I see
The first time I’ve seen love
And the last I’ll ever need
You remind her that your future
Would be nothing without her…

~*~

a s h a m e d

of violent emotions

branded on the

underside of my

numb, petulant brain,

making dizzy patterns

and dainty waves

and tracing cicatrices

of infantile graves,

returning to plague

what i always confused

and refused to admit…

y e s  i  c a n  f e e l

as the argent feathers

on your hair are effulgent,

dwelling ebony shades

escaping the delight of

my aspired clairvoyance.

they spite me for being

no stranger to the beggar

c a l l e d  l o v e

for always greeting it

rather fastidiously and

tossing a merciful nickel

whenever i chance upon it

on a bustling boulevard,

instead of spitting and

sneering condescendingly

and holding back my

burning tongue to trip it.

am i cruel for being kind?

dear, you’re a halogen

h a l l u c i n a t i o n

and i am but a yonder

sabotaged daydream

and i shall keep on falling

victim to your musings,

like a burning ochre moth

to the sickly sweet fragrance

of the kerosene oil…

so, is that truly my solitary

t r a n s g r e s s i o n ?

for being able to accept

what i’ve always constantly

abhorred and denied,

only to discover in denouement

that i’m the only fool that’s

crashing unsteady bridges

and drowning in the process—?

i shall not be craven of

the grander bouts of unknown,

for i’ve my own armament

tucked and hidden away

in a four-chambered dungeon;

ready to slash and shear

at the abstract canvas which

they all mocked as an

i n s u l t i n g  a r t w o r k .

you are not incarcerated,

but i am yours perpetual to

black out to the moon

and i will return from my

stratosphere holiday carrying

a souvenir star, lifting

the light to you, so that we

will never have to be

a s h a m e d.

~*~

If you kiss me goodnight
I’ll know, everything is alright
Second chances won’t leave us alone
Won’t leave us alone
‘Cause there’s faith in love…

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A Lightless Window

Lately when I’m alone I keep thinking about the past
I’m trying to feel weak in my knees again
I want to stand up straight like when I graduated
I just want to be, just let me be worth your time…

~*~

The blinds remained closed

As the person behind them thawed

Melting into evanescent shadows

They’ve been crying for a while, now

.

The stars may seem decadent

But all they taste of is a violent death

Apologies may seem so early

But they’re always a subsequent regret

.

And heartaches are cured

By the lifelines on your opened palm

Begging for another chance

To be saved from anyone, by anyone

.

But the blinds remained closed

As the person behind them coalesced in glow

Falling away into vice and virtue

And they’ve been screaming for a while, now.

~*~

Too much time spent overthinking
Yeah, I’ve spent too much time
Feeling like I should be sinking
I can’t fix everything around me (And it’s okay)
I can’t make everybody happy (And it’s okay)…

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eye. see. you.

and your eyes

are toxic

i close my own

and see

glimpses of that

wary glint

digging daggers in

my sockets

hurting me badly

the longer

i stare, the longer

you glare

shade of the pupils

snap fibres

blinding me again—

and i miss it…

i miss dying in your

violent gaze.

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A Mouse in the Kingdom of Lions

All eyes on me, castles falling
Glory, glory, I’ll rise like a one man army
I don’t wanna die without living
I can’t fight without winning
All eyes on me, I’ll rise like a one man army…

~*~

In these destroyed ruins I stand in eulogy, beating the drum

For the voice of dead angels and the harps left unstrummed

Corrupted blood rains down in blizzards of prideful torrents

This efficacious fight’s dishonour gradually refusing to relent

.

So proclaim me wrong, devour this bravery to the starving wolves

For deceit and manipulation is the singular truth I’ll boldly uphold

Attention wrought to the tumultuous voices of the silent anarchists

Uncivil battles engaging against the flames of the contrite arsonists

.

Was thus my gullible sin? Have I persuaded concentric fools yet again?

Dost I have to beg mocking demons just to return to my fallen Heaven?

False, it exists only within old locked towers, behind walls of a fantasy

Hell is a decadent salvation, the final hour’s reverence and only mercy

.

Shards of glass cruelly beleaguering my gregarious scars and wounds

Forgiveness as unforgiving as the darker repasts of the eclipsed moon

The dagger I hold is a facsimile of my humble chivalrous restorations

I’m but another violent visionary rejecting sheer valiance of perdition

.

So reap my damaged soul, for it’s already damned in sacrificial benevolence

And such tempest has defied my will, as it pilfered my crumbling innocence

Yet I shall raise my poisoned sword, nay to my chest, but to my heavy chains

In this kingdom of a wasteland I have created, only the defeated shall remain.

~*~

Even when we’re lost
It doesn’t have to mean we’re losing
I will overcome if I fight now, right now
Never fear, never fall, never giving up
‘Til you give me what I came for
I’m through with all the time I’ve wasted
Battle stations…

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metal & skin (xxii.)

skin

victimised

more

vehemently

more

viciously

more

vigorously

more

violently

more

victoriously.

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