Tag Archives: watercolour

Not Your Monster

I am not your monster

I’m not the flesh you wish to rend

With your bared fangs

Clawing the sides of my shoulders

As if making me bleed

Profusely would be your salvation

.

I am not your monster

Hidden underneath the floorboards

But you have a shovel

And a knife, and the dirt you dug up

Was crammed into my

Mouth, burying all the words I spoke

.

I am not your monster

Stitched up and painted to look alive

A bride without a heart

Shambling down the aisle in despair

Veil masking the frowns

Picking thorns out of my open palms

.

I am not your monster

A lullaby you use to terrify children

Threatening retribution

From such a wicked, deformed being

Still human; though just

Not enough to invoke empathic pity

.

I am not your monster

The madness you created for yourself

Scars warn to “stay away”

An urban legend for the rest of society

No, I am not your monster

But I fear you might be becoming mine.

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Filed under Poetry

Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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Filed under Prose

heatseeker

heatseeker

form the flames

with your tongue

ashes to ashes

guns to guns

.

feel the wick

running down

fractured spines

gentle warmth

barely noticeable

.

all before the

final sound

of phosphate

crashing against

rougher edges

.

forms second

thoughts, the thrill

of reckless light

find your waxen lover

and i g n i t e

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Filed under Poetry

tasteless skittles

how is your voice so incredibly exquisite?

i wish i could keep it—i wish i could keep it all for myself but i know that’s just a dumb dollar-store daydream now. i swear i’m not senselessly selfish but i couldn’t help all these hysterical feelings, fleeting and fumbled, collapsing and careening, swelling and spilling beyond my exhausted arms but i’m not tired of you yet; though every unsolved puzzle piece i propose to pick out is so pleasantly problematic.

you’re so weird, but i like that.

maybe it’s just blunt deception soon dropping dead to distance. maybe we’re both meant for nothing more than a peck on the cheek and passive-aggressive complacency. maybe i’m the popsicle puddle melting forever in your sweetest summer sadness—but i won’t be watered down. and i won’t hold you back. if you’d just wait a little bit longer, then maybe will turn into…

something else?

and i’ll be the one singing for you, this time. and you could keep it. you could keep it all for yourself. i won’t mind, i promise. it’s always been yours.

because—dearest applebee, you’re just so;

you’re just too incredibly exquisite.

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Filed under Prose

6:00 AM.

Faint incandescence of blue

Against the blurry windows

The sunrise junes yet accrue

On the startled horizon glow

Watercolour brushes of blue

Up starry ceilings they show

Sweet breeze of hope, it flew

Through the trees, they blow.

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Filed under Poetry

Watercolour Dreams

I am so fucking tired, but I don’t want to go to sleep

I’ve had million dollar dreams that I wished to keep

I’ll dream for you darling, sing by the turbulent seas

Only if you promise to swim pastel horizons for me

I’m so fucking tired, but I simply can’t remain awake

For coffee brown eyes are keeping me up quite late

You’re fading in brushstrokes, I ripped at the seams

So let’s play like stardust on our watercolour dreams.

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Filed under Poetry