Tag Archives: will

fill in the blanks.

“And it’s four in the morning
I’m just trying to fix myself
What the hell did I do?”

~*~

blankness.

a constant void

washed-out

into a bleached white

still dirty, yet everything

has been scrubbed out

fastidiously, like

the writings on a blackboard

and the chalk dust

lingers in your fingertips,

the kind that you can’t blow away

and you’re stuck with

that unpleasant texture on your

hands for the rest of the day.

you’re zeroed-out;

multiplied, divided, and subtracted

until even the calculator

doesn’t know how to answer

except for a shameful

syntax error…

you don’t know where you

went wrong in your calculations.

now you’re staring dully

at the beige ceiling

listening to the rhythms

of a nameless music attempt vainly to

make your heart bleed, but it’s

all fucking static to you,

just another distraction to

keep you grounded

as gravity drags

you down in your grave

without even so much as a

respectful funeral or a dated tombstone.

your thoughts are as

senseless as every nerve in

your once-hurting flesh

your body got used to the pain,

one might dare guess

but the truth is you can’t feel it anymore

because it’s no longer your own—

to control, to use, to move around in to

your free will and accord

and you’re just pretending to perform,

waiting for the fateful day that the

puppeteer snaps your marionette strings, and

you drop lifelessly on the

shabbily-decorated stage of your existence.

you don’t even know where these

nonsensical thoughts are originating from;

all you know is the constant empty

sensation, a flatlined perception,

draining every bone in your borrowed body

physically, emotionally, and mentally

until you’re nothing more than

an amorphous bag of viscera

dripping numbly on that plastic chair

still gawping insensibly at the

rorschach beige ceiling, all the way to pure

b l a n k n e s s———

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Íkaros

submit labyrinthine will

to the empty defiant gods

and slithering in tongues

sharp riddles and daggers

allowing the burning halos

to mine paradise once lost

and repent away the wings

of arrogance in melting wax.

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Confected Cycles

A caged throat

Screaming relentless

And fires siege

Tempting syndromes

Agony weeping

In a numbing addiction

Clotting misery

Blood and deathwishes

Sorry little lies

Killing every will to exist

I can’t complain

I know it will always end

Fucked-up like this.

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Ave Sancti Scelus

And if such inferno paves the way to the gates of heaven

Let my will sin freely, benediction blessing chaste broken

And if heaven rots under my feet to make way for inferno

Let my soul pray for mercy, tempt christening pious sorrow.

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will.

do what

you must

and i’ll do

what i will

but what

might hurt

you could

actually kill.

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-cide

never has

the will to live

been such a

foreign concept

to me as it is

at this very moment.

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Neurotoxicity

I’m just like a fly on the wall
Tear off my wings and I’ll take my last breath
And all my aspirations are dead
Because I’ve ripped them to shreds; now I fall…

~*~

this tiredness

melts into everything

and burns into your

mercurial core

until it turns into lead

and circulates into

your system;

weighing you down

paralysing you,

poisoning your veins

until you’re stupid,

sluggish,

stuporic,

lethargic and cold,

and every hue of

your senses

dulled down into

pencil graphite grey,

and it’s all you

can do to push before

the point breaks;

you run out of

words to say, you

run out of excuses to

give, you run out of

your willingness

to continue the story…

so you stop caring

and become

this lazy,

complacent,

apathetic,

hedonistic man

with a disregard for

his own sake

as well as others.

yes, you are working

hard, but only

to avoid interaction,

going outside,

listening to others,

possible conflicts,

social contact;

to avoid everything

that you once

enjoyed and loved,

and to keep

your intents behind

deprecating assurances

and passive acts.

you don’t know what went wrong.

you have everything

and everyone waiting for

you out there,

waiting for you to

hold on, keep up, go on

but the lead is

detaching your tongue,

replacing your blood,

constricting your diaphragm,

shriveling your organs

from decaying and necrosis,

clouding your neurons,

it’s already killing you inside

but no one ever notices

it’s a perfect slow suicide;

the masochistic cure.

and you’re too tired

to even give a shit anymore,

and you’re just tired

to do any of those things;

to stand up,

walk it off,

set to the future,

and change your ways—

it’s cliché, but hell,

you know that you’re

already fucked

and you’re just too tired

to fucking care.

~*~

Now I’m feeling, at the end of the rope
Now I’m falling, down the rabbit hole
Am I losing my mind? Or I just can’t let go?
I feel like, I feel like I’m losing control…

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[w]ill

is it bad

that i wish

you ill

just so you

would

learn how it

feels?

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