Tag Archives: words

the familiar taste of poison

treacherous poison

that’s all you have in your blood

and you infected me

you infected me

yet you blamed me solely for the taint

saying it was my filthy tongue

and its harsh truth words

saying that it was all my fault

it was all my fault

i attempted to get rid of the dirty blood

purging and expelling until i nearly bled out

and still, i can’t get rid of it all

i can’t get rid of it all

you called my ritual a crime

an unforgivable transgression that should

be shunned and immediately cured

as if the sickness wasn’t in the blood

the sickness wasn’t in the blood

so pray tell, was it my sin

to vain uselessly to dissociate from you

and from your corrupted veins

coursing through every offspring you have

toxic brainwashing every single one

and further spreading it to the crashing tree

transmitting and scattering rapidly until it promptly rots

until it promptly rots

now you threaten to disown me

but it’s the kindest thing you could ever do to me

because i’m tired of having to live through

all your sanctimonious ideals

and profane vitriol brewing in your decayed heart

but even then, it wouldn’t completely get rid

of the poison you passed on to me

you passed on to me

and i will concoct more spite in my mind

and spit out evil blood

in the pure eyes of the innocent

damaging others as you have damaged me

you have damaged me

i wish i was someone else whose

hatred isn’t malignant and contagious

but hell, what else can i do? it runs in the family

it runs in the family.

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Filed under Poetry

The End of an Era

Limits have their breaking points

And can fall in utter disrepair

What used to be bound with ropes

Now dangles by a precarious strand of hair

.

Mirrors have their cracking webs

And when they spread, it can shatter

No matter how hard you try to fix it

It’s won’t show the same reflection ever

.

Bodies have their wounds and sickness

And we’ll always try to slowly heal

But someday no medicine could cure

And we will then be rapidly killed

.

Words have an end to their capacity

Someday you might run out of meaning

We talk and take things for granted

And in the end are left silently staring

.

People have their gentle push

But sometimes it comes to a shove

And no amount of closing apologies

Can ever return the former love.

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Filed under Poetry

Pestilence Perpetual

Leave me in the cold, you better run away
I’m gonna dig a hole and bury all the memories we’ve made
I don’t need your condescending, words about me looking lonely
I don’t need your arms to hold me, ’cause misery is waiting on me…

~*~

It’s more than what I wanted, more than what you’d take

Misery’s just another flavour, company’s just another taste

In the palatable infections built to burn our tongues acidic

As sulphurous words are enough for the poisons to inhibit

Our ghosts might go on, but you would have to kill me first

Just to prove that I’m sincere, and that’s better for the worst

Eyes spinning under aerosol plumes, drunk on opiate fumes

More than anything, I stay awake as your parasites consumed.

~*~

I am not alone, not beaten down just yet
I am not afraid of the voices in my head
Down the darkest road, something follows me
I am not alone ’cause misery loves my company…

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Mood Rings

There’s a reason why I like the pink in your mood

My words hit the ground, but you catch them so we’re good

If time’s running out for me, I’ll be sure to take it slow

I may be high on conflict but on your sights I’m low

.

The amount of space between my smile and eyes are closing in

But frustration and disappearing sense is not a problem

Because if you laugh, then I laugh, and if you cry, then I die

The city’s a slow waltz into the colourful cocktails we have to try

.

I may speak my mind but I talk with my heart

And it only takes one skipping beat to know where to start

I keep falling for everything that wants nothing to do with me

But I’ll keep trying until the blondes stop being pretty

.

I change so quickly, I don’t even know what to think

And your face goes from soft violet to vivid blush like a 90’s trick

I’m the rain that you chase, you’re the lone cloud in May

Our weather’s too erratic and unstable, but I adore it anyway

.

So don’t get me wrong, your fingers may be pointing

But I’ll take them in my hand and yell bang, the bullet’s flying

You’re troubled by the clothes you wear, confused looks good on you

It accentuates the glow in your halo, but you never had a clue

.

I’m asking all the wrong questions, but you still answer them right

And I’m hoping to the moon that you’ll answer the most important one tonight

I’m dirty red, you’re canary yellow, let’s collide together and be orange fire

A hurricane’s sleeping in my bedroom, can I stay over? We can dream until we’re tired.

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i heard he thinks he’s a god

I’m not looking for a savior, I have all that I need
And I don’t give a single fuck if god likes it or not
Your picture perfect legacy is quite so fucking disgusting
I put all my faith in your “one two three…”

~*~

your words are clean

but your mouth is dirty

and you have constipation

from your own numskull

if you’re so high, why are

your wings nonexistent

is it because you just need

to trample on the rest of us?

if you’re so heavenly, then

i’m prepared to go to hell

and congratulate the damned

for escaping your bullshit

‘cause if you think you’re all that,

then why don’t you go jack off

to the beat of your own chaste

fucking self-righteousness?

~*~

Be careful what you wish for
You just might get it
Set fire to your lungs and leave you
Choking on the ashes
You’re wasting all the oxygen
Blackballing but you can’t stop falling…

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Reckless Imprudence

I’ll get carried away and bleed on the dirt

Slit the pressure in my ribs, and you taunt “does it hurt?”

Another taste of the botulism manifesting rabid

Who knew that gangrenous paradise was so damn sordid?

Ready to take a shot at the cheapened aphorisms

As the rules are circumvented to your selfish nihilism

Trapping your sulphurous words like roadkill on the street

So run me over once again, let it be my special treat

And if you can’t take my guts cascading red on the tarmac

Suck it up and step on me for a final dose of ipecac

As it leaves your callous throat and leaves bruises in your stomach

Carried away by the violence, and this mess you won’t fucking take back.

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Filed under Poetry

canyons

an undulating reverie

hangs heavy in the silence

past canyons abundant with sunlight

and dreams made out of cotton

.

there, beyond the intoxicating haze,

you stood.

.

my lips uttered no words

that the universe could decipher

but the midnight tide understood

what i truly meant

.

now, if only you could, ma chérie

.

but the scrupulous colloquy is bound to break

and the stratosphere rewinds again

past divine oculists and obstinate facsimiles

and beyond the desolate valleys

where no sunshine dares to embark

.

and what’s left in the end

at the very edge of such a disenchanting,

morose fantasy

.

is you, and me,

and an undulating reverie.

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Filed under Poetry

Chase Atlantic

For you, I chased down atlantic until it was drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, you were thirsty.

Xans, Oxy, gram, adderall, molly, vicodin, ketamine, codeine, amphetamine, heroin, every medication legal and illegal you selfishly overdosed on like it’s the sweetest candy, drugs and money fucking everything up, riding the waves, breathing in the ozone layer and craving the vaporous atmosphere, until all you could hear are birds singing at midnight and all your blank glazed eyes could see where pink shadows coalescing in the basement and the sound of your own synesthetic undersea voice, sewn up into crude stitches before it shatters soundlessly against the restless pastel ghosts; and you find out you were uncomfortably lying on your back in the bedroom floor all along, staring at the unlit ceiling dripping what you thought were your own tears but turned out to be rainwater, dial tone screeching your garbled songs, trying to call nobody at half past four in the morning, worn-down carpet igniting the smoke alarms with your interminable vices. I could only wish to hell that I was there to put it out.

There was a certain elegant delicacy in your tactlessly constructed words, soft beatnik aspersion and aggressive indie slurs romancing and entrancing my chilled spine, humming saxophone amid the alluring amalgamation of incoherent voices intertwining together into a strange, tangible, panicking tranquil. It was an art form in itself, inimitable, one of a kind, scattered accentuation your personal intricate signature. Every careless lilt about the dangerous pseudonymous girls you slept with last night, Angie, Cassie, Roxy, and the pill-popping pharmacists you’ll hold up with a gun as soon as the sun hits tomorrow. All these unsettling courtesies set in three parts of pastel grey and explicit roses, the dalliance and the nostalgia of everything, you were speaking in a foreign language only the truly sick in the head could properly understand, and the way you talked about all the mental pressure and self-esteem and choking anxiety so goddamn beguilingly, the way you talked about addiction as if you weren’t an addiction in itself, the way you just fucking aren’t, it got me overdosing on the panoply panache and sovereign shit on your bedside, but I was so into it.

How many times have you made my pulse beat when it was no longer mine? Every single afternoon, I wake up with a stabbing jolt like a guillotine’s rope pulled tight against my throat, gasping and desiring desperately for more, more of your prevarications. It was a talk show tactic, and you were the host telling me to talk slow and tell no lies, and I was your prize trophy, spilling my secrets and picking my battles cautiously, even though I knew that you were probably lying to me all along. The world was on your shoulders, angels hissing temptations under your skin, and we danced to the beat of your laughter and talked endless miles of film spiels about friends and no friends, gravity and good vibes, church walls and dancing in the dark with the devil, indiscretions and junkie stories high on adrenaline and dopamine, driving too fast and run over by the cops and swimming and thrashing in paradise until we’re so much higher than before, and everything was rhapsodic…until you hit the trigger and got me begging on my bleeding knees again. I’m scratching my nails, shivering madly, abusing my liver, and tearing the veins off my dead-ass heart as you killed my sanity, and baby I was only 23.

I’m obsessive. You said hold your breath, you’ll save me from the fading injections and we’ll run away right here to the underside of the world, and I won’t need to miss you and your anchor tattoo. And fuck it, but I believed all your twisted promises so fervently. I didn’t expect to fall instantaneous victim for such a scrupulous stratagem, this alternative relativity of drugs and parties not my accustomed niche, fucking up this whole thing. I was married to the screaming voices that serenade me everyday and haunt me every night, and I was theirs to render completely deaf into freedom; until you came out of nowhere and divorced me from the nightmares, and you incarcerated me—you made me even worse. You’re a psychopathic fringe wearing a smile on your face and holding a knife in your hand, you’re becoming a work of art. You don’t look too sane when you act like that, and babe, you won’t live too long with a mind like that. I was always fastidious about the taste of serotonin that I place against my lips, but even though it’s fire I’m kissing now, I’ve already been burnt, I fucking have. And I love counting the cigarette stains in my fragile marred skin, sepia-shaded nicotine tattooed permanently between my fingertips, branding me with your whispered name. My parents say I’m crazy, but I only wanna be buried six feet under your bed, ready to meddle about and smoke the cancerous stars away with you anytime. They say be rational about these things, but I stopped being reasonable the moment I listened to your drugstore symphonies and drowned in your cheap perfume. This chemical destruction is beautiful. I’ll keep it up, and I’ll keep riding the waves, crashing into you once more. And why stop at all? Okay is all I know right now. Mama I’m sorry, but reality’s boring.

For you, I’ll chase down atlantic until I’m drained and empty, consuming every last drop, and still, I’ll be thirsty for your eyes.

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Filed under Prose

bitter; beater…better?

“I’ve been saving myself for you.”

~*~

for me, bring back the beat

symphonies static in summer heat

ocean waves that washed away

the memories that will never stay

saving blood for what can’t be had

never knew you want it that bad

warm as the photographs you set on fire

i’ll be a good boy and say i’m the liar

convince me that this isn’t just a movie

and your melodrama ain’t a comedy

that the rude words colliding on the sky

wasn’t just another plot for me to die

but with everything i thought i’ll create

is just another separation desperate

and i can’t wait to bring the beat back home

but this time i’ll be playing it all alone.

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Filed under Poetry

How come no one heard her when she said—?

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful
‘Cause no one’s ever told her so
And the demons that she hides are all she knows
And maybe she can fall in love
With someone in her life that she could trust
And tell her she’s enough
(Will someone tell her she’s enough?)

~*~

How come no one

heard her when she

was screaming in her

bedroom at three in the

morning, scratching madly

at the pristine walls until

her fingernails broke and bled?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was crying in a bathroom

stall, all the things they threw at

her leaving marks, and all

the ugly names they chanted at

her still ringing violently in her head?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was slicing and hacking

away at her unhealing skin

so fucking audibly, and when

she slipped on that liquid

and fell with a thud, bruised and

bathed in puddles of dirty red?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

moaned as she rested fitfully

sleep paralysis taking full

control of every recourse

mouthing all the words

to the nightmares, those things

that she’s always left unsaid?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

vomited bile and empty air

kneeling faithlessly in front of the

porcelain god, sharp ribs poking

through her paper chest, even when

she ate nothing the whole day,

with herself she was still disgusted?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

was laughing, singing, and

talking by herself, and striking

up lengthy conversations with the

imaginary friends she made up

and the demons that she wed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she

asked relentlessly for help

begging and pleading, saying

that no doctor nor medicine

could ever cure her, and perhaps

an iota of support and care

for her was all she ever needed?

.

How come no one

heard her when she was already

being so earsplittingly loud

blind eyes and deaf ears

blaming nothing but the victim

“it was her fault” they say

“she should have said something”

but they all ignored her when

she actually piped up

keeping the regret to the very end—

and now she’s silent forever

and all her words went ahead…

tell me, how come no one

heard her until she was already dead?

~*~

Maybe I’m better off dead
If I was, would it finally be enough
To shut out all those voices in my head?
Maybe I’m better off dead, better off dead!
Did you hear a word, hear a word I said?
This is not where I belong
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…

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Filed under Poetry