Tag Archives: words

L’exquise L’angoisse

Palpitating arteries eviscerate, a familiar taste that tastes like nothing

Frustrated art under his eyelids fading, clever words I’m never caught saying

Lost impressions leave deceptions, a tempestuous flood caught in the fray

Wish my headspace wasn’t suffocating the sun day after another day

.

Imagination stuttering, slowly dying, what are you trying to hide?

If hell’s your new phenomenon, I’m afraid it’s far too late to be described

Every broken bone that the restless audience throws back to your act

Refusing to feel right again, this time I know that I don’t know where to start

.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at my deathwish. Nor my blinded existence.

I do not wish to breathe the same way you do. Do not bleed out of my presence.

My words are glass blades lodged under my bruised throat, so do not dare me to cough

The eclipse feels impossibly heavier without your weight to hold me down

And so I quietly submerge with only the sound of my empty thoughts.

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nocturnes, numbers, nyctophilia

It meant nothing to him any longer, only a faint tinge of sadness—and somewhere within him, a drop of pain moving briefly and vanishing, like a raindrop on the glass of a window, its course in the shape of a question mark. ~Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

~*~

i.) the jealous penmanship

clever words left tears forming in my brain

ones that i have to open up my healing bruises

just so i could let them out somewhere

somewhere my veins wouldn’t be affected severely

(it was late at night, and my stars called out from nowhere)

sensations poured out from every letter and departure,

as it entangled itself with my nerves and wore them down,

and wore them like a dirty dress, and wore them out to town

until they were worn-out; nothing but a few stray threads.

i burned half of my journals when i turned 16 and stopped trying

to imitate being an author, because writing for me isn’t an expectation–

it’s nothing but another puzzling lock without a skeleton key

and because the most delicate daydream wasn’t mine

because selfishness, to me, is not just another bland adjective

because my bones screamed with the weight of a black hole

because your reveries were enchanting. and mine were f a d e d

n o , i ‘ l l  n e v e r  b e  a s  g o o d  a s  y o u

~*~

ii.) softness, like his heart in the shape of a newborn galaxy

i faded into an ugly shade of something that’s neither monochrome nor coloured;

on the verge of collapsing onto the other side of the fence, threatening madly

but never quite having the contemplation to choose a losing side

as i fell down into the blue of a stranger’s wanderlust eyes.

someone else had taken most of that vibrant shade already, but i managed

to steal away just a sliver, a glimpse, an infinitesimal shiver

and it was the kind of lasting cold that froze summer hurricanes

and kept my breaths visibly foggy and crisply sharp with every inhale

(you never warned me. you don’t know me, but you knew me too well. and i never listen.)

i’ll always be an insignificant detail in the cyan tapestry you painted for yourself

and i’ve accepted that long ago when i said i loved you in my nightmares,

tossing and turning on the bed covered in plastic arrogance because

no other blanket felt warm and comfortable enough for my body to sleep on

until then, i could only sink deeper into the fathomless wish that this universe would end s o o n

i t  w a s  a  k i n d  o f  l o v e  t h a t  m a d e  s u i c i d e  s o u n d  l i k e  m u s i c

~*~

iii.) an abrupt goodbye/the guilty party often disappears first

i was mad at something. i didn’t know what it was, but it was foolish enough

for me to take it out onto the embracing autumn sky, on the taciturn smiles that

were supposed to hold me when tempestuous desolation grabbed at my twisted throat…

and on you. you never meant anything. you just wanted to talk, and so did i,

but my tongue was a spilling box of blades, and every time i opened my

wounded mouth to make you laugh, i always ended up cutting you by accident instead.

(friend, even if i said i’m sorry, can you ever forgive me for what i’ve done to you?)

it was an unreasonable apology, and i erased myself because of my own self-hatred,

but not before leaving footprints of a migraine in your head, which you will inadvertently step on,

slip at, and hurt yourself…fuck. i don’t know why i’m like this. i don’t know why i have

to push and pull apart the only semblance of logic in my life, the only anchor

that keeps me from towing away from the tides, the last person that still feels real to me

when everything else has blurred into an amalgamated indistinct static background;

i don’t know why i feel so smothered, when you’re the only attention i’ll ever have and need.

at this point, the only thing we have is each other’s problems, and the way we both

jeered at it, taunted it, and blocked it out with our own shared playlists until we felt better—

but now that summer was just a distant memory, and so was the scarlet artwork we made of it.

you also needed comfort. but did even try? no. i ran away from the colliding wreckage

as if it wasn’t my fault, and i numbed myself out because i couldn’t do the same for y o u

i ‘ m  s o r r y  i  m a d e  y o u  s a y  s o r r y  s o  m u c h . . .

i  d i d n ‘ t  m e a n  t o  d e s t r o y  e v e r y t h i n g

~*~

iv.) the midnight closes. the violent curtain falls.

the cold glow of my computer screen was rude and restless

and it made my fingers promise, crossed and uncrossed, that i would

stay with it until it slips into comatose. i have rinsed my mouth with lukewarm water

a hundred times to try to wash out the taste of stale coffee, but it never came out and now

i’m stuck with it until morning, until another astrological moon cycle, until i lose

myself in the chemical moments of something that’s so artificially natural.

i’m constantly starving myself, stuck between confidence and relapsing withdrawals of

my past life that i thought i discarded when i finally held on to my shooting star,

but it was always tethered tightly to me by a crimson string. and it always probably will be.

i’m alone. i’m friends with people that talk shit to me in the mirror, and when i bite

my chapped lips and draw blood by accident, it almost feels like atonement. almost.

(i got what i came for and i can’t try again. this is what i want…..isn’t it?)

i know that there are people out there making fun of me and rolling their eyes

petulantly as they bask in the trite, whimsical “perfection” of their storybook existence

but not everything has a happy ending, and not every sad story has to end badly.

i don’t know. i’ll never know. i’m tired and i have responsibilities that i’m not

built for, and every crack turns into a break, and a break into shattered p i e c e s

t o m o r r o w  i ‘ l l  d o  t h i s  o v e r  a g a i n  .  u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  t o m o r r o w s .

~*~

v.) nocturnes.

( a n d  i ‘ l l  s t a y  h e r e )

u n t i l  i  r u n  o u t  o f  n u m b e r s  t o  c o u n t ,

a n d  t h o u g h t s  t o  f e e l ,

a n d  n i g h t s  t o  s t a y  a w a k e .

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L.D.N.S.F.G.T.

Mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle
Clear your throat and face the world
The verdict falls like bachelors for bad luck girls
Only breathing with the aid of denial…

~*~

Baby girl, I think that some vulgar words

Just aren’t meant for your pretty little ears

.

You can throw away all those dirty looks

Or drive yourself home drinking sweeter tears

.

Don’t threaten me with a good damn time

Like the way your skirt curls when you stand in line

.

And the way life turns pure with the touch of a finger

That middle spot is so pristine, now ain’t it better?

.

Baby girl, just don’t strain yourself thinking

When the world’s too dumb to accept your sinking

.

So don’t waste that pretty little breath on your scream

Save it for when you’ve got something realer than a dream.

~*~

Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can’t lift his headache head
Isn’t it tragic?

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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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shut up when you’re talking to me

We keep the beat with your blistered feet
And we bullet the words at the mockingbirds singing
Slept through the weekend and dreaming
Of sinking with the melody of the cliffs of eternity
Got postcards from my former selves saying “How’ve you been?”

~*~

those clever words

are only things

you said in your sleep…

but i still listened,

and i still believed in them.

i’ll wear my heart on

my sleeve just so i could

wear something new

i’ll wear my brain over my shirt

just so i could pretend that

it’s something true—

but feeling and thinking

is already out of style

so guess my fashion statement

is faded, bleached out in

the bad kind of vintage

so won’t you give me

a cheap trick and tell me

“don’t be cruel, honey”

like the parasite that ravaged

our lips turning to scarlet

but i couldn’t find the letter

or monarch butterflies

in our holiday down in las vegas

when we lost the highway

for the third time that evening.

it’s a picture perfect eternity

the goodbye that never leaves

it’s the most insincere you and me

the “happy birthday” that doesn’t age

have i blown your mind yet?

or were you distracted by misery?

there’s no take two’s, i’m afraid

but encore’s full of apologies

so just talk, like it’s all we can do

talk because it’s all we can do

and listen to the insomnia

lash out in crashing profanities

if you’re too afraid to stay

‘cause these doldrums won’t play out

forever…would they?

~*~

Whoa oh, we’re so miserable and stunning
Whoa oh, love songs for the genuinely cunning
It was ice cream headaches and sweet avalanche
When the pearls in our shells got up to dance
You call me a bad tipper of the cradle
Tired yawns for fawns on hunter’s lawns…

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overmining

It’s funny how
Things work out
Such a bitter irony
Like a kick right
To the teeth…

~*~

your rich words

are as good as gold

mimic the wrong

that’s what you’re told

your cheap words

are too overused and old

but that’s the only

thing your mouth can hold.

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Misdial

Daydreams that you never want to leave
Only your own thoughts to keep you company
Like a room of strangers staring quietly
Playing make-believe to keep you in between
Selfish and alone, where did you go?
Never find you in a memory…

~*~

It’s selfish to keep it in between my eyes

But I think I’m losing the disconnection

As I constantly find myself in debt with doubt

Wondering if I caused the false commotion

.

‘Cause the conversations don’t play out the same

And I don’t know if it’s all simply me to blame

Music’s a little duller when you’re not there to listen

At night, I wake up to the wrong daydreams again

.

I shouldn’t hold out hope to a fragile glass phone

But the rocks in my hand don’t wanna be alone

So I’ll take back my words, the way I always do

And regret that I couldn’t be your dial tone clue

.

I just hate the way that time fades the brightest of stars

And when the sun comes up, the horizon’s a little less blue

I hate that I couldn’t be there to be a distracting lullaby

Maybe you didn’t lose me, but I sure as hell lost you.

~*~

I feel your apathy, to me it all feels the same
I want to know how to think the way you think
About anyone but me, but you’re never sure
Never present, I want to fill my head with you…

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scar tissues

Baby, pour over, tell me, are we concrete?
What would you do without
My perfect company to your undressed spine?
And I can hear you drag behind my car by your broken legs
(Swallowing stitches in her sleep as she)
Stole my only view, may I never blink…

~*~

i am your bare bones

and the words that can fracture it

a faked death, disappearance

in the lonely asphalt ash

so undress my bad memories

take off that pretty, pretty, pink dress

and show me the lacerations

the lingering bruises on my spine

of your decayed entertainment

modern anxiety at its brutality finest

and tell me again how bad

all of my imminent injuries were

until i can feel enough

until i am enough

don’t hesitate on backburners

simply make me believe

that the chemicals in my open veins

serotonin, endorphins, tryptophan—

are not just a lie you made up…

like the raised welts on

my broken, praying wrists

nor the unrecoverable night i came to you,

sobbing and begging for gravity

to come drag me under

underwater, underground,

because i was desperate for it to be over

but we crashed in abstract strokes

only one pair of lungs breathed again;

a sordid altercation.

you’re a lucid dreamer, love

and i have an eidetic memory

and this damn world has selective hearing

over gasoline and sunshine

and the difference that it makes

when you light the aphotic city on fire

like a paradox under my skin.

this is my mass hysteria

although i’m calm at the altar veneer

and absent blank, my mind is an

apocalyptic wasteland

and i’m the sole survivor.

so surround my lavender hands

and black out the soft sodium streetlights

and patch up these obscene bones

and simply say the words

to make me forget.

~*~

Listen, I’m the one who made you
I’ll be the one who brings you down
But this will be the last time…

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dead poets

i have a love

for stories

so intricate

and tall tales

so profound

but it’s the

simpleminded

souls with no

spiteful lies

that get their

words around.

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happy cake day, sunflower.

I got a lot of things on my mind right now
A million ways to think about you
I can’t say I expected anything different
‘Cause the way you complicate me’s simple
She didn’t stutter, my chest flutters
Cardiac attack in the cradle of the summer…

~*~

you’re more than just the love song i play

when i feel like falling down the stairs—

you’re the landing that catches my broken bones.

.

and honestly, i don’t want to go on and on about how

you’re sunshine in the fog, or peachy sky cliches etcetera

i ran out of them a long time ago on your smile alone

.

i never get tired of those stupid monochrome dreams

at night where no one’s talking but i hear voices everywhere…

guess you’re the only voice i wanna hear in my head

.

because that’s all i am, another overused arcade game

and you pushed all of the big red buttons and you made me

self-destruct like pixelated fireworks to win the round

.

but that’s okay. i don’t mind. heaven is but a concept

i’m rather not willing to get lost in, but halos and hazards

are all there are to it. but you’re worth it…aren’t you?

.

but i guess the sour taste doesn’t ever leave me now

and i badly wish i could just forget about you, and myself,

and the days i chewed off the grey-painted calendar

.

for i don’t need to leave pastel notes or egg timers

or freshly-brewed coffee on the kitchen to let you know;

the universe says that’s not how reality works now

.

so instead i’ll tell none of my best friends about your laugh

and wish your name on every fairy light and lucky dandelion

that reflects the iridescence of your watercolour ocean eyes

.

and i’ll tangle up my breaths and my words and my awful art

and i’ll break the hourglass just to stop time for a while—and i’ll sing

to keep my yellow lovely safe from the world i can’t ever have.

~*~

I’m superstitious, the kid’s vicious
Bubblegum smile, taste the cherry on her lips!
You know I want you in the worst way
I need you like cake on my birthday
The way you operate is so sweet
I need you like cake on my birthday…

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