humor me

i make sure to check my messages alone
preparing myself for an onslaught
of updates on the rules of a god
you both failed to abide by.

in the anticipation, i feel a familiar ache.
i escape into darkness as i wait for what is already before me,
closing my eyes, leaning back, massaging my temples
to ease a migraine eighteen years in the making.

and when realisation creates an itch to deep to scratch,
scanning the contents, i feel myself tremble.
tremble with the irony of what we’ve become.
tremble with the mirth of your hypocrisy.

and when i can control it no more, i release
the laughter that can no longer be contained.
I laugh so hard that tears run down.
I laugh so hard that tears run down in torrents.

grim

the memory of all that was ever good
remains intact, unbroken, unopened
within the noise and fortresses
of this empty form

and here it will stay
unwanted
until it is ready to pass into oblivion
until i am ready to let go

tangled

" If i were the rain
that binds together the earth and the sky
who in all eternity will never mingle,
could i bind two hearts together?"
- Inoue, Bleach episode 9

when the road ends
and there is no more room
or breath
left
for me to chase after
fallen dreams,
i'll walk back
for the echoes
and painful shadows
of what i alone
will be left to remember.

that broken families are a mistake
that love lasts and lives forever

that he will not leave
that she will not make him

that i won't be stuck
in between

that it is logical
that it is never justifiable

that hitting me will change me
that kissing me will change me

that time will make it better
that wounds will eventually heal

that i am afraid
that i will end up like my parents

that no one will notice
when i already have




amen

stunned

until all that was left
was the buzzing in the ears

trepidation

the pain surrounding us
radiates a monotonous hum

as the darkness creeps,
probing for our tense forms,

as the silence encompasses
the length of this

insignificant space
we are wont to occupy,

as your hands draw forth
the reverberations of my torment
and terror

The Brutal Truth

You start out with an itch, an annoying sensation at the back of your mind poking at you, urging you to write. You think up all these great concepts for ghost stories, love stories, how-my-life-is and what-I-ate-for-breakfast-today stories. You end up frustrated because everyone else is writing about that and it would take up too much energy to come up with a piece that would be considered unique. So you decide to write about something that nobody really writes about (although there’s a perfectly good reason why nobody writes about it). You decide to write about being a dormer.
The stage is set, you only need to start. You fumble for words but everything’s been used. Who hasn’t talked about the dirty toilets, the bad cooking, the musty odours or the half-baked rules? Who hasn’t written about being annoyed by the cats that spawn out offspring in hordes or the rather ambiguous way to answer the paging system: “coming!”? Who hasn’t ended their essay on a rainbow-and-butterflies note that despite all of the really negative aspects, dorm life is made worthwhile by the love, friendship and all the other phoney flowery words that supposedly spring from bonds between dormers? You decide that you are still too young to have your writing career end on such a sad article. You do not write about the above-mentioned things.
By this time, you are now so tired of thinking and your brain is finally so fried that you give up and decide to write the honest truth. Your masterpiece turns out to be a single sentence: “There is nothing uniquely amazing about being a dormer only that for a brief moment in your life you are allowed to feel the amazing rush of becoming independent (and all that this entails) in a place where three hundred other people are having the same experience.” No one understands your final piece and you end up in the same place you started, a blank blob of nothingness in an endless sea of faces.

-untitled-

I saw a butterfly today.
As I waited for life to start,
I watched it dance across the space
allotted by time.
It piroutted above the milling heads
of important individuals,
parading its exquisite hues.
Slowly, it floated up towards me and whispered,
"I try so hard for them to notice
even knowing they will all to soon forget."

hanging

What then
when all the words
have been written
and all that is left
is life
moving on
without you?

just a thought...

We create so many ghouls and monsters in the hopes that when we project the horrifying truth about our humanity onto them, we might by some miracle become beautiful.