Posts

rehearsed collapse

-
its definitely a default setting: to avoid how I feel until I'm nauseous, until someone tells me to be cautious, cuz I don't know how to be presumptuous. this whole new script has me falling on my knees as I cry to be bled out, drained every last drop until I sought out to be the newer version of a whisper shout. eyes locked when you walk in, yearning for an untouched agony in this. wishing for a new pain I already miss, while I act like I can't feel any of this. I always go back to my own bubble; where time slows down for every thought, where tears crystallise on the spot, and nights feel brighter than the sun's shot. new dimension to every small belief; could it be a better world from the outside? could it be a stage to strip down the pride? the desperation to be a pawn that died. "everyone gets one minute of stagetime" ran to the back of the grid to be the first, came undone in the light of all the worst, maybe this is what I longed for and rehearsed. but a...
Post a Comment
Read more

a letter I'd never send

-
you're doing so well  in that new tool kit, but I'll still wonder— what if we didn't quit? rating stories of our friends back home, silent promises  let our hearts still roam. old letters in the back of my book yell tales of the days of stealing a look. we were in the corner dancing to Perfect, still in the corner, senses wrecked. walk through the same roads, familiar places, hold each other the way I'd die for. does your dad hate me for leaving traces? that's old news now, except the letters I tore. do you speak like the person I knew? or like the person, I was never gonna know. do you still slip my name out of the blue? or you've forgotten how it used to flow. the wait before you showed up in the room, the nausea on my way to your place, always ended up in a weird feeling of fume, the ride back home with tears down my face. the version of me who was loved by you— letting go, while still holding on to. loving myself  felt wrong when you  weren't there  to s...
Post a Comment
Read more

thirty minutes or thirty seconds?

-
This sanguine feeling fades too quick, I'm back to thinking about the what-if. What if my face gave away my trick? Thirty minutes or thirty seconds at the edge of the cliff. The right side of the wrong lane, I should've known what was going on. The steering wasn't balanced again, Thirty minutes or thirty seconds gone. The smell of insanity was too close to ignore. What if the car gave up on this highway? Where would I run for help, and what for? Thirty minutes or thirty seconds before it all turned grey. No way I would slow down after the scar. Fourth gear, full speed, but still on the wrong lane. Might've got hit, but wouldn't mind the dirt and tar. Thirty minutes or thirty seconds of insane. Everything all at once on a Sunday. So blinded to see the scar it left. But I still feel the rage when I replay Thirty minutes or thirty seconds left.
Post a Comment
Read more

mere imitations

-
we're all just mere imitations in a play of life, what if the stage lights go out in the strife? I can smell the smoke and hear the knife, a mile away from a damaged and shattered rife. we're different in medium, object, or mode, but hung onto the sense of imitation, where rhythm, harmony, and melody flowed, we bow to the natural art's liberation. we're the most imitating beings alive, to coexist in mirrors we build and burn, hanging on the stage with a thrive, desperate to be let down, to cry and yearn. we're characters either admirable or inferior, dying to be the accused in someone else's play, crying to be a victim in your own theatre, mere words and actions strung on display. we're starring in comedies or tragedies on the set, sit still and watch or be watched by the rest, mere bodies and voices in harmony and sweat, you either jump or are pushed and it's all for the best. 
1 comment
Read more

paradoxes

-
When did life turn into a fake scenario? Am I bleeding after the war? Or am I blushing behind a door? It's such a mirror maze taken seriously; Walking in honourable fashion, Into yourself until you ashen. When did I turn it into an oddly crime? Am I guilty of choosing what I want? Or am I guilty for being nonchalant? I turned it into this subliminal game; Winning is so close to coming 2nd, Losing is not close to being reckoned. Was it always such a race of mice? Did she strave to death on the way? Or was she walked on until she turned grey? In the wildly tribute to all the dead, They gather around the leftover dirt, Say things that never sound assert. When did life become a beautiful tragedy? Am I the best thing that ever occurred? Or am I the only thing ever so absurd? My breath so light I might just lose it; Into the darkness of forever, Or into the brightness of never.
Post a Comment
Read more

presumptuous

-
The pools are stagnant with dirt and leaves, I switch plans like I don't know my feet. Is it rest if I run to the Sunday feast? Or am I presumptuous to everyone I meet? The attack was hijacked for a noble cause, I was blamed for being too much in my thoughts. Sending cards to the dead is a lost cause, But don't tell me I'm presumptuous without a toss. Tame your lions and run to your den; You don't wanna watch me fail again. Keep waiting to hear the roars just when Being presumptuous means going down the wrong lane. Gentle, until I saw why I was held up. You can't expect me not to fight the chains they put up. The days seem like nights and I don't know where I'm stuck Between timelines or a presumptuous mess of luck. Lines are so blurred from where I stand. They got rid of the chains and tramps, But I'm left behind in time and span. I just wish I wasn't presumptuous, but I am.  
Post a Comment
Read more

reclaiming your lands

-
torch light and tight ropes tied to metal bars in a hideout. sip on inhibitions with high hopes, you say "I'm sure." when suffocating in doubt. the ropes pull tighter as the time ticks, so many choices not to choose from. returning to Earth when it's all fixed, but you're still searching for who to run from. your hearts put in the open, to bleed, and drain, and flow, and your mind's been so unspoken since the day you lied twice in a row. laughing with the wrong crowd, what a way to cover that pain? dark humour is death being proud, the silent mourning was vain. the dust wore off and the sun settled. look past the world's voices and commands, of who you are and what you'll be, and untie those ropes by reclaiming your lands.
2 comments
Read more