The temptation drips down like
chocolate syrup on the slant of my lips
as I breath in uncanny
sounds, hot and heavy.
From the corner of my eye I see
him lying beside me and
he's smiling
waiting, he
makes it sweet, death,
he makes me smile
for it's been a while since
I last saw him
I feel real with him
with nothing, like before but
this time it's closer.
The day is quite painstakingly
bright
but it doesn't matter for
people don't fall in the dark
only by night.
My fingers are a shocking
cold, no longer parallel to warm
steady throbs I toy with
wedged between broken veins and scars beneath
my skin and
the sky is burning but I no longer
react.
The tempation drips down as
I lick my lips and taste
rust, and I'm falling into
my favourite dreams.
From the corner of my eye he
holds my hand, and the cold
from his fingertips
soothes, because death always
feels good at the palm of
your own hand.
It'll feel better soon,
when the throbbing stops
and pulse gives in to silence.
I once drew god a lullaby
such a drug
like how roads i found beautiful are now
just roads
and they sometimes scare me because i am reminded
of accidents and
abandonned bodies and lightning is so much prettier
on the palm of my hand than
in photographs
sometimes i forget to breath and have to
remind myself it is okay to
live a little while longer
because something on the other side is
pulling my curiosity
i think Ian Curtis and i could be good friends
when i kiss a boy i no longer feel
sweet but like expired products so
sour and wasted because i
kiss lips and dream of tobacco
seeping between my teeth into my lungs
because a body of deterioration only consumes
what's bad for it
there are certain things i cannot chase after
now like seven shooting stars
that left empty handed
because i had nothing in me to
wish for
and time
i can never stop time
so i
watch the skies turn brighter hoping for another shooting star because
i wish for a while
i had pushed myself deeper into sleep
so i never had to wake
to another day of figuring out
who i am
but reality
is always about what's too late and
out of reach
and so it is
an addict before addiction
found me, i am strung onto words of
a song i love
and imageries of cigarettes in hand
but where do i find them, where
do they find me?
i own a sky full of stars and no one
but internal disasters
to share it with;
am i what they see, am i
the reality i had learnt to
dismiss?
are they what i see, are they
real?
Who draws the line?
the choice is there but I can't reach,
stuck behind a revolving wall of
mirrors refraining, restraining,
I watch myself running out
of control a million times, rushing
into holes; I pick & I drop,
like feathers from torn pillows,
the ones I suffocate within, the ones I cannot sleep on,
there are stories I start but
can't complete because they are
too much of me.
I will one day, in a room full of no one
stand up and make a speech about
all the things I could've been yet
did not find it inside myself
to actually be because
the shoes didn't fit and I
lived in sleepless nights
for too long.
lucifer is my best
one of those cages that
opens from the top bursting like
freedom
whispering 'come on, come on'
just to kill you because you can't fly;
the beasts dressed in red
singing 'hallelujah' because they
rebel like a punk anthem
and spit gold into my ears
because i have poor hearing;
like one of those nightmares
that leaves you laughing
because you are
what made it evil
bitter is not sweet
there are certain things that rile me up
like people who stare
and early hours though i
cannot sleep nights
because i stay up awake thinking of things that
rile me up there are certain things
that pin me down and squeeze away my breath
like men who steal me away and
music
and words
words
they are not just fucking words to mess
around with and they are not meant to be taken
away from me
my words
there are certain things that
make me sick
like wet socks and people who
play music without understanding music
and then there is
you
unfinished
sound, i blend like black nail varnish
in dark rooms. Pink bands on my arm
I am now not your cause but
an effect
I want to skip days and find months, ticking away hours
like years gone by,
I see her waiting for me to
reach out because she
needs me like a vice versa.
I want to tear pages because he
was too young to die. I want to hold you
like rain and
sunlight so the terrible thoughts
go away.
----------
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i name this poem 'unfinished' because I really damn well wish i could just finish the pretty moments off. :) But, I suppose some things are just meant to come and go, leaving you breathless and smiling.
And some leave you with a pink wrist band around your arm saying 'remember me'.
Well, I won't forget you, and thank you for appearing for a day in my life.
