Greed

Anticipation,

my patience grows thin.

And it’s different this time,

a slow-churned blend of truth and lies,

The hunger, a fire,

a flame that won’t subside.

I am giving more and more of myself

I am testing limits I didn’t dare ponder before

I am tasting the honeyed dew of mutiny,

I am reveling in the forbidden nature of my own pleasure.

And I live in the shadows lately,

where hedonism thrives

I am pompous and arrogant,

I look Satan in the eyes.

And he guides me accordingly,

down the path of the unwise,

where I’m ushered into a madness,

a slippery slope, a slimy ride.

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hallow’s eve &parting grief

drunken clarity,

I know what I feel

whole room is spinning, 

I know what is real 

friendship and self-respect 

boundaries in limitlessness

you are crossing the barbed wire 

into the restricted, fiery depths of my desire 

and I cannot let you any further,

I cannot allow you to really know me, ever  
because I am not a second resort 

I am not what you can do when you’re bored 

I am far too much person for that 

I am far too well-versed in neglect 
so leave me as you came, smooth 

you were fascinating, intriguing 

a lovely thought in conjecture

you were everything, my darling,

all but true 

Eve: 2 Seconds Post-Bite 

I am made of mistakes and anticipation,

Of regret and hopes of salvation,

Of a kind of loneliness that won’t dissolve,

the kind of guilt that can’t be absolved

 

I am woven of timidness,

Of the inability to decline,

I offer myself to monsters,

In hopes they won’t oblige

 

Because I am scattered everywhere,

I lie in pieces, so thin

And I can’t recall a time content,

In a sentience that feels so grim

 

Yes, I am not now nor then

Nor will I ever be,

I float like dust particles in the air

(The ones that you can scarcely see)

 

And I hurt from the inside out,

I want to scream and cry

I want to be seen and heard and felt

But my body simply lies

My tongue lay limp in my mouth

My eyes submissively recline

I breathe and beg my body cope

But my stubborn lungs decline

 

I am made of paranoia and smoke

Of black thoughts and shame

The sort of jaded soul at which you poke

The sort that’s easy to blame

I am a blend of nausea and withdrawal

Of plague, sickness, and inconclusive reigns

I am a creature that howls and crawls

In the safe shadows under an onyx plain

 

And I am everything I vowed never to become

Everything I claimed to loathe once

I am she who’s pain I mocked before I dared endure

For though knowledge satisfies, it cunningly vanquishes the pure.

Tremor

Hand tremor,

I shake.

You did this,

how dare you bend what you knew would break?

Haunt me,

and I simply cannot rest anymore.

Broken,

this can’t be what minds are made for;

to scream and wonder and yell and knock,

to pinch and prod and snicker and rot.

And although I know

that sentience is a pendulum

that rocks and sways,

it seems there is a constant,

one thing that doesn’t go away.

For though my mind

will refuse to dwell,

will repress any memory (lest it begin to swell),

there is a constant,

a pesky remain,

it is my hand

— which continues to shake.

 

 

Fragmented Fondness

 

Inconclusive

Fireworks

Blackness happens in explosions

In your eyes, where the magic is born from butterflies

Never healing the pain that comes hand in hand with sentience

 

We are amidst everything

Nothing

All the same

Bumblebees buzzing, carrying messages to the faint-hearted;

Telling them to stay strong during this time of uncertainty.

 

We are not destined for liberation, not in this lifetime

I don’t know how to fall out of love anymore

Not today, I can’t forget you today

 

Your many faces are blurring into each other

But, the same every time

Kaleidoscopic visions roll their eyes at me, chuckling

I never really knew you

Not really

 

Fading, messed everything up because I could

Never said hi to you either

You wouldn’t have liked me very much anyway, I think

It’s all kind of useless I guess

Sadness is necessary, he told me

“Gives life purpose, don’t you think?”

I don’t know

I don’t like the way it feels though

 

Conversations rising up into the air like cigarette smoke

Dip into the ashtray and leave my sighs to cool down there

I’ll want you whether or not it’s good for me

First impressions are hilarious aren’t they?

Sword masters weren’t appealing upon first glance

You were an acquired taste, love

 

Get close enough

Let me scrunch my fingers into your hair

Smile with your soul, boy

With that radiance

That unapologetic candor

All black everything,

No ivory to dilute the darkness was ever found

Except for the soul,

The soul was grey.

Skewed

There is a disconnect between how things were meant to turn out and the way that they did. Of course, who knew she’d make it this far? She certainly didn’t. She is black to the core, in the most uninteresting way.

She doesn’t know what to make of the life that she didn’t ask for. She doesn’t know how to treat the people who only use her for decoration in their absurd itineraries. Not now, anyway.

The universe was taunting her, and she had given up trying to fight him. “Let him bend me until I break, let him laugh as he may” she resolved.

Everyone. Everything. All of it. None of it made sense. Everything is skewed, it seems. And she is lost. She is at a loss for inspiration, for love, for satisfaction, although there is nothing left to attain (realistically).

But what is reality, anyway? What is it made of? Who does it affect? Could she count herself in?

Because time was swiftly slipping away, and she was wasting it counting stars on the canvas of her own fantasies. She only wanted what she couldn’t have, a specific star. The one that was twisted, bent out of shape, all wrong for her–the one that was furthest away.

She wanted it badly, more than she had ever wanted anything, she wanted it before it went supernova and ceased to be what she fell in love with–although, she might still adore it in the form of stardust, out of sheer respect for what it was.

 

Viri-descent

Everything hurts.

Shattered bones further disintegrate, until they form a powdered ash of pain

boiling in the cauldron, I lean over and allow my tears to fall in,

Further add a lock of hair from the Mistress of Folly

Now I sigh in it

It bubbles over, ghastly green

I pour it into a glass, which shatters from the heat

I consume it all, the mixture, the shards of glass

I deserve this pain, I’ll make it last

I transform, finally, as I was always destined to

Into the thing I once adamantly proclaimed to hate the most

Unkind, selfish, stubborn, alone,

I regurgitate my heart and see it writhing on the floor

until it stops moving once and for all

I compose myself and gaze into the looking glass,

What once was innocent, shall never be again.