it's still not a fashion statement, what i wear on my face
and in the places where i'm faring pretty.
the way i sit in my skin's a defense.
it's not coincidence, my countenance.
i'm plagued, i'm crazed, i'll sail for days. so let's set sea.
your majesty, i've never felt this useful.
set me up on your stage; watch the change in my face.
i'll fall, sinking crimson, splendidly.
oh, the beauty in this crime scene.
i said i had some sentiment worth voicing.
i was capable of screaming,
and now here i am bleeding for your sympathy.
don't say you've never felt like me,
but don't bother with apologies.
is my suffering so pretty yet?
does the aesthetic of my anguish
suit your mood? if it's singing true, nod your head.
bash it into the wall and then crawl out of this pity party.
if you know how i do, pain'll be a relief from this bar scene.
just make it stop.
ask me, is this your decision? no- i've lost control, become the victim
of a number of debilitating conditions, 'cause i fed them.
let me weep for my self-pity, my ugly-pretty misery.
i was promised an improvement.
i was told i'd feel better eventually.
well, i've spent seven years soulless. where's my solace?
where's my peace of mind?
cause i'm still feeling wild, on fire,
directionless and impoverished. i've been a hot mess
for so long it's not even fun anymore.
ultimately even self-pity grows stale and motionless.
yeah, there's no money in being sad and sick, honey.
everybody's heard that one too many times before.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
*they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing with a bleeding tongue-
beauty stems from my pain.*
you're slivered inside and derided on sight.
your abhorrent habits have cast fans aside-
your knack for dramatics belittles the tragic.
it isn't romantic. get over your strife.
*they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing with a bleeding tongue-
beauty stems from my pain.*
not all life is suffering- you're twisting it in your head.
psychosomatic pain's no reason to act dead.
you're wasting your youth with these childish blues.
self-pity is useless, contagious. get out of bed.
*they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing for my poisoned loves-
my voices guides them to their graves.*
stop worr'ying the wound and it'll event'lly heal.
quit floating towards koreyland- identify what is real.
if you wanna get better you gotta be brave.
face the pain and the rain or stay caught up in tears and weals.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
i'm willing to do what it takes to make this bar go wild.
the only question left: are you susceptible to what i've got?
if we can't jive, we're empty-handed- but i've got vibes that you and i can get down.
let's get down, then- let's get ******* wild.
let's jam, man- i wanna hear what you've got in your hands.
what do you have in your bones that'll get you mad enough to dazzle?
let the passion take you over. i wanna watch you lose control.
i won't keep you waiting once you embark- i promise you that.
would it get you on your feet if i said i saw something in you and i wanted at it?
or would the aftermath of that statement leave me flattened?
either way, i'll end up collapsing on the stage eventually.
so am i something to write home about?
do i dazzle? or am i just one of the flock?
tell me; i need to know. i feed on what you think of me.
i'm in dire need of validation; i've no self-esteem. so speak.
one, two, three. clap your hands if you believe in me.
keep it to the beat if you wanna see me healthy.
i don't do well when things aren't right. yeah, i'm a delicate flower child with a bad case of the wilds.
acromegalous. i grew too much. i'm a city fish in a little pond.
i'm gasping for air here; i'm so ******* bored. let me out.
i don't fit this skin, so i'll unzip it.
shrug my way out and slip into a better living.
lighter and more lively. just you wait and see. i'll make it, just you wait.
i poison what i touch, but it's ******* interesting.
wanna watch me implode on the big-screen?
i'll cry if it'll get you thinking.
i'll scream and shout if you'll believe it means something.
i just gotta make it look like i'm still alive.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
i guess i'm done with apologies- what good did they ever do?
it's time i leapt before i looked, in order to move
despite fear rooting me in this swamp. yeah, i've been festering
here in this basement. apologies if the shrieking pestered
you. i was merely releasing stuck energy- in this agony, i seem so rude.
now that i've molted, i've no time to speak of my callow mistakes:
i can only swear silently to make up for them and for the time i've wasted.
let's face it, i'm nameless and my teens have passed me, but i've not missed my opportunity.
i'll prove it to you with this hopeful departure from the cliff.
i am no man or woman, not like you. i am woven of memory and birdflesh.
my hollow bones surely will grant me the gift of flight if i try my hardest.
if i leave you bereft, my second-best solution was to disappear, so there's that-
if i do not succeed, at least my failure will spare me the embarassment.
yeah, **** saying sorry, cause nothing ever came of it.
i could've said ten times more with my deeds- if i'd had the strength.
i guess we all could've tried a little harder than we did.
please just let me go now. i'll call if i've made it.
if not, well, **** saying sorry- cause i've had it.
yeah, we all say things we really mean, then sober up and forget to be honest.
i know you would've come if you'd remembered making the promise.
i won't say a word, no, i won't call you on it.
even though it's nowhere close to fair, we tried our hardest-
i swear we did what we could- so **** it.
i'm sick of being apologetic.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
if you could only ease my eyes from their sockets
and pop them into your own head, unfettered,
you would see the truth in my words.
i've gone and spilled my guts here- the letters
are viscera and blood upon the page.
how brave they are to carry my sentiment,
how strong to bear my burdens.
dig into my intestines in an effort to understand
why i am leaden: they are bags of sand-
or is my immobility caused by the black hole in my gut?
tonight i'm the sidewalk, trodden on, grey, stained with yesterday's glut.
i am sober tonight, i swear. it's you who swells
and fails to understand what i am talking about.
i will not watch myself fade and sink for any longer.
tonight i abscond from your corner of hell.
"i am the combined effort of everyone i've ever met",
so baby, if i'm failing, maybe i just haven't found the right people yet.
we are both responsible for this crash.
you didn't start the fire, but you handed me the match.
my chest cavity is hollow. my body is rotting out from beneath me. i stagger on scaly feet.
when was the last time i bothered to eat?
if i come home tonight, i'm bringing my army with me.
tonight i'm bringing it all back.
i will not face this basement without something harsh to numb the pain.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
there's a cavern in this cadaver. noise ricochets off hollow walls,
intensifying the immense desire to initiate my demise.
my soul split after the ellipsis tricked the will out of the innocent.
i have little motivation and the voices make my head spin,
leaving me wasted and short-changed at the frontline again.
let me sink to the fourth regiment. take my bayonet-
i have no need for it now, not when my skin sings for silver
and i'm begging for the end.
we won't be saved til we're dead, but corpses never know they're saved.
i'll lay in torment in my grave long after dirt obscures my frame,
but misery to me is commonplace, like my disgrace.
"you can't go to heaven unless you get high"- well, i've tried,
but my withering physique is merely shame with a face.
i asked entrance, and the doorman could not recognize me.
he said, "this place is for souls, not for the embodiment of self-loathing."
he denied me admittance and bid me good riddance, kicked me from the clouds,
and i fell back to living hell, still hollow, without absolution or due pittance.
"what doesn't **** you makes you stronger"- what ********
they fed those pacifier lines to me so i would stop sobbing and deal with it.
i've learned to keep my countenance blank, to stop the stares and questions.
my carcass dons a steady gaze while inside i howl, pain relentless, ageless, endless.
i'd eviscerate myself a thousand times if it would give me peace,
but i know inside that i'm too entwined with suffering for it to cease.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
i'm a pitiful creature
fueled by the hope of a new day,
but every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.
every morning i drag myself up
to some semblance of self-sufficience,
beat myself against the walls
and wonder why i won't change.
every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.
my mouth is moving. you've heard this before,
but we'll both pretend my number's not up.
rhetoric won't get me out of this,
and you're sick of empty promises,
but i'm not sick of trying just yet.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
i.
caren forgot about her morning. caren forgot it was wednesday. caren had an event and she was not there.
caren is a shadow. caren is an absence of space. caren is a gap that people shy away from, women in black dresses sidestepping past her memory.
caren is a woman with a streetcar. caren is a woman with an office job. caren is a woman with a social network. caren goes to functions. caren is no longer a function, but a product of her own actions.
caren forgot herself.
ii.
shattered windshields. broken glass like triangle teeth. more monsters lurk in mirrors than in the recesses of the closet. behemoths wait by water coolers, demons sit in sweaty three-by-fours. the devil wears a motorcycle helmet and caren hasn't learned from her mistakes.
iii.
run a red light. it's december and she's egging on the new year. frosted features and blinkers hide hot flashes. she's impatient for her age, a businesswoman at her best.
a shift in gear. a change in mood. road rage, road rash. a few words from a dark knight on a whinnying bike.
iv.
lane changes and unintentional nudges. motorcycle launches the devil like a dove to heaven. caren stays earthbound, blood spilled to nourish the ground. fertilizer runs through her veins, and vampire trees in city parks drink it up. bystanders drink it up.
v.
caren is a casualty. caren is the victim of her own habits.
caren is a corpse in a coffin. caren is an elephant in the viewing room.
caren is to blame in eyes and minds. caren is condemned in whispers, but caren is lamented out loud, so caren is proud.
caren got **** done.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
each day staggers by
in stuttered compromise.
heaven meets hell in my stormy eyes,
but my wrath is surely wrapped up
in the way i never cry,
the way i won't admit
how much i'd love to die.
i am sick of this existence.
i want to unzip my skin
and flay it from the ribs,
to let my bones step out of it.
i've stopped feeding my demons.
now they feast on my flesh.
pain is my steady hand, and not my torment.
you avert your eyes, but i love how i deserve it.
if you knew me like i do, with no secrets,
believe me,
you'd hate me as much as i did.
i'm better than i was, but i'm still just a kid.
one year older, none the wiser.
i still want to die, but i made a promise.
if i could tear myself to pieces again,
i'd do it in an instant.
if i should leave this sallow casing,
shut your eyes and cash my chips in.
if i make it hard for you, don't fail to mention it, for i'll repent for it.
i mean you no sacrilege-
i'm simply demented.
i still suffer every day. i just learned how to hurt invisibly.
i'm still enamored with my own pain, but don't want anyone to worry.
i've chosen a new medium so i can rest in peace.
i'm done with trying. i just want an ending.
i would have done it already
but my conscience keeps me.
i'm tired of holding steady. i only want to sink.
each day that passes by just brings me closer to the brink,
and i'm tired of having to think.
how low will i get
before it kills me again?
how low will i get
before i get on with it?
i'm tired of the pills and tests.
i'm past the point of being worth it.
i say i'm in purgatory- waiting to die,
cause i know this will **** me.
i'm playing deadly limbo with the bar dropped to my feet.
motivation left me, but i'm still keeping beat.
but how long can i maintain this without sinking completely?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
i.
fantasy girl,
they tell me,
you've got your head in the clouds.
but it's better up there.
ii.
i'll do what you want for now
but i'll have you know,
i'm a celebrity in my own head.
and i don't need to figure
things like taxes and math.
i dance
around beautifully brazen ballerinas
and flowers missing half their petals
before they've even bloomed
and weave justice back into romance
and weave romance back into words.
i make my own living
where i am king
of thieves and beggars
and i am respected
for my fraud.
iii.
you expect me to remember
the littlest things
(names,
dates,
rules)
when i am too preoccupied
by things that fill my head
like the sounds of words
like the way they make me feel
and due dates make me anxious
so i'll just erase them
why don't you understand
i have the power to change the world?
my pen is mightier than your scalpel.
(i don't need to meet
your plastic-surgery standards,
your smiling faces with lying eyes)
iv.
what is surviving in your world
compared to even living in mine?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC