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Corvus Jan 2017
I'm afraid of dying alone.
I'm afraid of how I'm always the one
Who reaches out to loved ones first.
Like they're more comfortable apart from me
Than I am from them.
And it becomes a chore, a conscious decision
To not obsess over how long it's been since we've spoken,
And if it means they don't like me or they're just busy.
I'm terrified of everything shortening my life span
Or the quality of the time I have left.
How severely I'm impacted by my own wilting body
And how many goals it means will be left unticked.
Sometimes when it's night, and the world is covered in silence,
I wish to myself that I'd never existed.
Such a waste to be given life and to spend it all
On illness, misery and loneliness.
I'm scared of dying alone,
But I'm more scared of living alone.
And I am living alone.
Corvus Oct 2016
I don't know if I'll ever be able to say the word
For what you did, or even spell it out in any language.
Then again, perhaps I've been shouting it through so many
Forms of communication that I let it out every time I breathe.
Maybe it's the way I flinch under my lover's touch;
The way I never let my own body come to her, how it freezes, waits for her first.
How I see your face in every remotely-threatening figure,
And I see their faces, your minions, in the smaller figures that surround you.
Sometimes it's hard to see myself as a survivor,
When sometimes, the only reminders that I'm alive are nightmares.
How their movements shake me awake,
And I can still remember how you taste.
There are times when it tastes like ash, because I burn the memories
With the fuel of self-destruction and I sweat myself to sleep.
Maybe it's that, half the time, I see masculinity only as a devil,
And the other half, it's a quality so far removed from my being
That I'm not really sure if I can call myself a man
Without being at least half a liar.
Corvus Dec 2016
Desire. It's the storm cloud that creeps
Across the skull and blocks the light of common sense.
It's the janitor with a hidden agenda
That doesn't allow any light bulb to come on.
A Svengali swinging a pendulum left to right,
Until the mind is at its complete beck and call.

Desire. It reaps millions of butterflies;
Grown in the stomach. Wanting to be free.
It's the cause of the tension in your body.
The tsunami in your eyes. The quaking of the hands.
Most importantly, it's the internal burning sensation
That spreads to become a hole in the heart.

Desire. It's the delicate crumbling of anxiety
That melts with the comforting warmth of relief.
The fire of temptation; burning so sweet
As sweat collects upon victims unknown.
The aching in the muscles, the knocking in the chest
Of a heart whose cavity has been patched up.

Desire. It's the patch that frays over time
And the hole is re-opened. Tears re-flood.
The trembling vocal chords and the cracking voice
That fall like foundations under searing heat.
The eventual destruction and its finality
That hit you with a dull metallic taste in the mouth.

Finally knowing that no matter how bad you want it,
You will never own it unless under its own terms.
Advice? Read the fine print.
Corvus Dec 2016
How do you carry a child's coffin
When not long ago, you cradled them in your arms?
How do you wrap a child in burial cloth
When just a few years ago, you were still dressing them?
Where there was laughter and learning,
There came screaming and ******.
No smell of school dinners wafting through corridors,
Only burning and gunfire and blood.
Dread and panic replaced exam nerves,
And mourning has destroyed post-test celebrations.
What have we become, to turn a school into an execution site
Under the facade of a warzone?
To drag children out from seats, stare innocence in the face
And send them lifeless to the ground with a single bullet?
There is no cause great enough to **** children,
Nor any punishment severe enough to atone.
Families have been ripped to fragments,
And friendships have been severed or laid to rest together.
Hallways are silent with the heaviness of death,
But the living are still crying and screaming with grief.
We mourn for the dead and we weep for the living,
And as always, we plead, beg, hope for better days to come.
How do you carry your child's coffin
Knowing it's the last time you'll carry them to bed?
How do you wrap your child in burial cloth
Knowing it's the last time you'll ever see their face?
Old write, but it's the anniversary of the Peshawar attack from 2014, so.
Corvus Sep 2016
It's hard to be a coward and suicidal,
Afraid of pain and overly-sensitive to guilt simultaneously.
Never wanted to jump from a building,
Because regretting your decision halfway down must be a nightmare.
Must only take a few seconds.
Must feel like longer than you've ever lived.
Didn't want to jump in front of a bus,
Because that seems wildly ineffective.
Didn't want to lie on train tracks;
I know those videos of dismembered people end up
On the darkest places of the Internet,
And I'm nothing if I'm not embarrassed by attention.
Didn't want to hang myself, had enough hospital trips
From asthma attacks rendering me breathless to want to relive it.
Tried to hang myself.
Wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.
Didn't want to overdose on pills
Because I have an aversion to swallowing them.
Realised the only reason you aren't supposed to chew them
Is so you don't overdose.
Tried to overdose.
Woke up confused and frightened with an apparently not-killer headache.
But that was back then, and this is now.
I don't look at things and see invitations of death anymore.
There's no temptation to analyse them
And see if they're up for the job.
I'm less on the aggressive side of the spectrum,
Swaying, instead, a lot more to being passive.
I don't want to dive in front of traffic,
But I don't always look before I cross the road either.
And I could still end up in the same coffin as if I'd jumped,
But for me, there's a lifetime of difference.
I don't really consider this to be a sad/hopeless poem, but it is a blunt poem. Sometimes you need to set your darkness free.
Corvus May 2016
I cut my heart out of my chest for you.
You told me you loved the warmth radiating from it,
And I couldn't let you get close enough to me anymore,
So it seemed like the right thing to do.
Once, you rested your head on my chest,
But then a hole opened up, started seeping poison into me,
And I didn't want it to reach my heart, so...
I cut it out, and it was yours.
It turned necrotic anyway.
The blood congealed and turned it black, hardened like stone,
And I could barely breathe on my own.
You looked at the heart with disappointment, no heat coming from it,
Looked at me and took pity on my dying bones,
Gave back my heart with a smile on your face.
You'd cut little triangles into the edges,
Made it dangerously sharp and serrated.
You pulled back my skin and ribs, opened the hole wider
And shoved the dead heart back inside,
Its jagged edges knocking against my soul.
Pain emerging, I asked you why.
"I always liked to bite deep" you replied.
I'm not above using cliches.
Corvus Nov 2016
I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.
Corvus Apr 2016
I have a story to tell, only I'm not allowed to tell it.
Society has gagged me and shoved me into a box
Where certain things are deemed inappropriate
Because they make such a fragile box break.
And if the mighty strength of the box breaks,
How can we ever survive? So riddle me this.
One day I met a stranger who gave me a drinking problem
That turned into a thinking problem, because suddenly
I couldn't think as to why I was drinking when I don't drink.
There was a fog that began to pour out of my uneasy mind
And laid itself heavy upon the ground around the stranger and I.
And then the stranger turned into a mere shadow on the wall.
Then it grew claws that crept along until they took the forms of two more shadows
That grew their own claws and tore smiles into their faces.
My head danced in the haze of the mist,
But I saw all three shadows jump out of the surface of the walls,
Like out of the screen of a television
And into a reality as the lights go out.
Then the claws dug into my wrists and burned my veins
While the jagged smiles tore into my flesh.
So then it didn't matter how much I was burning,
Because I was covered in so many happy little smiles.
Later, the shadows evaporated into the haze
That receded into my own brain, like it had never seeped out around me
And engulfed me. Inflamed me.
Even though my body was still smiling blood.
And that's the story of how someone is forced into silence,
Lest they relinquish their right to the word 'masculinity'.
Corvus May 2016
It must've been summer when we met,
Because our new love sailed on the light breeze
As it absorbed the rays of the sun
Until it became ripe enough to pluck.
And I loved spending the slow transformation
Of daylight to dusk to night with you,
Waiting for the sunset, but whenever it came,
I was never watching it because I couldn't take my eyes off you.
But I'd see it in the way your skin changed
From golden all the way to a silhouette.
Then autumn came along, barely noticeable at first,
Just a stronger wind than either of us were used to.
It wasn't too long before we noticed leaves falling
And abandoning us, riding far away on the wind.
Eventually, all the leaves had left us,
Our surroundings so bleak and dull,
And I could never see the world dancing across your skin
Like I could when the sun would bless our love with its presence.
The wind shook us hard and we began to lose our grip,
So you decided to leave and search for better climates.
Left alone, my loneliness provoked winter to raise from its depths,
And the snow started to fall relentlessly.
Before long, the snow had become a mound of ice
Separating me from anyone who might try to break through.
I heard your voice pierce through the howling wind,
The desire to bring the sun back to us.
I sometimes still hear it, your voice, asking me to do the same thing,
But now there's a blizzard raging on between us.
And it's making the wall bigger.
Not literally three seasons, that'd be a very short relationship to write whiny poetry about. Say no to short relationships, kids!
Corvus Oct 2016
Some species of banana slugs have to chew off their own *****
When it gets stuck inside of their partner.
And I just think it's the perfect comparison of us;
How I'm drawn to you like it's a primal instinct,
But I get so trapped that I can't escape
Without mutilating myself in the process.
I wrote the first sentence with every intention of this being a ridiculous, silly poem. I'm not sure where I went wrong, but it's safe to say it went wrong.
Corvus May 2016
The
Darkness
Descended;
Populations
Eradicated
Instantaneously.
Corvus Feb 2016
The loneliness attacked me again, left me broken and bleeding,
And the first thing I do is run back to you.
Collapse, stain your clothes red, take out our favourite game,
Ask you if we can play it all over again.
Thing is, the stakes always increase for every time we play,
And I'm close to being bankrupt, but I know you're getting rich.
You take it all from me, I give everything I have
But I can still barely afford the newest buy-in price.
I've started giving you pieces of who I am instead,
And I'm getting there, I've nearly given enough to play another round,
And I know there are other players. I used to walk away,
But now I'm not whole enough to leave the table despite it.
I'm translucent, hardly here, I can barely even touch you
Without feeling the disconnect; we're stuck in different places.
Maybe you're just better at winning than me,
You know just when to walk away and when to come back.
I exist only to pay off the debts I have with you.
"I" am less than "you"seless.
Corvus Sep 2016
I wrote a poem a while ago
About how all my poetry is the same now.
Because of you. And here's another dose of repetition
To gulp down my dry throat.
I guess this is how I know it's love,
And if I'm in love, my poetry has jumped ship,
Drowned in an ocean filled with tears
That I don't even remember shedding.
I don't know if my poetry is any good,
But I know that I can translate emotion into words,
And that's something to be accomplished,
If I never know how to do anything else.
See, I'm not good at loving you.
I don't know how to be who you want,
But it's too late,
My heart's already relinquished its grip on poetry
And now it constricts around your soul
Like a snake devouring its prey...but in a beautiful way(?)
I can write poetry, but I can't love you,
It'll first be the death of poetry, then the death of loving you.
Please don't do this to me, I grip pens,
I don't know how to safeguard hearts.
Here, take my last poem and leave, it's about you again.
They're all about you now.
Corvus Dec 2016
I cling onto you too tightly.
I leave lines of blood on your hips
Whenever you pry me away from you
Long enough that we're separated.
You're my only lifeline these days;
The grass and the mud that I grab hold of,
Something to help pull myself up
From the river I've fallen into.
You're the pen I can never put down;
Even when inspiration doesn't hit
Or forcing out uncomfortable truths hurts,
It brings me a comfort I can't relinquish.
You're the shotgun in my hands.
From the muzzle that I put in my mouth
To the trigger that I hold onto
Tighter than anything else you ever gave me.
And I hold onto it so tightly
That your trigger is pulled further away from me,
The rest of you coming closer to messing up my mind,
And it's OK,
Because you're the only thing I have left to hold onto.
Corvus Dec 2016
You're a wolf in sheep's clothing
That I saw break itself apart just so it could join the flock.
You lived with the sheep long enough that your stench faded,
Inhaled their lifestyle until it became yours.
Then the real wolves came, wearing their own skin,
Entered the flock and began to feast upon the sheep.
You sat, injured and deformed, wearing fluffy, white wool
Over your grey fur.
They came for you, and you pounced.
Your self-blunted teeth split their skulls open,
And your claws tore flesh like the sheep tore blades of grass.
They came for you, but now they are yours.
You ate the wolves' flesh and licked clean their blood;
Your sheep's clothing stained red with wolf.
Corvus Oct 2016
You can't go back, but you can get back to where you were.
Flowers are in full bloom, then come winter they're hiding,
Until the gentle breeze of spring wakes them up again,
Colourful and basking in the sun like they were a year ago.
Life isn't a yo-yo, going back and forth forever;
It's a wheel, continuously turning until the starting point
Becomes the starting point when it reaches a full cycle.
So if you've lost who you were and you know you can't go back,
You don't need to. Eventually you'll come full circle.
Title is a quote from The Walking Dead, because why the hell not?
Corvus Sep 2016
When you're in the car, driving home or in the passenger seat,
And it's 3am, pitch-black skies
Tinged with the purple-ish glow of light pollution,
That's who we are in this moment.
The way the car glides over the motorway,
So smooth it's almost motionless,
And the engine sounds are so constant
That they become as soothing as a lullaby.
How the raindrops batter the car before fading,
Leaving their liquid exoskeletons clinging onto the windows,
And it feels like home,
Because this is where we leave our hearts.
I looked out of the window towards the open road,
And the rain makes the view slightly blurry.
It's the way the lights shine and glimmer across the road
In reds, whites and yellows, that's where we reside.
We're the blurred images of each other,
Clumsily reached for on nights that are pitch-black
Save for the pollution in our souls.
Corvus Apr 2016
You see her? See her wandering the streets?
Her story is the collagen
In the scars on her wrists and thighs.
Did they notice the scars,
Or did they hasten over them in an attempt to wet
The girl they care not for, without sacrificing their arousal?
Perhaps their ***** was spilled too readily,
Thereby covering up the marks whose broken blood vessels also
Vessel her story from body (origin), to mind (publication).
The story of a girl who gives and gives,
In order to convince herself that no one can take
That which does not belong to them.
Whether she is giving or they are taking, it doesn't matter.
The importance rests upon her body;
Feasted upon, ****** dry and worn-out,
While her innards are worn by the desperate.
They sew together, with those innards, a costume of reputation.
Outfit completed by a mask of superiority.
Blind are those who do not see the damage they cause,
Carelessly, to her body in a feeble attempt to elevate their ego with control.
I'll just say this:
To those whose methods to ******* their self-esteem
Involve monetary transactions with the used and abused;
You will drain her.
Drain her even more than she has been, but you gain nothing.
You simply lose your soul,
So, let the buyer...beware.
Disclaimer: Everyone's story is different.
Corvus Oct 2016
You're the cause and cure of my existential crises,
The only living thing stopping me from identifying as a solipsist.
I burn through you like a fake-anarchist burns money;
Facile and hollow, the actions hold no meaning.
Yet we've become slaves of ritual, so we both stay armed
To the teeth with matchsticks, ready to strike at first light,
First sign of a Code Red, both dead, both dead.
And our blood is already made of petrol.
Sometimes *** is just a fire in the frozen wasteland
That love once kept green and thriving.
Sometimes you get so close to the fire
That you think it feels like it's thriving again.
Corvus Feb 2017
Betrayed by my first encounter with socialisation,
The anxiety turned my brain into a wreck,
Then it sent me on my way to sleep.
I awoke to the vibrations of the floor on which I laid.
Dull music from below drilled holes in my skull,
As the foreground shook with blurriness.
Muffled laughter accompanied shadowy shapes
That my mind would not analyse.
I tried to sit up to catch my surroundings,
But my arms would not move.
Then I felt the heat of another's strength forcing my own to subside.
Eyes glinted at me from the darkness like diamonds;
Glistening and so happy.
Then weight upon my back. Skin against skin.
Resistance, but more fists with grips joined in.
Laughter twisted into a foreign tongue,
And it created silence.
Created the screams within my mind, echoing throughout my body.
Everything...or nothing at all.
Yet life was still beating incessantly downstairs.
Trapped in thought.
'Man'? No.
Suffocating on feelings with no names,
As I ripped out my name and I forgot myself.
Memory begets pain, and pain begets wanton distraction,
So I crush another tablet
And add it to the others to force down.
Sleep.
Corvus Feb 2017
They want us marching to the sound of fear,
Footsteps dull, thudding in-time with one another,
Eyes always fixed on the horizon,
Searching for a sun that always lies just too below to see.
We cannot go back;
Nighttime has already fallen
And we march ever forward, chasing sunlight or outrunning darkness.
We are never sure which.
The stars are no longer the pinpricks that show us a glimpse of Heaven
Poking through the blanket of vast, lonely nothingness.
They have mutated into the eyes of our enemies,
And they surround us and outnumber us a million to one.
They want us to move forward, but no matter how far we march,
We are followed by more and more eyes, twinkling and menacing.
Black silhouettes of trees stand against indigo skies,
Swaying so erratically in the wind that we swear they're chasing us.
March faster than the trees, faster than the stars' light can travel.
March faster than the sound of the war drums can reach our panicking ears.
They are here. I can hear the drums.
Can you hear the sound of drums?
Corvus Feb 2017
I'm sick of this push and pull, we don't have an umbilical cord,
But here you are, draining me, and what do I get in return?
Cold nights turned into hot nights, bed sheets, back seats,
They've lost all their appeal, and I don't think it's the venue,
I'm thinking it's the menu. What good is love when you can't afford the price?
I'm an accomplice in this heist where you steal a lover's trust,
And I don't think I'm any good at this;
I'm guilt-ridden, I'm torn to bits.
I wanted your love but I hate who you've become,
And I've started to realise I'm the same monster as you.
My heart belongs to you, too, and my body goes with it.
I'm not stronger than you, I can never separate the two.
I got in the car with the devil and was surprised when it crashes,
I should've known I couldn't walk away without some bruises and scratches.
Repost, because why the hell not?
Corvus May 2016
I'm sick of this push and pull, we don't have an umbilical cord,
But here you are, draining me, and what do I get in return?
Cold nights turned into hot nights, bed sheets, back seats,
They've lost all their appeal, and I don't think it's the venue,
I'm thinking it's the menu. What good is love when you can't afford the price?
I'm an accomplice in this heist where you steal a lover's trust,
And I don't think I'm any good at this;
I'm guilt-ridden, I'm torn to bits.
I wanted your love but I hate who you've become,
And I've started to realise I'm the same monster as you.
My heart belongs to you, too, and my body goes with it.
I'm not stronger than you, I can never separate the two.
I got in the car with the devil and was surprised when it crashes,
I should've known I couldn't walk away without some bruises and scratches.
Corvus Apr 2017
Pain.
It's tempting.
Hidden in hearts
That hold onto memories.
Addiction.

Healing.
It's reluctant.
The mind fails
But it always continues.
Affliction.
A double elevenie, which was incredibly difficult to write. http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-three-3/
Corvus Oct 2016
The rain pours and the thunder roars.
It's comforting, it's the sound of solitude
Despite the headlights rolling by
And the lampposts shining brightly orange.
Rain splashes gently, hitting the ground,
And there's no other sound I want to hear,
So I drown everything else out.
In silence and shadow I excel.
Retreating to the alleyway, narrow and foreboding,
Its harrowing nature is a sanctuary for my own self.
I become the darkness that surrounds me,
The nothingness, the non-existent threat.
I hear the sound of heels clicking on pavement,
Gentle splashes where shoe meets water,
Not too far off in the distance,
But it takes me only an instant to let the predator take over my mind.
Steadily paced, the footsteps grow louder;
The pheromones so strong that it's almost a taste.
I wait, breath bated, for the moment to arrive.
The gap between here and slaking the thirst feels too wide,
Like the pupils of my eyes, dilated,
And I'm overdosing on oxytocin when finally I strike.
Pulling the warm body into the claustrophobic alley,
The blackness engulfs us both.
We are nothing.
Nothing exists except for her heartbeat, thumping and drumming
Until it...fades.
The title is from, and the poem is inspired by, the song Dead End Angels by Bohren & der Club of Gore: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuKVDJXUQnc
Corvus Jun 2016
You do not get to banish people to a corner
Because you think their presence might darken the sun,
And then get mad at them
For choosing not to live in pitch black misery.
When they turn their corner into a place of vibrancy and colour,
Music, dancing, laughter and freedom,
You don't get to burst in and take it away from them.
You sit there and you watch them smile away their fears,
And you can't stand it.
That they are so happy but you, man on the outside looking in,
Are sitting in the sun yet are still consumed by darkness.
Man on the outside looking in, you see happiness and you are enraged,
Jealous of people confined to such a small place of acceptance yet so free.
You break down the door and you spread darkness.
Indiscriminately and in bursts of loud gunfire.
You make all the other colours of the rainbow fade
Until there's only red, red, red.
But neither you, nor anyone like you, will get to banish us into a corner.
In the garden, we're given a small patch of dying grass,
And look at it now, blooming full of beauty.
We are the lilies, geraniums, bluebells, trilliums,
And the countless other flowers
That were once so few, yet now we creep out of our confined patch of land,
And we're breaking down your door whether or not you hear us knocking.
Corvus Jun 2016
Stranger, I've decided to write to you
As a sort of symbolic poem, maybe a form of catharsis.
My name is Jason, but we met when I was wearing a different name.
I'm sure you remember me vividly.
Then again, maybe not.
Maybe I'm just a blur, a face in a sea of faceless faces.
A congealed mass of melted self-worth
With the others that I'm certain exist.
Limbs all strewn together in confusion, joined, locked into one another
Without really knowing how we came to be connected.
You took me to a foreign land, made it my home,
Took me in and gave eyes to a naive-blinded person.
Did you plan it even from that point,
Or did opportunity just knock so hypnotically?
You gave this boy open wounds,
Rubbed addicting substances onto them,
Called it the key to prosperity and happiness,
Then let the boy enter a man's world
With no weapon at my disposal, not even a plan.
I was ambushed and deceived by you.
You made me feel like a scared child again.
I was ripped of all I felt made me something solid, a human-shaped form,
So, I take comfort in knowing we will once again, one day, be equals.
Maggots will mercilessly eat away at your remorseless corpse,
Feeding you to the earth, allowing you to sustain life
In the hopes that you will do better in death than you ever did as a human.
Of course, I'll be right beside you,
Rotting away as your equal.
Corvus Feb 2017
Cold, lonely shower.
Watching the skies turn dark grey.
Soft piano notes.
Corvus Nov 2016
There's a girl that follows me everywhere.
Sometimes she trails behind me like a shadow,
And sometimes she stands in front of me like a distorted reflection
From a mirror that doesn't speak the present tense.
Words don't exist between us,
She just looks at me with blue eyes bordered by long lashes.
Sometimes I drag her through the looking glass
And tell her she's just like me.
But not as smart.
She looks at the mirror and sees wounds, scars, flaws, ugliness,
Where I see learning, growing, beauty.
Life itself is dancing across her skin
To a beat so fast and erratic that it leaves scorches.
I try to tell her that,
But my words are silenced by her attempts to grow wings.
I applaud this display of determination,
But I sit so far back that she fails before the claps reach her ears.
I sit there and watch her, and it's funny, because I have her wings,
But I can't give them to her, she can only grow them.
So I ask life to snap her DNA in a few places, replace them,
Whisper a few words of wisdom into her brain and hope that those seeds take,
Mutate. Grow into the wings she wants,
The wings that'll let her fly to places
She doesn't even know yet that she wants to go.
Child, girl, adolescent, you'll never be a woman.
You won't live long enough, you'll die bleeding,
Ripping out your ****** while shedding skin.
And you know what? You'll love it.
Corvus Feb 2016
I want you wrapped around me in fragments and shards,
Tearing at my flesh, make me bleed, make me turn your white into red.
Beg me to take you back, speak words to me that you twist into a noose.
Hang me. Lead me to my death, make me choke on every lie I ever let dig into my neck.
Shove the memories down my throat where they die and become ghosts;
I'm sure they'll haunt every consonant and vowel I dare to retaliate with.
Tell me I make you die every night, just a little.
Tell me that I'm your imagination personified,
Or that I'm the shadow of the enlightenment you seek,
Or that I'm anything but the distraction you tore me down to.
Do the excuses ever rot your soul?
Does the putrefaction ever seep through the sheets and into the mattress?
Are you used to it, or do you always find a new bed to sleep on?
Do the bodies ever freeze up from lying next to you?
It doesn't matter now, I just want your poison in me,
Mapping out my veins, make it hard to navigate my way out of death.
There's no light in you.
Your soul is dead, because your eyes are dead,
And that's why you avert my gaze.
Meanwhile, my intentions have never been clearer,
And my soul has never been more drowned in tears.
They've been making patterns, staining the pillow
Like panes of glass that stain church windows.
But our relationship wasn't a church, you're not God
And I definitely don't have any faith in you anymore.
I just want you begging to me in fragments and shards,
Seeking comfort and forgiveness at my lonely wrists.
Corvus May 2016
The further away things are in space when we look at them,
The more we're looking at the past.
So I think you must be at least as old as the universe
To have left such an impact upon it.
Your words as colourful as those pictures of nebulas;
Words of wisdom that hover in the mind long after spoken.
The cold, vacant space you inhale becomes blessed by your existence,
Exhaled into the creation of heat, your breath births countless stars.
Your suffering, a black hole.
Dreadful, heavy beyond measure, eternal.
Would swallow us all into death, split us into pieces,
But you see how far we've come and want us to thrive.
So the black hole swallows up the misery of others,
Growing wider, the hole in your heart, endless.
And then you end, so the universe ends.
There are no more stars to be formed,
Nor galaxies to add to the multitude you gave us.
It's all gone.
It just hasn't reached our eyes yet.
Corvus Jan 2017
There's a sea I sometimes find myself treading in,
Sometimes steady, sometimes drowning.
It's hard to stay afloat at times,
And I hallucinate people on ships sailing past me,
Not a care in the world, and I hate them;
Every imagined smile hurts like inhaling the saltwater.
But the worst thing is the monstrous shadow beneath the waves,
Huge and treacherous with eyes like emeralds,
It wants to swallow me whole and drag me down,
Into waters so deep that all becomes black.
And worst of all, when I hear that leviathan's rumbling roar,
I sometimes think it's coming from inside me.
Corvus Feb 2017
The bleeding out is inevitable,
It's only ever a question of when, never if.
I hold you close to me, with your skin like magnets
And your lips made of daggers.
Eventually I feel the sharp pain of a kiss's incision,
And you put the full weight of your damaging codependency onto the wound,
Keeping the blood carefully sealed inside the artery.
I wrap your broken promises around me like a bandage,
Tie it off with my breaths of lies.
And in this moment, when I am at my most temporary,
My heart beats its strongest, lying right next to yours.
I feel eternal, your love feels as endless as the universe
And my pain is as non-existent as the space between our bodies.
But it's only ever a question of when, never if,
And the blood spurts out in fountains of nightmare.
Your broken promises, my lies, and the endless love
Are made visible with the arterial spray
Of an unforgiving love's puncture wounds.
Corvus Mar 2017
It's hard to describe just how conflicting it is;
To hate more than half of yourself.
How, as much as I hate my entirety with such ferocity,
There's also a palpable hatred towards an actual presence.
And it's hard not to think of myself as jigsaw pieces,
Not carefully pieced together, but instead forcefully jammed
Into wherever impatience let them fit,
Leaving me with gaps, disconnect and feeling mutilated.
It's getting less and less vague as the days go on,
And sometimes that's a good thing.
It feels good to know what parts of yourself you want to burn,
And what parts your disgust decides to leave alone.
But sometimes it hurts to hate things that are so specific.
To hate things that are firmly attached to me, that I can't just tear off.
How can I love myself when I can't throw pieces away,
But my brain is telling me that those pieces stuck to me so permanently,
Are actually...lethal?
Corvus Aug 2016
I'm not the lover inside of your screams.
I'm the stale breaths lingering in the air.
Corvus Feb 2017
It hits out of nowhere, with no warning.
A year since my last mental breakdown,
Thinking I was done with suicidal ideation,
And it hits me with the force of a torpedo.
I never know where it was lying dormant
Or what triggered the volcanic eruption
That burns away all progress made.
I just know that it hurts, and the ash lays heavy on me.
I lie down and I don't let myself get up.
Must be something about February, right?
Corvus Feb 2017
I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.
Corvus Mar 2017
"Time heals all wounds."
How often do people say that?
Sometimes they believe it,
Other times it's the only thing they can offer you.
If time heals wounds, why are there still marks on me,
Like the crime scene dusted for fingerprints?
Perhaps they healed over long ago,
And I'm just looking at scar tissue
That runs so deep that it interferes with pain receptors,
Making me believe I'm not done healing.
I just know that I'm still hurting,
And I've tried so hard to pretend those marks aren't there.
When I could no longer pretend, I forced denial upon myself,
Bathing in paint to make them disappear.
I've flayed myself to the bone, just to make sure
That the old, wounded skin is no longer attached to me.
So when I look at those new marks,
I know that's new, freshly-made scar tissue.
But it never lasts, and sooner or later I can feel it;
That same poison coursing through my veins,
Reminding me that old wounds never heal.
They seep into your cells and regrow at will.
Corvus Jun 2016
Sunlight cuts out under the hills.
Ghostly-green lanterns flood the streets
Like haunted water birthing light
Without its heart-lifting warmth.
No blood leaking into the skies, they're dry
Like my peace-starved brain.
One drop to replenish lost youth.
That one drop. Always just a stretch too far.
Bickering with both sides of my mind
As the sky's smoke is listening,
Then the glistening of a memory.
Of a flash. Of cold burning.
A memory in the back of my skull
Projecting an entity into reality.
Reaching to touch...yes, I can feel it
Within my grasp, unlike the comfort of peace.
If it cannot come to me, I'll force
Destruction on myself until nothing but peace exists.
Solitude is a beautiful downfall.
Solitude is an addictive drug.
Darkness fills the space around me
And in me. The lover of a lonely *******.
A poppy-petal embrace of serrated limbs;
***** wounds sting nerves and veins.
Biting flesh and feasting on sense
With the narrowing of light-eaters.
Simultaneous effects on thought and feeling,
Dissolving into what will one day be the present.
Corvus Oct 2016
Glossy covers full of bright, alluring colors.
These are scriptures. These are the words of God
Spoken through scalpels, silicone and incisions,
Dictated to the flock in a virtual church from a box.
Frail bones barely hidden by flesh ****** of flesh,
Shivering beads of sweat and burning pangs of hunger
That turn into nausea. Cravings are a temptation
That will lead you from your path and into a downfall.
Westernised beauty is the Jacob's Ladder
That you must climb and reach at any cost.
Even if you have to go against Mother Nature
And change your own existence; anything to reach the top.
Hallucinations of Heaven override reality;
Dropping to the floor several times a day and cracking.
Strength is a quality you do not naturally possess,
But when you become perfect, you finally can be.
Otherwise you're nothing but an empty and dusty shell.
This is a world of glamour. How can you compete
Without rearranging your entirety
To become everyone you see that has been appointed by God?
Recitation is the key. Repetition and perseverance
Will go a long way. The framework of OCD is a great litany.
It's scrawled on your thighs and your wrists,
How else can you exist? Suffering for sin is repentance.
Rituals have always been a part of religion,
And this is no different. This is teaching obedience.
Lie with another, consummate a marriage of deceit;
Attention for affection. Money for perfection.
Womanhood is not what is seen by misled fanatics,
Instead, natural beauty and the comfort of possessing this.
This is quite an old poem of mine I came across. The mentality I had at the time of writing it was quite naive, it was basically "Women don't need to wear make-up, they should be confident how they are, evil society!" When the truth is, people can do, express themselves, look, however they want, however makes them happy. But the media and society still spout potentially harmful (physically and mentally) ideals.
Corvus Dec 2016
I'm locked in a cage.
Half my body spilling out through the bars;
Arms bent, snapped bones piercing through skin,
Stretched out, reaching for the key that gets further away.
Other half still held captive, hidden in the darkness
Of the secret that never wants to be paroled.
I want to escape, but the jagged limbs have formed a knot
And I can neither be pulled out through the gaps of the bars,
Nor back into the depths of repression.
I'm half free and half trapped,
And those two states of being cancel each other out.
I am nothing.
Corvus Dec 2016
It's a strange feeling, lying next to someone,
As strange as waking up next to someone.
Sometimes I don't sleep, I just watch your silhouette,
As if blinking would make it change into the shape of a monster.
Or I wait for the black night to turn into that very dark blue,
Because it means dawn will come quick enough
That I can fall asleep safely,
In the knowledge that daylight will keep you human.
Then there are times when I don't fight it.
When your arm around me is warmer than any blanket,
And on that rare occasion I find myself comfortably sleepy,
At peace with falling asleep.
I can't always tell the difference between a silhouette and a ghost.
Can't always tell if it's your arm or a serpent.
But I'm glad you know the difference between my fear and my acceptance,
And I'm grateful you stay with me regardless.
Corvus Jul 2016
Before identities and allegiances are even confirmed,
The cries of anger rise up like a thick, black smoke,
Heavy and suffocating, it flows through streets,
Over the English Channel, across oceans,
Seeping into social media and blanketing all else.
Cries for vengeance,
Vengeance,
Vengeance.
And those cries barely manifested into a wisp
When Beirut was attacked the day before Paris.
I didn't see any Facebook pictures of the flag of Lebanon.
Do any of us even know what the flag of Lebanon looks like???
To **** innocent people is a crime except when we do it,
Then it's "There are always casualties of war,"
But if this isn't a war except when we're killing people,
Can it really be called a war?
We care so much about the injustice of it,
How the innocent are mowed down without mercy,
That we want those bombs dropped and we want them dropped now.
When those bombs destroy homes and blast children's limbs apart,
Bloodless and pale, until the area looks like it used to be a porcelain doll factory...
Will we all have Syrian flags for our Facebook pictures?
Corvus Jul 2016
It's OK not to be inspired.
You can look at a sunset
Without seeing the colours as smudges of chalk
On the divine, stretched-out canvas of sky.
And you don't have to write everything down,
Because not everything has to be permanent.
Some things only last for as long as you remember them,
And it doesn't make them any less special
Just because they weren't written down or spoken life into.
Existing is art, and creating something
That no-one ever gets to hear is still art.
You're a poet even when you're not rushing to your notebook
Before the words fall through your fingers, slippery with desperation,
Motivation, inspiration for the next poem.
So slow down, because if you forget your masterpiece
Because you were enjoying a careless moment of misplaced inspiration,
Who cares? Even if no-one saw it, you know you created an awesome poem.
Yes, I did write a poem about how people don't have to always write poems.
Corvus Oct 2016
A battle between two empty bodies
Soothing their hunger for anything at all.
One body damaged, looking for solace
In case it heals the cracks of worthlessness.
The other one broken, looking for nothing,
Just wandering the paths of apathetic experiences.
Damaged is our main character. Engaged in meaningless combat
With Broken. At least, that's its name in my story.
Tangled in comforting lies that constricted them
And allowed them to cling together at the waist.
Broken was ruthless and remorseless;
Taking every drop of satisfaction to quench its selfish thirst.
Damaged was numb and disconnected,
Taking every affirmation that Broken threw at it.
They fought with no agenda and with no enemy,
Just the motivation of need with a mutual agreement.
Perhaps the enemy itself was their reality,
And that's why they allowed the CD player to bleed.
Off-rhythm, erratic, chaotic but ******
And hypnotic music; implicit and *****.
It mimicked their meaningless battle for a while,
Until it silenced and left them to their duties.
Violent strokes of heat tore affection to pieces
And set fire to emotion as pleasure was reached.
Held onto tightly for a few seconds longer.
Then it faded and this battle was no more.
Broken sighed and rested its body, feeling spent,
Feeling already vacant of its satisfied state.
Damaged forced itself to the solitude of the bathroom
To cry tears that it hopes will glue together the cracks
That made it so lonely in the company of others
Who reflected the future of what it would become.
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