oUt Of sYNc

oUt Of sYNc Apr 2018

You were the sea the clouds held above.
Dripping colors of your favour I could never come to love.
The clouds come down to drown the sounds of my sight
As I see the tunes of the music playing,
Moons majestically swaying in the light.
I can hear the colors as they prickle and tickle my skin.
The pigments spread though the bed of the elements I hold within.
That night, I fell asleep. I talked in my sleep, I slept as I talked
About what I dreamt in my thoughts when I thought in my dreams
What if my lips saw colors my nose don’t recognize and if my eyes
Never saw the world on how it really seems.

You were leaking starlight the stars tried to keep.
The sun radiating a lullaby mediating the sky to help you sleep.
A glow so toxic but illogically frantic to my satisfaction so I held up a hand.
I reached and breached the beach of each star I could never understand.
I broke the barrier and opened the carrier of the glow to overflow everything in my mind.
I sank in the light as the brightness sink inside. I choked and struggled, I coughed and I swallowed the glow diminishing me from what lies behind.

thanks for reading :)

#stars #universe

oUt Of sYNc Apr 2018

@3 am

It starts with panic
The moment you’re left alone.
You start to question everything
You come to have known.
The awful memories
Will start to play back in your head.
Depression feeding your confusion and
Deprivation as you lay in your bed.

But you can’t sleep.

You’re too busy planning. Thinking.
Inflicting the never ending pain you’re feeling.
Everything’s a big blur as you slur every word you’re saying.
Whispering, yelling every little thing to stop
Your emotions sinking.

But you’re already too deep.

Then you’ll cry. Tears falling down
Your frozen face.
You’ll start to notice how ****** up and
Imperfect you’ve been for days.
You want to take it different,
You’ll crave nothing but change.
Everything small is now a throbbing monstrosity
And anything familiar is rearranged.

These are the stories I keep.

oUt Of sYNc Apr 2018

I picked my poison

You asked me why
I’m purposely inhaling poison
through my lips.
I enjoy feeling my lungs
breathing as it rips,
Exhaling fumes of treason
losing reason to my seasonal eclipse.
It’s a metaphor I’ll say.
To the guillotine beheading and flogging as it whips.

You asked me how.
I savour the feeling of self-mutilating blood
dripping down my skin.
I’m dying. Drowning from the blood leaking.
Revealing what’s behind my grin.
Silver metal shears caressing my burning flesh,
succumbing to the frightening pleasures of my sin.

You asked me what.
What do I hope to achieve
from pilfering every burning liquor I could find.
Every glass I receive helps me deceive
the emptiness in my mind.
Erasing the memory of misery.
The mystery I tried to leave behind
But the pain keeps playing,
emphasizing I’m worth nothing and just as it stops playing,
I rewind.

You asked me to stop!
If it’s poison, if it’s toxic, if it hurts, why do I do it still.

Perhaps it’s because there are things inside of me
I need to ****.

#dead

oUt Of sYNc Mar 2018

She was an Artist

Her canvas was drowning with blood;
As her paintbrush slices open her skin.
Paying the price for showing the world
her beautiful art from within.

She strokes her paintbrush in colours
Reflecting ripples of repetitive repulsion.
Her canvas covered with colours and
Succession of the glitters of her imagination.

She’s trying to escape, don’t you see
the struggle riddling her eyes?
She always hated her life but
you never realized what’s behind her lies.

Her mind was the most beautiful explosion
of vivacities through collision of galaxies.
The colours of her canvas masking her
tears from the ever growing mental atrocities.

This is the price she pays to show the world
The beauty of her mind.
For how can you write your beautiful poetry without the
Dark void of emptiness you feel inside.

she was my artist. WAS

oUt Of sYNc Mar 2018

I Failed

Call it ironic but really it’s just hypnotic
Seeing a noose dangling down the ceiling a bit too dramatic.
Who wouldn’t be an addict? To the idea of the end for all wax and plastic.
It’s a bit of a craving for something erratic; I won’t lie.
Feeling ecstatic, statically excited for my last goodbye.

When it’s restriction keeping you from the unholy affliction,
There’s always this small voice of contradiction in your head.
Telling you to stop just as the friction of the rope on your neck has been fed.
A voluntary crucifixion of your depiction of you
Constructing your fiction to world eviction to be true.
Valediction of your own jurisdiction whispering as though
Thinking it through.

Yet I stop, I can’t go through with this.

#

oUt Of sYNc Mar 2018

I was the pebble

I'm creating a ripple in an endless wave
of surging waters.
A useless pebble thrown in the puddle of rubble
as the sand shivers.
A fading black mark written
in a hidden carve of stone.
Revoking everything I have ever known and belittling
everything I claim to own.

oUt Of sYNc Mar 2018

Error

You're the Error 404
I keep getting
But I still refresh

— The End —