How can I get out of this mess
This mess called myself
Breathing but not living
Content yet unsatisfied
The heart beats but it doesn't feel
Filled up but empty
Calling yet rejecting
It forgives but resents
The mind speaks but it never talks
Accepting yet rebelling
Praising yet cursing
It understands but refuses to
That's what I am
— Black Strokes #1 // tired yet smiling
we roll sevens on one dice
pull prayer into practice
i breathe out
tip scales in my favour
weigh you up and find you lacking
what are you looking for here?
what do you hope to find within these cracked walls?
you may glow green-blue in the dark
but you are not a beacon to be followed
tracing back your trail through orange-tipped trees is an endless trek
mobius strip folding in over itself.
you can keep your concept of infinity
can chew it up and spit it out
stain your teeth red-brown
insults taste like rust and your ****** teeth will forever brand you a skill-less liar
brackish blood falls from lips
it tastes like windowsill water
basil and monkshood flourish in your absence
dirt covered toes trip over sentences unsaid
the way you speak forever engraved into stone heartbeats
silence is overrun in stairwells
breaking bones and boundaries
we splinter reality
topple from triangle to paradox
plunge headfirst no fear off penrose
we are soulmates in red string
tie our nooses perfect twins
crimson ribbon woven to wrist
are handcuffed to our destiny
braid fabric into hair
tie silk bows over bruises
dance a fighters circle around neck
pull chains tighter
silver laced necklace burns like iron
are schrodinger's soulmates
we both are and are not
skin touching searing hot and frostbite
each conversation is a silent seance
you can speak only to the dead in your shadow
to the skeleton in your closet
and the ghosts scratched under half moon hands
pulling paradox into practicality
hands tear from crimson chain
drip acid from tongue and watch skin corrode
teeth crack in absence of metal
she does not pull the trigger
i will bite the bullet anyway
its infectious, addictive, alive at last at 3am
it tastes like lavender and lemon peel
a bittersweet pill rattling on porcelain lies
brass bullet casings coat open nerves
leave broken teeth braced for a blow that never connects
i will watch as bruises bloom and x-rays break
lead aprons and graphite scars
my history etched onto skin and scalp
a crown of dried blood and static rests on weary head
rust flaking onto shaking fingers
watch as iron crown runs
watch as your blood runs
you can wear your stolen crown of thorns proudly
you consider yourself god
so act like it
lowercase + useless punctuation intended.
a flowery ******* to the girl who ruined all i could have been
In my dream, there is a broken bridge.
That bridge impossible to cross.
Yet, all is possible
in the land of dreams.
In my dream, there exist this broken bridge.
after: "The Broken Bridge and The Dream", Salvador Dali
I starve myself
Because the intense growl in my stomach
is the only time
something tells me it cares about me
I take freezing showers
that make it hard to breathe
Because it's the only time
I fight to stay alive
I read past conversations
of my heart getting broke
Because it's the only time
I can control when I cry
I fake happiness
for those around me
Because I'd rather hide my pain
than my peers to pretend to care
I isolate myself
Because it's the only time
that I am the only one who can hurt me
I'm stuck in a depressive paradox;
the only way for me to survive my pain
is to make my own
Was going go use the term "borborygmus" in the second line, but decided that's too extra.
In lieu of being fake, I don a glass mask.
Observed, I am seen as a brittle basket case full of sass
blinded by the rays in which I bask.
A riddle whose answer you need not ask
because I'm already clasped behind your back.
That itching thought
of which is oft ignored; through your mind it may bore and crack.
If judged so, daft recognizes daft,
realizes life lays down sordid tracks.
If elegance is noticed be appreciative of the act.
Wings spread; flappable;
something else now, as a matter of fact.
i've only ever locked lips with boys,
and although you're younger than most,
you're the man i want to kiss.
Eternity is every mans ambitious endeavor with woman of mine and child in hand. This utopia which emerges from love and greediness is my life’s paradox. My most eager wish of eternal life is bypassed by my sensitive tear canals my over sensitivity for life in this world which the universe has created for me. Ungrateful for this nonpareil chance, a life as an intellectualistic individual in a cosmos with 7.5 billion other intellectual fellow creatures. Despite it all my mind still desires to let life be and let go of the dream.
Written: 29. December - 2018
Fra vugge til grav
Evighed er en hver mands ambitiøse bestræbelse, med kvinde min og barn i hånd. Denne utopi som opstår af kærlighed og grådighed er mit livs paradoks. Mit mest ivrige ønske om evigt liv kortsluttes af mine følsomme tårekanaler, min overfølsomhed for livet i den verden, som universet har skabt for mig. Utaknemlig for en enestående chance, et liv som et intellektualistisk individ i et kosmos med 7,5 milliarder andre intellektuelle medskabninger. Trods min længselsfuldhed begærer mit sind en hvis trang til at lade livet ligge og slippe drømmen.
I’m a paradox.
I say I don’t care,
when I really do.
I say I don’t need someone
to ask me how I am,
while I am longing them to.
I say my voice matters
and act as though it doesn’t.
I want someone to know my emotions
when I haven’t told them
and never want to tell them either.
I want to be happy
but I think of sad thoughts.
I am lazy,
yet I am ambitious.
I crave attention,
love and support
but reject when it
comes in my way.
I am strong,
yet run back to the ones who hurt me.
I am a conflicted contradiction.