Thursday, May 14, 2015

Throwback into feelings

Thoughtful Anime

Slumped in my chair, a mix of joy and fears
I lie in stupor after a one volatile high.
For an instant I felt like I haven't in years
without any reason and with no one in sight.

I am not charmed, not even in love,
yet for a second I felt no bitter bother.
It was not about lust, but feeling high above
like when you spend time with a significant other.

In my so short ecstasy of pristine feelings
I traveled to my past, saw myself as I used to be
I felt the rush of energy, a slight sliver of healing
and the sight of a mind's eye that could no longer see.

Now I am here again, hungover like before,
trying to retrace my steps to that moment in time.
Curious like a child who found a place to explore,
but tired as an adult who had just committed a crime.

I have no idea if this miracle will ever return.
I just know that it felt sweet while it was in sight.
A piece of my past self that proudly dared to burn
and warm my passage through this endless night.

This is for all of you who had been living lives that are a little distant from romance and relationships (mostly because of the things you been through and trust issues), but for a split second you feel just like you used to feel back when you trusted easily and were full of illusion for no apparent reason. 

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

The nectar of nightmares comes from the unforgiven

Your big brown eyes are like a sad malady
and your soft pale skin rouses my sense of distress
like a succubus you drain me out, I can't fight
slowly getting me deeper into a sorrowful mess.

You may never know how much of you still lives
in the thoughts that sometimes get me upset,
sweet memoirs that sting, piercing me like knives
yeah, those memories you chose to forget.

This is not a plead for you to return, lost queen.
It has been so long that you may no longer remember
that the first time your curse in my eyes was seen
was a cold afternoon on a mellow September.

I shall admit it, I am still half broken
and for that you may mock me, give my mind no rest
while at the same time, your silence becomes so outspoken
that it screams, destroys and shatters any kindness that's left.

Your voice becomes a cacophony is you're not there.
Your beauty becomes filth if beside me you don't lie
and your juices become the forbidden nectar of nightmares,
broken promises and a past that refuses to die.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Modern loathing in words

I really hate how modernity just screwed it.
with its lack of color and sterile scent,
compared to times where limitations were hated
and rules were made to be bent.

I do not talk with the mind of a teen
but of an adult who kept a sharp mind,
refused to be bound, kept his senses keen
and became an outcast, few of a kind.

Whatever happened to diversity
and to people with a thick skin?
Now everything became a damn insult
and any verb a mortal sin.

People giving up and making excuses,
falling down like soulless dolls.
Accepting a half-life without any uses,
complying to a system that makes them dull.

Some people call this to become mature,
I call those claims a waste of breath.
Because letting our freedoms to be obscured
is the quickest path to our inner death.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

My beloved melancholy

Dark Princess

The melodies of life can turn to foggy gloom.
Not implying that I feel lost and doomed,
but just swimming in slow subtle chords
mellow arpeggios, sighs and words.

My beloved melancholy stares at my expressionless face
making sure that my feelings are always in their place.
Sensibility based on mellow and graceful sorrow
and the yearning for the past on a dim lit tomorrow.

My beloved melancholy smiles at me like a lover
after a cleverly placed kiss underneath the covers.
In some twisted way she gives me life,
soothes me and protects me from any strife.

My beloved melancholy sweetly whispers,
a sweet voice that is balm to my sores.
She tells me that I should just breathe
reminisce, feel it through my pores.

So with a couple notes end this I must
as my muse bleeds into a pale poetic tragic ending,
my verses turn to ashes and my rhymes into dust
like a soft ballad of plain old pretending.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Screaming my way through the crowd

Cybepunk warrior

I scream out loud because I stopped caring.
Replaced the word "proper" with the phrase "what I need".
Limits vanishing and desires glaring
Of a different me at a different speed.

I am now an enemy of petty expectation
more of an ordered chaos, of a convenient dimension
preacher of freedom, warlock of perception
and bard of distant and sweet anticipation.

My anthem is the one of the eternally broken,
mind in bliss, remembering ended seasons.
My language is the words that don't need to be spoken.
In a world with no regrets and no use for reasons.

Hard to understand, but voluntarily apathetic
to the ones who claim that I walk in mistake.
this is not meant to be correct or even aesthetic,
this is just a human who a new way tries to make.

So I am not going to apologize or conform.
Not going to stand down or cheaply comply,
for selling ourselves short and becoming the norm
is the quickest and most pathetic way to die.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Chasm of a thought

crow painting

Coffee mug beside a torrent of electric shocks,
ideas of what was and what could not be.
What succeeded and passed or failed an stood stuck,
thoughts about everything that eyes no longer see.

An idea of you, a sense of everybody a maze of wills,
the events that made the mess that today writes these rhymes.
A self afflicted martyr, the emperor in a palace of chills
where dreams lie in their stone cold confines.

Ideas gently floating in the vacuum of obsessions
through the blue noble blood of sins that like demons of the past
allow me to make the simplest of  pyrrhic concessions,
which is that even while smiling, everything fades fast.

This is like a slow mellow guitar chord
accompanied by nicotine and a whisky glass
it is the storm that we never saw coming
and now have to endure as it comes to pass.

Am I insane for paying tribute to the unchangeable?
For  tragically clawing the linen like the buried alive?
For turning the unusual into the assailable?
Am I insane for letting my feelings drive?

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Loneliness is glass

blurred glass

Loneliness is glass, reflection of a happy past,
of things you had, now things you lack.
a surface to press you cheek unto, just to ask
where is your life, where is that old spark?

Loneliness is glass, a clear thing that deceives
because fog is all that you really know
ever after the stabbing you received
when time as a dagger sank itself low.

Loneliness is glass, the shattered type
the witness of how you bleed out in grace
and the puddle you make on the floor gets ripe
as you twitch and contort your face.

Loneliness is to remember while you forget,
it is to frown while you pathetically smile.
It is the sad soft and cold wind of when the sun sets
and the night makes it all turn vile.