Uncontrolled Substances

Hello, my name doesn't matter,

but I'm also addicted to attention.

A caring thought, a dopamine rush

and I'm on my way to salvation.

The problem begins when junkie old me

gets cold turkey on a chilly afternoon.

Skies turn ashen and my heartbeat fades

while my senses start feeling marooned.

I know it's a problem and believe me I try

to keep things calm in my zone.

Then logic comes and screws things up

and my self esteem leaves me alone.

I know I shouldn't crave a smile and nice words,

but who would reject a sweet respite?

It's so warm and comforting to feel like I matter

before going to sleep at night. 

Then waking up feeling like a king

with enough energy to take on the world.

Feeling motivation to create a million things

where positive feelings unfold.

Then what to do if not struggle against

this deep strong affliction of mine

and describe with words what I feel tonight

while me and my addiction untwine. 

Throwback into feelings

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. 

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.

Chasm of a thought

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?

A sad muse even when in joy

It may sound illogical, maybe a little insane
but sometimes darkness comes even when there is no pain,
and this is not praising tragedy, but sculpting in clay
the melancholy and nostalgia of moments astray.

This is nothing to cry for, yet worth to remember
with moments that stung like your hands on an ember
or touching a wound and feeling the sensation,
a tingle on your mind, a poet's big fixation.

This is more a description than a petty complaint.
This is more an addiction than self pity, which is quaint
because the polarity of our thoughts is ever changing
sometimes we hurt while in others we are mending.

It is all about turning sad thoughts into art
a small amount of time that sets your soul apart
from the harsh reality where people pretend to thrive
while they just break to pieces in their lonely steep dive.

A verse or two can take away the silence
be a balm for hatred or an anesthetic for violence
so don't be ashamed to summon back your spirits
take the pen, write with pride and burn away those minutes.

By AlucardX

This is one for all of those who feel weird writing about sad stuff even when everything is ok.