A Thoughtful Limbo

A Thoughtful Limbo

What could I have done wrong
to fall in the empty recess of non-intention?
To be like a flesh and bone shooting star
and lose the delights of your attention.

Maybe I was too high on emotion,
feeling happy, euphoric and fine.
I talked too much and I locked myself
out of the dimension of your time.

I know we are friends, surely its clear,
but the distance grows larger by the day.
I act normal, like nothing happened,
but my inner workings have turned to clay.

I was not in love, but I was loving it.
I was not obsessed, I was only healing.
For the moment I was basking in the sunlight.
No compromises, just a new beginning.

Yet here I lie, back where I started.
Uncertain, confused and not so bold.
I feel like I've been left out of the house
and outside it's so bitterly cold.

There's no way I can explain this to you
without sounding like I am pouting.
So I am left with this heavy silence
where only verses end up sprouting.

Unbalanced

Unbalanced

Am I the hero or the hanged
the pariah or the devil's hand
the thought of silence that kills
or the clarity of spoken wills?

Am I real or a shooting star?
Am I near or just really far?
Is it fine to hope and yearn
or do I still have much to learn?

Am I a happy song or a tragedy
the melody of smiles or a sour malady
the crackle of lighting that glimmers
or a brew of doubts that simmers?

This is the crossroad I walk
Unbalanced and unable to talk
Is it fine to lie down and desire
or will I be burned in this fire?

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.

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?

Walking through the corpses (prose)

People minds seem to expire, but I refuse to accept it. Personalities are acquired, new interests vary and what used to be a sincere smile can turn into a clear expression that is not longer in my favor, that is no longer mine. Have you ever felt like a soldier walking through the corpses of his own allies? Have you smelled the stench left by the why's and when's of years gone by? Its like a storm on your head that should enlighten you, but shocks instead, while people shout that you should conform with the times, even when you don't want to and it breaks your tired mind.

For that I declare this verse, an eulogy for the fallen, a simple prayer to the lost and the stolen. I also plead for the sleeping to wake up again, to break their chains and free their brains from the petty expectations of a society that is insane. For those who think that it's over I present to you the truth, be yourself for yourself or be torn apart from youth.

To reminisce is not to get stuck, it is only a ritual to see if you have luck and you regain what was lost just to heal the pain or lose the bet and find yourself deep in ail again. Because the future has not happened yet the present dies so fast that what's left of your sanity only lies in your past. There may be new things ahead, but desire is law so what you want is what you live for, even if your fight is all for naught.

By AlucardX

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.

Hideous seconds

Here I am, a creature trapped in this labyrinth of bitter palls,

in darkness and hopelessness as you don't care at all.

This is the creature you alone have created

pitied, thrown away and sometimes hated.

Is it this dungeon the deepest part of your being?

the walls smell of your skin and lost souls mimic your voice

just to remind me that I am trapped in the past

shaming me and making all of it to last.

The air feels damp with old broken promises

as I walk through hallways full of dust

with their particles whispering the untold story

of our moments of leisure and times of lust.

The walls are full of windows that have nothing to show

because this only lives in me, my sorrow and woes.

You decided to act as if I never existed,

in your never ending chasm of selfishness and distance.

Then I wake up, and I once again regain my strength,

but for those hideous seconds in all of their short length

I missed you while I shouldn't, I craved for you in vain

in another of those nights where my mind got lost again.

By AlucardX

This is one about those embarrassing moments when you catch yourself thinking about a lost love.