Dejection (NaPoMo 6)

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for the last decade
of my screams,
I have forgotten the hang
of how words
can echo back
to the ossuary-
wherein lies my battered self;
bleeding wet cacophony
on the gravestones
of my suicidal whims…

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…In that old castle of haunted prayers…

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the stipples left too many
odd spots on the ground,
where once hummed hymns
echoed boundlessly
as I ran my fingers
through the pews of disregarded hopes.

woken up
by the tune of old piano
that coughed up dust at first
and then blindly regarded my
beating heart.

enchanted
bewitched

candles flickered
eerily,
like shadows of long forgotten memories
danced in the gloomy sun

each footstep
christened the damned spirits
who followed my tempo

each second fell like dust
onto paper
as I crafted words
that flew around;
songs meant to be sung
and vows meant to keep.

I mercilessly ignited sleeping phantoms,
and watched how the
musical notes possessed me to laugh
in the forgotten channels of mysteries
and how the silence laughed with me.

sometimes
the best-sung songs are hidden beneath smiles
in the most deserted alleys of life

Look me in the eye…

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I have forgotten
the hang of writing poetry
as I master my craft
in silencing vowels from breaking out
and taming restless hurricanes in my eyes.

the crumbs dripping from my fingers
form a trail behind my
lethargic pen,
crafting shapes on stained papers,
and the leftover residue
mocks my game
as I crawl behind ellipses.

black petals sprouts
between the cracks in similes,
but I stop at no cost
plastering fake metaphors
at every distinguished rest stops
to mask miseries.

and if yet you are unable to decipher
the depth in the folds of my stare
that ricochet on empty barrels;
you simply speak words
that holds no feelings,
since my words have stopped forming sentences
to ears that hold a smile
behind compassion.

Snap…

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the infernal abyss opened all portals
and I am stuck-
between;

sweating into puddles
disintegrating to dust.

its been a while
since the white tissue have threatened to rip
where the blueprint
has been imprinted,

echoes of laughter
and wails
braided a promise to never rupture,
but
now I am seeing it in diverse dimension
where life can seriously flip a bird
and soar high,
dragging me through the sticks and stones of solemnity

the era of halting games
to take a sip
has long gone
when the chains of unsaid metaphors broke
to smithereens

and I am glued back to the rollercoaster
as it materializes into gravity,
painting dangerous picture in the sky
giving me no assurance
that I will be saved here

but since the sky is blue
and as it gets darker
to the top layer where something lurks in the silver lining,
I am taking the chance
to let go…

however,
I am not sure of how long…
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Just going through something these days….

I am sick of building snow castles only to be deflated by your venomous words.

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supposedly the air get punctured
with your wild initiations
of ridiculous jokes;
I will take flight against the final layer of oxygen
to deprive of you that luxury.

since the more, your words slash my skin,
the more I am unable to recuperate
from the deadly mystery
that has surrounded me like a plague.

I can’t request you enough
to not torture me like this,
but the more I say,
the more you laugh at the absurdity;
since your likes have only savored
it’s own venom
that’s sweet to your own mouth.

I am not fit to disentangle
you from my ribcage
but I am sure I can if I am strong enough
to discard you from my lungs;
but somewhere inside
the compassionate me
cries at the possible exertion,

and I wonder… why can’t you see…

The breathing sculpture.

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There she stands in the outer edge corner, shadowed by her comrades, laughing at the joke that was displayed like a medusa head about her pot bellied expression of witless dreams and stained memories that lost its luster with too many sweets.

Once everyone turns to encore the moving articles around them, a tiny colorless melody drips from her eyes that have met and seen many intricate colored metaphors for her lifetime to suck her dry.  She wipes it away without disturbing the graceful black stroke that has outlined her mirror; with the color of her soul.

And she stands, with her hands crossed and legs slightly titled like a moon unsure of how he should come out for the party tonight. Her dress hangs loose and the stretched her already curved impression making her hard to breathe as the hues in front of her laugh; choking her to death.

She dances in the bathroom mirror, squeezing arrhythmic steps into her overloaded heart and the beat just jarred the cacophony even further.

Yet, with her renewed makeup and strength; she rises like a phoenix with a smile to kill soldiers in their best armor. Yet, when alone in the sanctuary of her confinements, she lost all her lustrous rhinestones to the sky who cried with her that night.

Everyone admired the starry skies.

Somehow I miss the spark.

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the dancing orbs in front of me

sing a song, in the rain,

I hear the rat a tap

that resonates through my brain

 

why do I feel like the morning is so far away

when the moon has only come.

 

oh its right,

I have not had my night time caffeine,

that makes me sane

even with my bloodshot eyes.

 

the scandalous moon light

break through the torrent of my saved tears,

and when I find the stars-

I am too late into the abysmal song…

too wasted to even smile

when the moon comes shaking her hands with me.

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I am so drunk with boredom and this is… just at the moment write. laugh with me or say I am foolish but don’t come preaching me I am wrong and worse 🙂 Let’s be friends in praising each other’s weirdness 😉