Chimera (NaPoMo 1)

 

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I barely notice
the heaving grey clouds
in between my pictorial
representation-
of silver monasteries,
sitting shoulder to shoulder
in pride;
waiting for heaven
to click a flash
and capture them all in one
big fake picture.

and l, I smile…
waiting for the meadows to
invigorate me

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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.

…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…

user img

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.

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. Β 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 πŸ™‚ Let’s be friends in praising each other’s weirdness πŸ˜‰

Nothing better to do.

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So, I was just like, sitting here in the rain at one am in the morning, waiting for some miracle to take me far away from my sinister thoughts and decaying metaphors and wished to open a new blog to write my musings alone and stop my former one; i.e, this one. But, upon reaching here I saw, I have two new followers and that makes me 75 followers, not bad!

But, I never began this blog with the intention of more followers, fame or something like that. I just made this blog to post in my shitty musings of a poem and look if I can impress people. Most of my life, I was like that and I am still now… wondering, waiting, wishing, for people’s support, suggestions, encouragement and good luck. I still want them and when I get a comment saying something genuinely, I still skip a beat.

And I am still confused, mad and cold. My mom is sleeping and in fact, everyone is sleeping. But, I am here, sitting, eating a snickers bar, alternating between writing a horror paranormal book and writing this blog. I don’t even know why I am writing this in the first place, but… here I am, still continuing and I wonder if people will read this. What will they think after reading this? Oh, that reminds me, I still can’t like and follow certain people.

It sucks to be stuck in a loophole of doing the same things and never once stepping out from the giant wheel but dare not advise me to make a move since ever since I knew I am stuck and circling; I have tried to break out but I am still here… in this forsaken hour, writing something that is not what I wanted to when I began this blog post.

WOW…

sigh!

 

G’night or G;morning πŸ™‚