⟡ you came here alone ?
i write poetry sometimes. some of these contain swearing.
navigate using the directory to the right. poems are posted in no particular order, but new ones
will appear at the top.
painting of an uncrustable
inspired by this painting.
the raspberry drop that fell out from your eyelids
your iris, sclera, they are no longer there
only the gaping maw of the opening
but from the edges
a single
ruby tear
indigo / cerulean
I think my soul is colored blue
and my mind white;
on a canvas with no color to pay the mind
it is harder to see the light
All blue captures me
my heart drowns and soaks it in
it spoke of virtues large and wide
but gave up to blatant questioning
Is the blue tranquil or maddening
Is it the neutral sea of blight
Is it the eyes below brows that furrow
or is it clear water, but not what is right
Is it the blue of the moon
or the blue of the flame
The blue of soundless sea
always looking for blame
The blue of sky light and
the blue of sky dark
Blue of the elephant
bark
Is it music that’s blue
Or the tears of the heart
Recyclable blue
irreplaceable in art
Blue, blue is the image
I see of myself in reflection
Blue is the impression a lesson gave
Blue is the color of the few little flowers
I would ask to be put on my grave
Blue spells out the letters
that I would like to speak
if my presence wasn’t tethered
to the bottom of the peak
Blue is the color of stories long told
and tales that would never come to life
as to be cheap is to be sold
and gold would not suffice
Then blue can be that heart that’s blue
A wooden block soaked in paint
The beating that would still resume
even when your voice grows faint
When all the curtains faded
and the dolls gather dust
the sheets, warm, start to cold
the hinges and locks did rust
I will look outside the window
if fate gave me the word
Remove the boards just to relive
echoes of memories blurred
Oh if the skies would just remember
the shattered corpse of the sad, sad bird,
and the two more I had buried under trees
I had their feathers in my eyes
and their little hearts inside of me
Would you be there to save me? My dear dear blue
for you are the sea right outside my room
Would you embrace me with gentle gaze
or would this become my tomb
Would you make the world explode
and stay for the aftermath of two
Would you run so far, far away
that I can never find you
ode to space
Wait——but space is wonderful
because of the loads of emptiness that's out there!
When you stare outside, it is a void
but bright stars glint brightest against a darker sky
and the outlines and shapes of planets will cover me
in background, as black holes call my name
I will live in the tides of a dense storm giant
I will die in a star that just went supernova
I will live in the ice far beneath a moon's surface
I will die exploded, floating around as space debris
And how vast the world is——but how much bigger is space!
We look up to the sky but we don't realize
that the clouds are only welcome gates to something infinite
and though we may look like nothing in the grander scheme of things
a universe is so much for dust to behold.
rhythmic pulse
halfway through reading this aloud in my brain it started to sound like a rap song.
We step in the doors. I step in the doors
and stop, fingers around a pipe still hot from
the burning knob, cloth against smothered skin,
moist, half-healed wound against the shoulder, no complaints
voiced. Only sorrow lies in these ashes, only
rage can shake my bones. No one will come
to save you. You are on your own.
Every beat, every half beat, every second beat
is heard, but the listener missing at least a third
taking apart the words, looking between the lines
like prying open window blinds, looking under the bed
for monsters, grabbing the planks and taking them
off the doorframe, look down towards the water
and go under, almost snuffing out the flame,
seething, going out in a cloud of smoke.
Sometimes, a wound spews out blood that hits
bulls-eye, no time for eulogies or for
good-byes, the first canaries down the mine
are all dying, crying, no longer flying
or singing. They sputter, like old machines
thrown down the gutter, the parts apart
and scattered. Who are we to live like this?
A bucket list taped alongside a death wish;
A pathetic bastard, or an apathetic bitch.
half imagined rage
even if you make me a little bit sick inside
even if you boil my blood with your very voice
even if you carve my insides out
i'll just smile and look at you
because i’m the sick one
because none of that actually happened
killer bunny killer
i’m a dumb little girl
i’m a nihilist
i’m a dead bird on the ground
i’m the dust on your walls
i would kill you if i had the hands to
afterwards i’ll kill me too
i want to plant the blade into your throat and push
see the blood come out (there is a terrible taste in your mouth)
there are leaves to cover over the little rabbit trap
i’m a stupid little bunny
i want to be a killer
i’m a child who believes all sorts of funny lies
i believe that only bad things happen
i would kill you if i had the guts to
if i can run away in time
i want to feel inside you, warm organs slick with blood
isn’t that too much? (please, don’t break out of my clutch)
one plank pulled out and the whole tower would collapse
statues of people with faces in pain
a bit straightforward. i was thinking about the statues described in the title.
i can't stand the face of those in pain
as
the painful gasp, the watery eye
can be relished
the words are tasted and swallowed
there is a disfigured beauty in the tears and blood
but in the wrinkles of the skin, the tilt and scrunching of brows, the open mouth
the many lines that appear, and everything seems to gather to the center
there is too much raw pain
to consider
light shards
in each person, there is at least
one piece of broken poetry
that the moon may shine on in the earliest hours, and
the soul buries deep.
we are dead now, even more so
than the quiet histories have ever been
all this, of course, metaphorically
classifying this as a block poem for Reasons. more of an expression than a vent. well maybe a bit of a vent. anyway i titled it at the time so it counts as a piece.
I want your beating heart i want your fucking guts I will look at your human suffering and gulp
it up and throw up and scream and laugh at us I will stare at you deeply deeply i want to take
a look into your eyes into your soul into your deepest caverns i want to tear you apart rip you
inside out stick my fingers in between the linings of meat and muscle i want to know what you're
made of i want to feel what you're made of I'll rip you to shreds i will and I'll cry or scream
or yell and I'll be happy and distressed but no matter i want you now i want you inside out And
at the end i will burn you at the stake because every inch of your body disgusts me
I want to kill you. I hate your guts, but i love how they feel
late night words of association
this is actually a vent irrc, but it's so stream of consiousness and sometimes comes up nice
and so
what is there to know
what is there to show an unseen audience with no heads, it’s all
a part of the big nothingness
i guess
to fast on knowledge
is the worst thing that could come to pass
i do still hate and sometimes love
but ecstasy and depression would be the best partners
i do say i’m not anxious, and i’m not
i repeat as i shake myself out of breath
to bed.
my head
it does float? and
can someone please explain why my world is white
has been white, has been wiped
of all existence except myself and myself
and the self designed to kill the self and the self
up on the shelf
the cane, the box, the keyboard
and what
trophies are often left to dust
don’t make a fuss
if you see blood on my arm it’s just
a gust
lust, disgust
and wind will carry it away
pondering in distrust, the husk, human
it had been? or never was
only appearing, i see now,
on the surface a bipedal, and it
stands on its hands and eyes and ears
it refuses to move
the outside traffic will kill me
confuse me, say a word and sorry excuse me
to fuse me
a monster in the dark rules me
i think
i lost, the game, and its combatants
ants probably on the surface of the planet
but why the planet matters it does not answer
so answer my question why am i still alive
refusing the rules of language, sticking to small letters
for the better
or worse if a stone sits on a feather
help
maybe
but also how
down a well
i will go, or death by water tank
and leave my ruins to people’s stomachs
that will be the only mark.
no
there won’t be a single mark
it’s just you and me now dear screen and heart
if i do own a brain please do tell me
and the words flow out my fingertips so
do my fingertips think?
if genes decide what i think and feel
then it must be the largest coordination failure
even worse at group-work than i am
(them collectively are)
and
do i do it? i need
a reason to give up all
so far
just fall
' selfishness '
if i recall correctly this might've been a school project. i don't like it but it has some good lines in there. towards the end, it sounded like a song in my head.
It’s under ten degrees and arrived faster than the ending ever could
so the day ended and started without purpose
[slack off]
Deadlines near but far away
(so no worries)
misplacing words hitting the brain
I kept away from familiar faces for four weeks.
* wake up
* screen
* eat
* screen
* eat
* sleep
open: to catch up to the world
it is the toxin that catches my eye
Controversies arise out of thin air
The war between two countries that far away
Bad decisions made by the CEO
Bad apologies sung by an innocent predator
Small fights on a Discord server
Discrimination, hate, inequality & injustice
Bullying, harassment, abuse & mismanagement
Threats and realities of the possibility of death
Not even adults talking about ascending above.
Driving against the human condition
Have we rose or have we fallen
Did we watch and let it happen:
Putting off a human life
‘I’ looked on the dark side only
‘I’ expected worse ahead
‘I’ was all over dying
‘I’ create my dreadful life
Talking with people without faces I haven’t even met
A close friendship built on ideas and text
Their worries, closer, more real, morose
- too sympathetic?
I am young. I know. There is that ‘fire’ residing inside me
The beating of the heart that just won’t go away.
I take in entertainment, barely rush my work
tearing myself from my life to think the greater good
The agitation stays and never fades
I tell myself I won’t waste another day.
but
What’s the meaning of life? Of freedom?
Of love? Existence? Art? Science?
Does it matter at all
or is it just our imagination
living a hermit life saying I care about the world
staring at the screen, silent, watching things unfold
complaining about conflict, feel my hands and feet go cold
I’m the biggest hypocrite, chaotic good, with visions stowed
Thrown back in the fold
‘your fate is yours to hold’
They open their mouths and say
You have to be this way (????)
Everybody’s going forward but you can’t even float
Stop asking me about it, take your own damn load
having trouble looking up
drawing pictures on the wall
pencil words and pencil thoughts
every step i take is lost, so
can ‘I’ ever
do
anything at all ?
i send a piece of myself into the air, and let it float
With myself I fight a war
Giving me the word. I ask
What place I stand in others' hearts;
Or even not there. In the world
I am but a piece of floating dust.
the first sign of corruption
funnily enough this was about me trying alcohol.
I had the guts to take a first large sip
It was like sour soda; the liquid's taste was not inviting
But upon the second I had felt the warm feeling as it slid down my throat
I could not do more, for I thought
that I was going to sink down
so as it should be
also a school project of sorts, back in my first year of high school. the prompt was something like 'how do you feel about the new school year'. i was mostly playing around and not taking the prompt seriously.
So as it should be
It is a hand that grasps my chest
as I ran in a building
and I ran out of breath
The heart
Is something that rings in my ears
it fights over the sounds
licks the soles of my fears
And giddy as it was
Like I took a few drugs
or made some mistakes
and ran out of hugs
Nothing is felt
And I know it’s not like being whipped by a belt
But still I held
To all the strings that would soon break and then yield
And I helped
By not saying anything that I had spelt
And I yelled
Into the abyss that is sometimes up and withheld
Perhaps in some reality
I have a hand and a heart
and a pencil and paper
to make art
So as it should be
It is a hand that lifts me to the depths
as I took all my hearts out
and I took a breath
HOSPITAL(ITY)
my first properly digitally archived poem.
The floor is visible through bare feet
A transparency only seen by me
A work of art, a scroll of fate
Disappointingly, visual tragedy
As the mirror now knows only air,
I have to look for Elsewhere
and hurry before the sun goes down
and my body disappears.
My lord, my dear, my deepest fear
Make me shed another tear
My sin, I flee, my enemy
Come perform another feat
“There is no stage for you to sing on
Or act, or dance, or show your smile”
Or pick up your hat and say to the world
that you don’t want their perfect hell
Ring the speakers, toll the bell
“I don’t even know you well.”
Much of a racket will call the wolves
and the lions and the tigers and the sheep and the dogs
and the shameless human bombs
The decision to quiet down
only helps me
fade into the ground
“Trust, love, heart, soul
They will eat my body whole
And drink my blood and life away
While I curse and writhe in pain.”
It’s all useless
My lips are stubborn and will not confess
I failed
But nevertheless
I’ll let you shine as bright as stars
I’ll let you shout a hundred miles
I’ll give you light and walk outside
And watch
And run
And hide
The sky will turn and you’ll go home
and I’ll be a ghost in the waiting room