untitled #666

i've got some questions for the latest jane doe,
like 'sweetheart, where did all your beauty go?'
and i've got to confess my love affair with names -
with the first name mary and the last name jane.
nights in amnesia, spent avoiding my friends
and figuring out a teenage heart's odds and ends.
if nothing else this so-called town has changed me,
and if nothing else it taught me animosity.
you'll find my childhood self two floors down,
strung up by support beams, wearing a noose as a crown.
more than likely in the form of a cross turned upside down
but forget about that; it was years ago that part of me drowned.
but while we're on the topic of my pitiful disposition -
i'm a cynic, i'm narcissist, both by my own admission.
but here's the part where i begin the contradictions;
i'm self-conscious, i'm awkward, my mind is a constant affliction
but before the apathy of this verse falls in on itself,
go read the poem i dedicated to hating myself.

http://theskiesarefallingaboveus.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-guess-its-time-i-turn-pen-on-myself.html

tilde.

people are silly and i dislike most of them.

untitle #666 fuck owen.

in the eye of this storm is an abandoned house,
inhabitation only by ghost and mouse.
door left unlocked and lights left turned on,
sustained upon the memory and urges withdrawn.
yet it still falls apart something once adorned,
that lowly abandoned house in the eye of this storm.

doll's hair.

this isolation is freezing me,
my frigid heart refuses to beat.
chased again by that sinking feeling;
like an iceberg to my haul.
seventeen and beyond invincible,
witness the sinking of the unsinkable.
countless night spent in cigarettes,
another self-confessed insomniac.
a cynical satire of a demeanor,
ever so eager to meet his defeater.

optimism is the most helpless feeling,
troubles a pessimist would never deal with.
another cold night spent alone,
i'm done with fake hope and even faker love.
i'm dead yet synthetically, still breathing.
my frigid heart is barely beating.
another night spent frostbitten and hapless,
another night spent destroyed and anxious.
barely conscious but far from asleep,
i will constantly refuse defeat.

whiskey dreams.

another poem for no one to hear,
another cigarette to draw disease near -
and for every time i lose my breath;
the shock will be less than the last time i saw you.
maybe the problems in the drugs i take,
that cause me to spend so many nights awake.
unfinished poems and unread books,
pages not worth a second look.
smoky rooms and whiskey dreams,
i'm busting at my fucking seams.
so far from home, i'm lost up stream
so far away from whiskey dreams.

delay the pain with cigarettes, let my lungs decay.
smoky rooms and whiskey dreams, wash this cancer away.
save me from this so-called town, a place no one ever gave a shit about.
save me from this so-called town, i need nothing but a way out.

sailor's grave.

seventeen years of synthetic love, slipping through my fingers,
a daunting trek to the break of dawn, overhead clouds linger.
an inverted cross, with meanings misconstrued
i hear the sounds from underneath, the scream of truth subdued.
i can hear the torture in the break of every wave,
i see the oceans floor and every poorly-made sailor's grave.
dumped into the sea for the waters to decompose,
encased in rock and sediment, body and soul both disposed.
through their veins, like waters; flows blood.
yet their mind and bodies cannot resist the flood.
place your hand on my neck, can you feel my pulse any more?
no current to guide our ships, we're floating further without oars
drifting steadily out to sea, a crew lost offshore.
lost forever to the ones that loved them and the ones they adore.
father, son and the holy ghost. these figures we now abhor.
not one of these omnipotent figures guided us back to shore.

the antichrist.

i wrote a rap song, lol.

scared of mind like mine
cause they may contain the rebirth the devil's son,
and every inch of progression made will be undone
and every lie ever told will be for none -
clench your fists and throw them towards the sky,
pray to a god who never loved you anyway while i-,

banging 7 gram rocks in the subways behind trains,
laying down on the tracks, hit me, splatter out my brains
don't need them anyway when intelligence is clouded by religon
and from this life to heaven is the greatest transition.
i'd rather be sent down to hell with dahmer and john wayne,
takin' out a thousand others with a boeing 747 plane
i've felt my faith fade away,
it grows weaker and weaker every day.

within my body lies no spirit and no soul,
just a bunch of flesh and veins pumping coal
straight into my system, contaminating my mind,
hallucinations, procrastination, reality ill-defined.
here we go, i'm trapped inside this box once again,
i'm crashing of my binge of poorly made cocaine.
re-experience my birth, feet first,
arms out stretched like some sort of crucifixion reversed.
the birth of the antichrist happens a million time a day
because it's conditioning, not genetics, kids these days are a plague
but that's due to the retardation of older generations,
a mix of savage beatings and miscommunication
that's what causes kids to grow into little cunts
and causes a kid like me to think they're all fucks.

scared of mind like mine
cause they may contain the rebirth the devil's son,
and every inch of progression made will be undone -
and every lie ever told will be for none -
clentch your fists and throw them towards the sky,
pray to a god who never loved you anyway while i-,

lacking.

endless days of the moon,
lit up by the eyes of angels
and the winter light-sprites.
through the cracks and contusions of the weathered house,
the nightly light creeps into the room.
absent of soul and lacking in will,
reluctant and fatigued, let me sleep.

another night spent dwelling
on fractured dreams and broken vows.
things that were never true
and things you'd wish you never knew.
another empty, thankless home,
another night without a ghost.

like a scrapbook of folly,
a reminder of past mistakes.
look o'er your failures
and your faults.
i'm well beyond these hang-ups,
these pathetic, childish games.
i'm done with all this nonsense.

regret.

living without regret is a pipe dream -
designed for romantics and messiahs
and just like the passion and faith they both cause
just as unobtainable.

luv powm.

now sweetheart, he's the sweet part.
i dream every night that my blood flows like sugar
and you're by my side, eating out my wrists,
staring through my eyes, like stain-glass windows
and connecting the patterns to form the faces of deities.
wishing for their blessings to be carried upon us,
as i wish for
and by the time the silhouette of the horizon breaks,
our necks are have been sucked dry
by our nocturnal passions.
vampires fuelled by lust and love
and every emotion that lies between
but i could live lifeless,
if it means the nights are ours.

rush.

it's like feeding a fucking addiction now.
your heart beats faster and faster
and everything disappears into bleak oblivion.
the thrill leads to new abodes, new faces.
to thrill leads to troubles
on the inside and out.
it bubbles up inside
and you struggle to find peace
yet it persists
and it'll never stop.
because there isn't a cure,
it is a fucking addiction
because balance is unobtainable
but that wont stop us from trying,
wont stop anyone crying.
it's a disability at best
and ignition at worst.
it's a rush that only lasts a while.

ramble #1

i'm not quite sure as to how i should notate this but assuming i have absolute control over who sees what entries i post in this blog, i shall post any of my emo shit / bullshit ramblings here.

when we learn basic words that describe emotions such as 'happy' and 'sad' from these who base emotions, we learn synonyms to describe the severity of the emotion. 'joyful' 'chipper' 'thrilled' etc.
usually, the synonym used describes the severity of the emotion, so what happens when you reach a point where there isn't a word left it describe it? sounds cliche, i know. but why can i not put a word to how bleak and mundane i feel right now. they don't come anywhere near. everythings pointless to me, i have human drive and human instincts and all that jazz but i just don't see a point in it, in the grand scheme anyway. i'll be born, my life will pass and i will die and i doubt i will leave a lasting impact on anything in a wider span than a few generations, so why bother?
/emo.

MMXI

new beginnings down paths that lead to more dead ends.
clean slates that will only become as stained as the last.
a new number-name put to the same damned thing.
if you entered this time in negative mind,
or in tears,
or in spite,
i am in no way capable of possessing any sympathy for your idiocy.

so here's to another year of broken hearts, broken bones and broken ties
because i know near each and every one of you
preaching for 'change' -
cannot back up their words with actions
and neither can i at the moment
and that isn't a statement lined in hypocrisy -
i will eventually burn each and every bridge to you and your friends.