what can you do when your good isnt good enough?
March 2011
33 posts
black out.
forlorn skies of turbulent winds drift in and are here to stay.
too many showers of salty crystalline liquid drips downwards,
in a hurry to fall off the edge and start again.
too many thunderous screams from within my chest,
splitting my throat in clean half, fourths, eighths, into infinite.
too many earthquakes on my charred skin,
each opening deeper than the next to leave permanent marks.
too many volcanoes erupting at will,
red hot molten rock to cruise down the cracks caused before.
disaster.
paralytic
your dripping blood is crimson roses.
sleepless nights, i wander in the dark corridors of my mind.
pausing to touch the ornate brass doorknobs; cold fingers
lingering, itching to open them and cross over to that world.
each lethargic step brings me closer to your rotting corpse,
hollow eye sockets stare at me oh so provocatively. my breath
hitches in my throat as i feast my eyes upon your pallid skin.
my tongue flicks out in anticipation to taste the blooming roses
beneath you. the best mistake i ever made, your killing.
louder and louder, the whispers in my head taunt me, flaunt me,
flirt and tease until i am ready to burst. softer and softer, the
pain relinquishes its hold upon my soul: each tentacle slowly
loosing its grip on my body. harder and harder, the devil tugs
on my hand to bring me closer to the fiery pits of damnation.
weaker and weaker the light from above shines until my light
comes from the warm candle lights from below. surrender your love:
its all you can do.
i’m your savior now.
leap
just a step away, across the dark abyss pooling with
unwonted emotions.
just a step over the edge to plunge into
the cool yet scalding surface.
the countdown begins for embalming my emotions
and preserving it for another decade to use.
even if it kills me tonight, i’ll be ready to die.
i’m losing it all today.
psychosis
its becoming harder and harder to smile at you
as the light inside of me dims. every step of the
way has become a chore, every word i speak
has become mechanical. such ugly guttural hacks
that is perceived as words.
waste away
sometimes, it becomes rather hard to face life. it becomes too much.
she's the one.
the concept dressed in jewels and gold,
let it melt down to the ground. only a fool’s search
for the pending prize, such stupid persistance
only to take away and never give back.
turn away now and let the day come as they
strike them to the ground, bleeding and possessed.
the channel for all demons, now its back and standing
above the grave
without eyes
i can just walk around in my reverie
half awake and half asleep, numbing
all the way from my toes to my nose.
but what fun would that be if i just
lived in my mind, never to experience
unpredictable counterparts of me?
no. i’d rather have it balanced:
awake for a while in the real world
and awake for a while in the dream world.
time to build.
i'm afraid and stuck in my ways...that's the way it will fucking stay.
what i hand you
i’d do anything for a smile,
even when i hold my tears back.
i’d do anything for that laugh,
even when i bite my lips to keep from screaming at you.
praise the day that you realize
that you regret doing this to me.
but knowing you…
twenty four seven: see my vision blur,
see my memories burn with time.
damn.
i forget what i was going to say and when i was going to say it.
how inconvenient is this? i’ve set it all up perfectly in my head
and *snaps* it is gone. do you ever get that feeling where the
words you’re trying to hopelessly form with your mouth is just
stuck there on the tip of your tongue? its on the edge of my brain and
just makes me want to sneeze out a numbing load of information
so i can pick and choose, and scour the piles and piles of recorded
instances until i find it. but then again,
it would all be too late.
oh, laugh yourself to fucking tears.
mindless
i do not know how it got to this: what used to be
a tiny tickle in the back of my brain is now a full blown,
large scale issue. i used to wonder and pretend,
but now when it all happens right before me,
i find myself unable to stop. i am merely an animated skeleton,
walking through this timeline by myself, only pausing
for the necessities
to sustain life.
plastic
we’re just bones dressed in fleshy suits to walk the
charred earth. chained together at the ankles and wrists,
shackles to guide us in a line of conformity. one way
or another, we’re unique as persons, but so goddamn repetative
as the mold gets increasingly similar.
someone, please. start breathing.
such a cynosure
i'm not insane, i'm not insane.
such-and-such
oh the life of worry this and worry that. its time
to walk among the fringes of the mind and step
one foot in front of the other and keep going till
the end.
return at will
The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
— Jeffrey McDaniel
“These men are true madmen, and of the most dangerous sort, for their lunacy is not continuous but occasional, evoked by some special object; it is probably secretive, which is as much to say it is self-contained, so that when moreover, most active, it is to the average mind not distinguishable from sanity, and for the reason above suggested that whatever its aims may be—and the aim is never declared—the method and the outward proceeding are always perfectly rational.”
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