have you ever gone through an hour, or maybe a day, or a week, where it felt like you were living out a video? everything is a hollow allegory for something held dear. time is fluid, you are fluid. you survive, but you do not live.
echoes of ‘real’ life? well, this is real life. this is the reality you face every day. it’s like you’re living in a dream except that you can read the license plate of the car in front of you as you drive to work, or school, or just back home. you feel each meaningless breath rack your body, but you don’t breathe. ‘going through the motions’ is a way of life now. ‘fine’ is a perpetual state of being.
and what’s better, this, or emotion that sucks away the things you see but don’t focus on, the things you hear but don’t register? always ringing in your ears, or maybe a buzzing – it distracts you, until you’re not paying attention and someone else pays the cost.

have you ever experienced this?
i ask, because i can no longer breathe.


thoughts on this poetry.

I think that it is so sad, so sad that a lot of people don’t see the depth of death. It’s sad, it means work. They see the effects, not the cause. Sad is happy for deep people, to quote one of the saddest of all. Sad has so many subsections of its own, and is the main emotion one thinks of when one thinks death. But it is not the only emotion. So many implications and connotations dance in the very back of my eyelids. Death is beautiful, even in its sadness, and if you do not believe that sadness can be beautiful, stop reading right now and go do something else.
There is nothing about death that is one dimensional, nothing at all. There is probably nothing about it that is two-dimensional, either. It is black and white the way roses are black and white: with so many different hues in between. Death could be happy, sad, confusing – all three at once. Being more specific it could be melancholy, or nostalgic, or still confusing. You think birth is more beautiful, more poetic? You think that it is better? You think death is black and inevitable and depressing? Have you ever known someone who willingly embraced death? I think not.
There is a poetry in death that is unspeakable. The eternity, the solidity of it. Who knows, maybe humans have it all wrong. Maybe birth is supposed to be black and death supposed to be white. Maybe death was never supposed to be depressing at all, because though the end draws near, its the remaining pieces of a puzzle falling into place. It’s finally the bigger picture, except no one will ever see the entire picture.
It’s poetry.

broken like clockwork.

[a/n: i… i have no idea…?]

tock tick tock tick tock tick tick
look at you all tall and slick
tock tick tock tick tick tock tock
I have ears of a bat, eyes like a hawk
since you don’t miss me, since you don’t try
I’ll make sure you have a nice cry
since you don’t try to even miss me
I shall show you just how twisted I’ve become.
do you remember me? ‘twill go badly if you don’t
I’ll make sure that no matter who dies, you won’t
relish in whimpers as well as screams
that is my new motto, or so it seems
no groans and no half-hearted sighs
I will make you sever all ties
with everyone whom you’ve ever held dear
and if you don’t?
well, I promised it didn’t matter who died
as long as you don’t
didn’t I?
inescapable, that is what I am
family is but an illusion, my good boy
all you have is me.
( and who could remember the slice of our life
when that is all that it was, only a knife’s width
and who can recall all that I took the fall for?
and who cares to remember our brand of death?
you’ll wish you had never betrayed me. )