Stained Monochrome Wings

Blackened

12-31-13

You smelled of cigarettes

and of sick and lonely

teenage boy.

This was anticipated,

this shitty poem,

these reoccurring Gatsby feelings.

Self-harm when the sun comes up,

an overdose during the day.

Suicide by sunset

of a manic depressive.

Cover it up with this façade,

and smother it in your vices

like you've always done.

Put down the cigarette, let’s forget.

Your lungs, black.

Like your hair and heart.

Divine Collaboration of Two Suicide Angels

Written with Dakoda Strack

07-22-13

Both together,

our common feats

of sex had, drugs done and

suicide contemplated;

These are our sins and our crimes against God on high,

Indulgence divine; whatever it takes to die.

Down to the core,

to the root of all problems

ignored and

Inflamed

covered with poor-man's cocaine

and razor blades.

Under Godless black skies

I watched the red sun rise with broken blue eyes...

Exhume my heart and let the incision swell

For the curse of love has brought me a new vision of hell!

So I swore to that dark Idol, divine suicidal,

That never, in my pain,

Would that black venom, love, run coursing

Through my veins, again!

Darkness ensued;

more morbid mistrials and rivers of venomous blood.

Sever this sickness

we've felt and ensepulchred,

like wrists slashed.

To this, we saluted the drugs,

gluttony glorified,

a dramatized death,

attempted but the curtains closed,

lights dimmed, and silence fell.

Let us dance upon the graves, drown beneath the waves

Of a hundred thousand lost souls!

Now we'll indulge these illicit comforts

Just to fill the fucking holes

In a fatally flawed design!

Now this black venom, love, will run through

Your veins and make you mine!

Night's come to close; awake I still be.

Deranged insomnia, up all night

after grave-dancing.

Slicing through silken flesh to bleed away reminders

and move on from this

brand of blistering venom.

These incisions since healed,

reopened not by

the venom of another,

of yours

which bewitched me.

I've been brought all the pain I could ever need

And now I have, no more blood to bleed

So just take my heart instead!

Now we close our eyes to dream the insomniac's dream,

And we know we should already be dead!

Suicide Angels, we, my nymphetamine and me,

Cut our wrists to cut the chains that bind,

Now we do fly, alive and free,

Upon redeemed wings and far above the evil things.

We leave it all, leave it all behind!

These wings of sorrow,

were stained, cracked,

and mutilated like my body of

self-inflicted scars.

Once fallen, now born anew

with paper wings refurbished,

naive to venom.

Flight so foreign for so, so long.

Feeling flighty a time or two,

because it's so hard to aviate

with wings dismantled

you've since repaired.

Lipstick stains over scar tissue,

Like the drugs that once served to dull the pain

Of this life, this masquerade,

So now we sleep without the comfort of flame or razorblade...

Bedding, now;

sheets splattered with venom

of our love

and limbs

freshly acquainted.

Jumper

04-14-13

We're crazily insane,

trying to blast through the pain.

You lying to you,

lying through blood

and teeth.

Me lying to me,

running from my lies,

from my everything.

So powerless during the days

you want to die.

Dependent on this,

dangling on the edge of ropes,

ready to jump,

to jump.

Reversion

04-11-13

Put down the blade,

the pill, the tobacco.

You cannot. It compels you,

entices you

like an ambiance

heftier than a schoolgirl's first

antiquated love.

Realizing the need to refrain,

you try,

it tempts,

you give in,

so many times,

over again,

relapsing.

The withdrawals will come,

along with impulsive actions, hankering

for just one more

just one I promise and then I will quit.

Just this last pack, really!

One more cut of the razor blade

across your silken flesh,

an agitated arousal to bring about

a bodily harm to your own self;

The recrudescence,

will not surface.

Drug Addiction

04-03-13

The yellow ringlets 'round my eyes

dazed, confused

and faded

into naturally green hues.

Never a more juvient girl,

never so slow-minded

yet quick to act

And jumping.

It was the drugs,

the drugs that

were so down.

A new experience,

a simulant.

A new high, new

outlook on all

behind faded brain function,

slightly buzzed

dialation.

Give me more,

give me more.

More Than Just Body Language

03-21-13 (revised 12-29-15)

They see

incisions like these

the cuts in my skin.

They give

me that look of

somber eyes,

and disappointment.

Just the look is all,

nothing more.

No words to voice condemnation

just to guilt me

via derisive body language.

Tell me, please, tell me.

Speak up,

use that voice that

seems to lash out

so vulgarly otherwise.

Slap my hand away –

Tell me no, goddamn it!

Reprimand me,

tell me this isn’t right.

I know

fully well

it isn’t,

I want to hear it.

Victimized

03-16-13

You always play the Damned,

victimized.

I become condemned a liar,

cast aside for truthing,

you play Prey.

I am to blame,

all me, all me

apparently.

Like succubus,

once beautiful, you captivated me.

Now, Demoness;

blame me, I’m the vampire

extracting your ambiance.

Encase yourself, lock you away;

‘Do harm no more,’

you scream,

ambuscade,

as hands grapple your throat

from between the bars.

The hands you forced;

they aren’t mine,

but those you volunteered

for yourself.

Vampirism

03-15-13

Cutting just to cut,

we want to remember the feeling

just to feel alive,

just to know we aren’t dreaming, or sleeping

or dead.

Maybe we should be

among all attempts,

attempted attempts.

All botched,

but probably shouldn’t have been.

Nothing more.

Forever fucked.

I’m cutting you, cutting me.

Cut me, drink me, love me, fuck me.

Make me bleed,

how I deserve,

oh personal vampire of mine.

I’m yours, I’ll be yours.

Comatose

03-08-13

I love him, and he loves me

and we love them.

Exultant with what I have,

but you were so unadulterated,

so picturesque.

You couldn’t commit,

I tried too hard,

we couldn’t exist in a comatose state;

Taciturn,

I wasn’t coming through, you never allowed.

But he’s so caring and empathetic

in this apathetic world.

Thinking cold,

the double-crossing duo.

We’re contented in our comatose state.

Death of the Sandman

03-23-13

I'm falling asleep at the keys

Dysfunction desecration.

Mind numb, like all thoughts,

all colors dulled and eyelids heavy.

I can’t sleep, I can’t go to sleep.

I don’t want to sleep.

The dreams they come,

more like nightmares.

Poisonous. Diverged

between sleep and safety.

Beginning in my youth,

kindling my inferno with a fury of fists.

Outbreak of punches,

barraging my body

in the interior of

nocturnal existence.

Safely I sleep no more,

hallucinations creep in.

Spiders, crows, bats, corpses;

reality is no more.

Contorted with fictitious lies

caused by the illicitly

Deplorable, dying,

expressing lachrymose.

Schizophrenia: the genuine distort,

instigated because of

unsystematic pedigree.

Days go by, no revolution in sight.

The same outbreaks,

same screams

and perversities behind

protected doors.

In the end, we’re all just moribund,

deteriorating and ragged

desiring one thing,

the Sandman,

but he’s dead too.