Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing, poetry

#11 Lugubrious

I spend my days folding into myself,
shoulders caving in to keep my heart hidden
further and further I go deeper within
so I can disappear
in this chaotic numbness residing
in every inch of my being.

I am no longer whole,
eternally carved;
I can’t stop un-clenching my fists,
I can’t look anybody in the eye.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #60

My the Day is Mighty Angry – revisited,
Roxies keeping my spine tinglin’, hands shakin’,
crystal blue, orange spheres or white powder –
every lie to tell your beautiful face in the morning
that you’re progressing.

Because you’ve come full circle, dear,
the only difference now
is a change of
setting
and a different cast of
characters.

Same
goddamn
plot.

How many more blood-marked eyelids
are you going to smother in make-up
so no one notices
your pupils as wide as the beating sun?

Those vibrating pulsations rolling down
the wrinkles on your skin
will someday break,
rupture in cadaverous flesh
revealing the chemical ecstasy carved
underneath your
numb nerves.

Get down on your knees and realize
this face bears no resemblance
to who you once were –
now just a slave
to this in-betweening life,
recycled poetry,
stretched out lips that vomits
hollow, empty smiles –

Insanity is your only way out, dear,
Madness is your emergency exit.

What the hell is the point
of this whole goddamn joint
anyway.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #43

Talking to you is as easy as breathing,
a drink of fresh water on a hot summer day,
the undeniable comfort of Zeppelin and Blind Melon floating in our ear drums
translated through our keyboards
magnified across our screens
talking to each other through microphones
across Toronto
sitting in separate prisons,
in isolated dark rooms.

We travel hand in hand through Wraeclast,
the land of the damned,
defeating Hillock and The Deep Dweller across the Flooded Depths,
to the Fetid pool –
while talking about how males always look gorgeous in tuxedos,
and females end up looking comical.

I led zombie hordes away from your door, my dear,
sacrificed lives upon lives to keep you safe,
and you gave me corn in return.
“Hungry? Here, eat,” you’d say,
while I laughed and replied, “So sweet. My hero.”

That cozy afternoon we walked down small alleyways
and passed joints,
and fumbled back through 401 games
eating chocolate and giggling
at nothing in particular.

The night you walked me to Osgoode station,
wrapped in your over-sized sweater,
and I put my head in your shoulder
and wept.

The nightly conversations
that keeps us both awake until 3 am,
the truths you bring out in me,
truths I find so horrid,
truths you pick apart and dissect until
it becomes beautiful –
even to me,
and the way you pause automatically
every time I start to say something,
those greenish-blue eyes that light up
when turned towards my way –

There’s no secret I can’t tell you,
no fear nor anxiety while with you.
It’s so easy to love you, my dear,
you make everything so easy.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #39

I can feel the toxic woman rising,
from the back of my throat.
She grips me with her icy, cold fingers
and dips me in liquid laced with poison,
where there is no antidote
for the viciousness and relentless words
she spouts a mile a minute.

I let her take over me –
eyes squinting,
watching the faces of my friends
widen in surprise
at how venomous I can actually be –
I have no control over the words exploding out of me
like scythes ripping through the air
and cutting them in half –
all the acid I’ve contained inside
starts spilling,
burning and desecrating everything in its path

and I can only tremble and watch from the corner of my eye
the damage I’ve caused –
the loss of control I’ve allowed to happen –

I love you, I love you
I tried to be good,
I swear I tried to be good –
but the demon inside me has fought her way out of my heart
and taken my misery and insecurities with her –
to reveal the Mother Cunt
growing, in fury,
inside.

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #35

I had a dream
that I had an infinite amount
of these round little pills
that forced us to dance
the crazy dance
of laconic conversations
for six hours straight
going up and then down
and then flinging our souls
away from the helpless
hopelessness of sobriety
until a tremble in the corner

of our dilated eyes
exploded
and rendered us
into colours
that couldn’t exist

while a rabid, quivering whisper

told us we held

the secret to life

that whatever it is that people

questioned, studied, searched and journeyed for

the golden truth, the elliptical bud

has been found—

but before we could

ask why
it died

before we could hear

 

anything.
 

 

 

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