Posts Tagged ‘sadness’

Under the Rain of my Eyes

All the time in the world is not enough
I’m always gonna love you
I’m always gonna miss you
I’m always gonna need you.

From the perspective of someone else

Bodhi – Seoul (Erudire)

This one goes to my father
To my mother
To my God
And all the intentions they had for me.

Implant fictional memories of things I never lived
In this imminent break up, make me choose a side
Such a diabolical plan to take a child to manipulate
Push that love for a cornerstone deep in my insides.

I’ve found my shattered self
In a higher realm
Inside my own
Right where you left my dead pride and soul.

Move me with your strings, like the puppet you think I am
I’ll be bowing my head, waving my hands up, side to side
Dictate all the prayers, and the rules I’m set to understand
Push self-love in a small bottle that I must drink until I die.

This circus that you made of my youth
You made a pact for the cult that was set to sting
To praise a God that never gave a fuck
But now I’ve found a way to be again enlightened, liberated.

Cornelia

She came into the room without knocking on the door
Just like she has done a million times before
She came in like flame, burning on the floor
Looking all innocent but we know what she has in store.

Must be cold in here
You’re shaking all over
Dripping from the hair
Too young to be sober.

Porcelain girl, wearing her small doll dress
Silky night gown, she’s being a seductress.

Too fragile for the great fall
When it hits ground, it breaks
Cutting off her flesh, her heart
Blurring in all of her other scars…

She clung onto me like an insect against a flytrap
A startling response, I just couldn’t react
Her arms and legs tight around my body
She’s never liked her father but she’s calling me “daddy”.

Must be hot in here
She’s dropping her robe
Thinking; is it love or fear?
Too young just to cope.

Porcelain girl, feeling awkward in her own skin
Insecurity ingrown, she seems to be hurting.

Too fragile for the great fall
When it hits ground, it breaks
Cutting off her flesh, her heart
Blurring in all of her other scars…

Invisible to the eye
I don’t see you as such
Confusion is such a lie
Coercing you to rush.

Just to give in to the passion
Just to see another’s reaction
She’s in the dangerous position
Where succumbing suffices to the occasion.

Apathetic Antipathy

She’s drowned her soul in popular opinions
She cannot read a map even if it’s on her favor
Lights a cigarette to fog in smoke the recollections
She doesn’t like the smell but she loves the flavor.

Her body’s precious but she gives it away to the public
She likes the attention; she likes all of the praises
Her broken wings make her image look less than angelic
She would sell her soul to find a heart that is virtuous.

Surrounding herself with vultures hungry for dead meat
She can dance with the flow but she doesn’t get the beat
Time for sleep, time to rest, high as a kite, there she goes
She can leave behind this universe but never her ghosts.

She’s kept herself to a shelter made of wood
She cannot see what’s ahead even if it’s up front
Snorts up the white dust cause it makes her feel good
She doesn’t like the mirror ‘cause it makes her feel runt.

Her life‘s precious but she gives it away for the applause
She likes the recognition; she likes all of the worship
Her distorted introspection makes her look like a lost cause
She’d trade off her salvation for someone to give a shit.

Surrounding herself with leeches thirsty for young blood
She spins around all day just to face fall on the mud
Time to party, time to live, low as her esteem, so it seems
She swims against the river but never its streams.

She’s apathetic with a survivor complex
Her antipathy burns like acid through anyone’s core
Self-medicating to subtract the effects
That alter her persona; she doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Phasma

Posted: February 6, 2017 in Loss Poetry, Painful Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Phasma

I’ve tried to make amends with the ghosts in my head
Yes, I’ve tried all that is humanly possible to atone
But how are you to make peace with the dead?
When you are still here and they are long gone?

Somber Song

She drowned her pain deeper than anyone could ever reach
Burned down her house with all her things, all of her precious memories
And now as she stumbles in the streets without a familiar face
To look at, to ask why, all these terrible things have to happen?

Children, they don’t know all the misery awaiting for them
Right next door, right by the curve, inside their heads and their own houses
And now that I’m old I’ve wasted all of my advices to give
To anyone, about anything, without sounding like a drunk vagabond mumbling.

The moon is far away and even if in our innocence we dreamt it to be made of cheese
Either we sleep in for too long, or we haven’t rested enough to face the harsh reality
Enjoying these guessing games, putting together these puzzling pieces
She took a drink that now will take her to the side of fence where the grass isn’t greener.

Dissected Conversations

The way you look at me
With those adamant eyes
The way you speak to me
With your tantalizing lies
It makes me follow through
It makes me slip in
Hidden under these scarlet sheets
With secrets, you and me.

Here comes the architecture
Trying to come with new plans
Here comes the heart doctor
Trying to mend all of our wounds.

“What is a girl like me supposed to do?
Am I ignore or to give in the words you spew?
You seem to be smart
And you seem to be courteous
But does that mean I’m supposed to trust you?”

Here comes the rendition
With the sparkles and gleams, in all of its glory
Here comes the absolution
To bring back an end to this part of the story.

A glimpse of my mind
With all of its clouds and storms
A peek on the inside
With all of my doubts and mourns.

“What am I supposed to do with all that you give me?
Am I supposed to care, to say that I love you?
You seem to be transparent
And you seem to be kind
But does that mean I should stay for you one more time?”

This endless circle
Looping the sounds echoing in
All that was once simple
Turns into a complication from within.

Dissected conversations
Why do you have to cut my heart to pieces
In order to understand who I am?
Isn’t the sound of my voice enough evidence
To make notice that I don’t have to pretend
That I have no agenda to hide?