Tag Archives: darkness

On growing up -feelings.

Ah! The guileless smile I once had and may never have. Now, all facial expressions have hidden meanings. (Source: funmag.org)

If I smiled only when feeling happy,

How did I make my husband think all was well between us

When he forgot my birthday whilst at work yesterday

How do I make my harsh bosses think I like them

When I’m passively considering killing one of them as a lesson

How would I make the world believe my life a bed of roses

When asked about the exams I actually failed

How would I make pastor keep believing God only gives riches

When I haven’t eaten today as at this night of writing this

 

If I cried only when sad,

How do I make my lover know how hurtful his deceptions are

Hoping he won’t think I cry because I’m moved by his sugary words

How did I let my roommate know the scorpion sting hurt

Hoping he didn’t think it was because of my heartbreak

How would I let her know how much I missed her

Hoping she wouldn’t think I hurt from kneeling for too long

How would I make them know how funny and ridiculous they were

Hoping they wouldn’t think I was hot with jealousy

 

I have learnt what you wanted me to

You told me I needed to be smart and savvy

That I had to stop being naïve and grow up

And realise things aren’t always so simple

Well, I hope you can tell I have followed you obediently

And this is not just an act to get you off my neck

I hope you can tell I appreciate your seeing this

And I am not somewhat indifferent to what you really think

 

If only writers and writings were always sincere…

Advertisements

WHY I DON’T USE MY MIRROR

BACKGROUND: I am a recovering blockaholic and my most recent episode lasted over four weeks; over two weeks of waking up in the morning to dry dusty unpleasant desert wind blowing into my protected tropical bedroom reminiscent of the dryness in my art-life; over two weeks of early morning thoroughly-scrubbing-my-body-in-an-attempt-to-get-rid-of-the-frustration-stuck-on-my-artlifeless-body baths; over two weeks of wondering where my eyes went as I walked generally blindfolded throughout life unable to see those hidden things I used to see –the hidden world, the hidden souls, the hidden motives in men that cry out so clearly to me usually in queer dialects. Don’t get me wrong, I could have gone down the road of just writing anything, or even a journal, just for the sake of blogging, but I write with my eyes, not my hands.
NB: I do not in any way shamefully ignorantly insinuate that those who blog to describe their everyday lives are artless.
I am sorry to say this, but the only crack through my writer’s block I am having today is a theme I am moderately known for and have been told more than once to write on less frequently.
——————————————

image

(Skeleton_mirror_by_Shadowangel1993.jpg)
——————————
WHY I DON’T USE MIRRORS

I know
I can see you, the sweet hair you pay due attention to grooming
Sincerely and politely I must say
You have quite an assorted collection of “weeds”
(Caution: I discourage doping!)
Blooming in that lovely forest up there
That speaks well for the well-fertilised soil of a brain you have
So rich with “the stuff” that you are eternally euphoric
You get so high and closed up in your world so often
Seeing things people don’t see
Seeing things people see in ways they don’t
That people can’t seem to understand you well
They ask you to explain what exactly you mean
And later to explain even the explanation you just gave
Worse yet you feel so grand and special despite all
In your most sober state you are grandiose
I ask what is the point of speaking
If you can’t really communicate with people around
Perhaps, one day you will feel pressed
But being so smart you will struggle with words
Simple enough to ask the janitor
The direction to the toilet….

I hope I bring out well the glowing form
Of your perfect lips
Full and firm
Dripping with wildness
Is art a curse
You very smoothly talk your way into men’s souls
Almost irresistibly
Because you happened to know the deep matters of the heart
Once upon a time
So, now you can speak like an angel
Like the sweet God himself
So that less than 5% of humans alive today
Can really tell your heart is as at this day vain and sly
For the lip-gloss that makes it look attractively slippery
Hides the acerbic acidic nature

Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!
Please pardon my sardonic laughter
[Oh, and you needn’t worry about me cracking
And harming you with my splinters
I need you alive to come see me again tomorrow]
But you look like you could use a breast-reduction surgery
I get that you are trying to appear confident and collected
Believe me I know all too well about standing straight and tall
It’s just that you look too puffy
Like the centre of the universe
You are so vain one could see right through your chest wall
To the real intent and content of your heart
Hard to hide a heart so outstanding like yours
Sadly, few people could take their eyes off your awesome lips
To gaze lower down into your soul-pit

I should apologize I can’t exactly capture your heart
So clearly through your vanity
It is so grey
Muddled up with conflicts
Though fairy tales advise one to follow one’s heart
Well, thanks to what-I-do-not-know-since-I-never-leave-your-room
Your heart is lost in the greys
You can’t quite tell right from wrong
You call insane and warped cool
Your heart is the shape of a horseman riding the high seas
Gone gagaciously completely offshore
And you love the way you ride just like that
Your head stuck up your horse’s arse
(Caution: I discourage swear words!)

Oh your striking owl-eyes
Sharp and discerning
Your dewy-lewy eyes
Warm and mesmerising
I have heard you humans say
The eyes are a window to the soul
But your eyes mimic me
Hence my favourite body part
Your eyes reflect people’s souls
You see into them
And play the ball in their courts
It doesn’t help that you are into body language reading
To regular folks, you are regular
To the smarty pants,
You act totally regular and vulnerable
Not even showing signs you know their game
Your cover is good
And you don’t make a show of yourself
You prefer hiding under your skin
Well, that’s the fitting place anyway.
No wonder you hate me
Your mirror
Because whenever you look at me
You feel exposed
Not for the darkness in your soul
For you are not shamed of that
You are just averse to being exposed!

Happy lonely thoughts whilst lounging on the rooftop

Sky Lion

It is in the skies

The ears filled with lies
With tears flooding the eyes
The breath filled with sighs
Darkness hits in the skies

Into men’s souls truth cries
Free yourselves from these ties
While they wander like flies
Stranded up in the skies

A narrow road none plies
I encounter with shaking thighs
Which scales lows and highs
Like birds in the skies

Still the Dark One defies
Locking his captives in sties
But life lights my eyes
As I cruise the skies

The Ghost’s Rants: On Beautiful Dark Things In Men’s Souls

Roll the booze out into the streets
The writer is awake now
And unlike some of his psychedelic colleagues
This one is a complete teetotaller

Darkness creeps in on the globe
And the viperoid children dance out
Spawning “goodness” all over the place
But thanks, I’ll pass
I don’t need your charitable donation
A lovely venomous gift
Perfect poison for the pure soul
Birthing the gentle worm of darkness
The adorable monster that men are addicted to
The silent dark shadow following them
Even in broadest sunlight
Despite their sparkling wears and smiles
The soft white delightsome maggot
Laughing sweetly with them
With sparkling teeth like a saw
Eating away at the soul of the host
Soon that man is seen for the rot that he really is
You wriggle your seductive hips in my face
But I want none of what you are selling
I have lost appetite for that forbidden fruit
Let me write and live and sleep in peace
What more can you want from me
After all, I have made my bedroom
Six feet below the ground level
At perfect unison with earth and bones
Will you rock my knocked out senses
Or can you corrupt a dead man

Heck! I am not praying for the day to dawn
I am not hoping for an escape from the black
My light may not be more than 12volts’ worth
But in the darkest of periods it will shine
Despite the corruptions of souls and institutions
Though the grave burns the ghost still R.I.P.s

What Then (Dark)

Gloom

Gloom (Photo credit: Owen Davis96)

What do I then do?

If my panic starts anew
If my sky’s not blue
If my troubles now brew
If my gloom does continue

If my darkness’s like dew
If my pains do ensue
If my lover says “eww!”
If my life’s like goo

If my sweetness’s like poo
If my happiness is overdue
If my failure’s like shoe
If my fears come true

What can I then do
If my doubts do subdue
If my sin’s like glue
If my Creator says “shoo!”