livexforxliars

a secret oath. "madness need not be all breakdown; it may also be break-through. it is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death." - r. d. laing imagine your bone structure collapsing in on itself, birthday sticks in the mudpie of your flesh, and eyes like glass, blue as all the oceans and glinting as the light curves through them, odd little chips of endless third dimension. imagine as i do, these separate features animated. an awkward caricature of limbs at impossible bends and intersections, levitating in the space between worlds where your half-body splinters, the shards of your bones are swallowed

caro levare. 1.        i think of you in carnivals, a tale of teenage existentialism in a city by the sea. celestial star-empire stretched calm above gaudy circus lights, wrong in their stillness, where you are at once a storm and a silence. suspended in a ferris cart above its lawless city you speak of fire, lionboy, of freedom, in your mind an oppressed radical aching for a dream to come to pass. in secret, you were born to do this, inspire and impact and fight your tiny wars with words. and even the cosmos itself stops for you, we stare as one, in awe of the lionboy shifting earth's momentum as her people sleep below, unseeing.

jaundice. -: there is only so much others can do to help you. you know this. don't you? you know. and yet you do nothing. you change nothing. in the pit of your eternally whirring mind. all that ties me to you is guilt. i don't understand why you keep coming here, to us, to me. +: the night children, my father. -: i don't understand. you. +: he who comes after, beelzebub, all things to all men. i cannot tell her i am her brother. she deserves to be happy. -: you do not think she'll be happy to find her long lost sibling, whom she has been searching for her entire lifetime, whom she left behind the ice for? you don't think she will be hap

in the mountains, there i feel free. Q: i think, if i do this, there will be nothing left of me. X: it's the push and pull, your gears will grind and scratch together but everything equates in the end. Q: it's not quite so easy, not as simple as you make it sound. X: except it is. there is one key difference between you and i:     you wallow, sorrow spat you out.     i believe happiness, not achievement, is the measure of success. Q: i am dead to me. X: you know, that's not how the play begins. Q: i think you think i have lost all sense of direction in my life, and so you drag me around all sorts of detours keeping your eyes peeled

nemo sine vitio est. and alaskan winters cloak themselves around my bare and boney shoulders no matter where my current location happens to be. the skies are going black at just four thirty in the afternoon and sometimes it can be another's past you cannot escape, their curse may be yours just as your sorrow can be theirs. secrets told, he was a boy who found loneliness in all the corners of town, crooked little side streets where suns of summer could never quite penetrate the back walls and shadows would stalk from end to end, he believed. cosmic shadows that could be magick doctor know from some unexplored foreign galaxy if onl

father faust. i.     you are listening to the heartbeat of the child you left alone. and you may not know it, may find yourself in the car down some deserted street at eleven pm with speakers singing soft to you but you are hearing my heart beating from someplace in the north where we do not speak and seldom love. and you may refuse to speak of me or my latest life, how far i could have come in just three short months, but you think and you hear and i beat along inside your chest in the quiet car moments or right before you fall asleep. ii.     feel the cold up here in the nighttime. iii.     i bear your name and maybe y

night terror. a crash course on human nature: discontentment, lust, destruction. we rinse and repeat. i knew a soul like it was my own, once. we were in perfect sync throughout our years of discord. shells, we were, buried in sands the colour of ash and we found eachother through sheer coincidence. one and the same, two rings of silver worn over time until there was no shine left within us. we would walk our paths of dust for days [never running. our lives were chasing a short space behind, but we never ran] until there was no grey dust left to walk on. carried eachother when our feet bled and lay down in the smashed glass sh

my sweet, my songless. my caged bird. phaedra has strayed from the path of good sense. i know a place in which there are no questions no tongues to speak, no eyes to explore and in its dark centre there is a puzzle that will not be reassembled. there is a spiderweb stretching from east to west in which i lie immobile and knowledge paralysed. i am the ugly duckling of truth (read as: i have trouble expressing myself things i know but cannot prove, an endless spray of saltwater against the gaping holes in my soulmeetsflesh.) in order to get an image, you must know sympathy another way of listening on the sea, the sea. in order to