Viimeajat

NIGHTLY BRANCHES

These nightly branches
spread above me
like protecting
aching fingers,
they are always the same.
No matter what night
No matter what year
the anxiety is the same
and so are these branches
that protect my tiny skull
that protects my tiny mind,
which fails to protect me from my
monstrous thoughts.
These nightly branches
always the same
always doing their best
to protect me
from my self-harm.
Thank you.







---


MY EDUCATION

People have always been
and will always be
afraid of the Strength.
I don’t mean the kind of strength
that makes you bully others
and goes to your head,
that’s called power
and it usually is
just compensation
of weakness.
I mean the kind of strength
that lives behind your eyes
in fixed stares
Strength that does not blink
in the face of pain or abuse
the kind of strength
that goes beyond reason.
Growing up
I didn’t have that many toys
But I always had that Strength
from the second I was born.
And my teacher’s could see that.
If I had trouble in school
it usually was with teachers.
There where always those
who couldn’t see the darkness
that lurked in brightest lights
nor did they ever see the light
that smirked in my crooked smile.
The kind of people who can’t see
the suffering in straight A’s
any better than they see
the suffering in straight F’s.
They were always claiming
that I would be the next one
to commit a full-scale school shooting.
I was lucky to have
those other teachers around
the kind of people
who recognize the Strength
when they were staring it in the eye.
I was lucky to have those people
stand up for me
to protect me.
And that was my true education
to see
to learn
that some people are really fucking stupid
and some people are really bright.
Not all
but some.
---

I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH ME


I will always be with me
in every sunrise that burns my eyes
in every suicidal thought
in every second of doubt
I will always be with me
in the still, cold air of the winter night
in snow that falls on my head from the tree
and wrecks my speeding train of thought
in early mornings, or late nights
depends on how you want to look at them
in my silence,
in the whirlwind of blank stares
in confusion and in fear,
in brief, fleeting moments of elation
in elevating and transcending realizations
in every single detail
Yes.
I will always be with me
I will always be with me
When I die.
----

THE SHARPEST KNIFE

His bleakness
could turn off candles
His silence
could silence armies
of angry tigers
His death
could teach all the living
how to disappear completely
How to dissolve in existence
His darkness
Could dim Buddha’s shine
His crooked smile
always had the melancholy
afterglow
His tragedy was filled
with silent laughter
His knife
could cut through granite
through flesh and bone
carve out the marrow
suck it dry
suck it out of all color
all meaning
all the junk
and leave the bone
as it truly is
and you wouldn’t even notice
the cut
Yes.
Beckett sure was
and still is
the sharpest knife.
---

MIND

Things come.
Others go.
Thoughts crash into the shore.
My consciousness floats.

---

TO THE WIND

I stare at my own reflection
and try to be as honest as I can.
I look tired.
And I know this won’t last long
I’m not going to burn out.
That is not possible
for the flame inside me
is a pyre of lust and agony
a fiery tornado that rages and burns
everything.
I am not afraid of burning out
I am afraid of running out of shit to feed to the fire.
If I will go, I won’t burn out.
I will burn away, completely disappear
into my own fire
let it annihilate me completely.
Self-destruct.
I am not afraid of burning out
I just think I might be
in need of a break
at some point.
Or fuck it anyway.
Just feed me with more neglect,
rejection and loathing
And I can keep on burning it through and through forever
and spread the ashes of your darkest secrets
to the wind.

...

MY SADNESS IS A PERENNIAL FLOWER OF RUST

A friend of mine once asked
if I had considered the possibility
of being more happy
If I listened to happier music?
I told him that this sadness was in me
long before I knew there was sad music
and all the happy music made me think
all music was shit altogether.
For my sadness is a delicate flower
a perennial flower
that blooms with frightening precision
and makes me bleed inside
in solitaire confinement
behind the walls of my silence
that may never break.
But that is a lie.
My soul is rust and broken hinges
If something moves inside
you will definitely hear it
a mile away.
And the sadness corrodes the soul
chemical burns
that make it way more beautiful and more meaningful
than it ever was before.

---

ANGRY NOTES

The me of the past plays music
and I want to pat him on the shoulder
tell him that he did good.
I watch him play
and it’s like watching a stranger
completely different from you
but he knows how you feel
He knows what you know
He fears what you fear
And his guitar weeps
the same sorrow you weep.
And it gets to you in these late hours
that boy sure knows how to play death
with a guitar
and there it is,
in those few angry notes
that linger in the air
between those mellow tunes
silent,
unspoken
angry notes.
They are there
no matter if you hear them
or not.
Always there
lingering in the air
no matter how you feel
no matter what you do.
Those beautiful,
silent
angry notes.
--

THE AGE OF FEAR

The streets are burning
with fear and anxiety
television screens glare
ominously in the darkness
that our ignorance casts in the rooms.
We are all trapped inside
the closets of our own stupidity
convinced of our own insight
assured by our own wits.
We are so fucking clever
it makes me want to throw up.
Our streets are mad dogs
with dead eyes
and our whispers
are as quiet as bullhorns
and bombs
on a snowy night.

..
 YOU DON'T BOTHER ME AT ALL

The people are always around
telling me how I should like them
how they know about my addictions
which happen to be theirs too
What they don’t understand is
that I don’t seek their company
I don’t want their acceptance
What you don’t understand is
I am not like you
For I do not seek happiness
outside myself
I do not seek acceptance
from crowds
I do not seek temporary ease
from drugs.
I do not seek the peace of mind
from the abundance and consumption
I do not need you
or your addictions
because I am fully content
within the solitude
inside
my own head.
I am fully satisfied
with the absence of the likes of you
You don’t bother me at all
As long as you are as far away
as you possibly can.

---

THE HAPPIEST I'LL NEVER BE

I watched bees pollinate roses
or some bush I couldn’t name
The sun was setting
the pines were bleeding
The grass was gilded
Time had stopped.
I was 5 years old
and I watched the bees
as they fulfilled their mission
as a sexual euphemism,
but that wouldn’t come to the picture
in few years time I think.
I just sat there
on the edge of the sandbox,
smelling the moist sand
And watched
until the time went on
until the sun went down
until the pines bled try
until the grass rusted
until I felt cold
and went inside
knowing that this life
would be full of confusing things
of controversial thoughts
full of joy
full of sorrow
that entangled together
in moments
just like
that.
----

Random Stuff From The Typewriter.

So here's something I've written since I finally got off my ass and cleansed the typewriter.. Which was about two days ago, I know I'm lazy..
---------------
Metronome inside my chest
Keeps taking away my precious seconds.
---------
ANTIMATTER

Revolving, spinning around,
in constant motion,
Locust swarm of particles,
destroying, annihilating
All things in it's way.
------------------
THE HOUSE THAT ACID BUILT

No One is home.
All the doors are flung open and off their hinges.
The hardwood floor creeks under the steps you never took.
The faucets are running, they drip thoughts that start to form
Small puddles at your feet.
In their reflections you can clearly see the wreckage of yourself.
The reflection of a mirage of an image of flesh.
Your eyes see,
Your mouth spill's it's filth.
Your ears hear that filth.
It's an endless feedback loop of meaningless noise.
Dirt. Filth. Sludge.
You involunteerly raise your hand to feel if your heart still beats.
It doesn't. It's disconnected, the power outlet is shut down.
The wind blows though your empty shell,
The skin has been shed.
The walls are still there, closing in as always.
The walls are still there, the roof is still up, the faucets still running.
No One wants to live
In the house that acid built.
----------------------
THE WINTERS COME AND GO

The snow comes around as always, cold and heavy.
My hands are shaking, though my mind seems ready
and my eyes are fixed on yours, firm and steady
Although your eyes don't see, you don't think,
you don't breathe, you don't even exist anywhere
outside of me, I still see you both.
In every single sun that's setting, in every dawn ascending
from night's loving embrace. I can't seem to forget it.
I still remember everything you ever taught me.
And though years may pass, and all else will fade,
You will still be sitting there, on the opposite side of the table,
right where you always used to sit.
And I can always come back here, and ask for your guidance.
And you'll always be here, inside my mind,
waiting eagerly for me to visit you, telling what's new,
Telling me what I should do. And I will always love you for that,
And for everything else too.
Thank you.
-----------------
SUBURBIA

Concrete boxes concealing
Concrete lives within,
Dreams moulded in concrete,
Everything is concrete
No deeper meaning
Nothing unexpected
Every single path
Will end to it's headstone.
Concrete plans
Concentration camps
Modern mental warfare
Against humanity.
------------------
FREQUENT DELUSIONS

You think I'm standing right
here in front of you
Though I am not.
I'm standing still in constant
motion.
Every particle of me swirling
around in emptiness.
And all you perceive
is frequencies that deceive
you to believe
That what you see
would really be me.
I am quite sure I don't
exist at all.
And mostly, I'm right.
Most of me is just waste of space.
----------------

You wallow in your own filth
Linger in your misery
Everything is shit
but you don't want to change a thing
Desperate for attention,
crawling back to hell
But only when you first made sure
That we're all watching.

At the Platform

The voice announces another train. She sounds weary, tired of her job. How long has the tape repeated these same trains, same metal boxes travellin on these same iron rails? How long have these trains sailed back and forth on these same rails, looking for a place where they can finally stop?

I sit on the Cardiff Central station, watching these behemoths devour people on their daily commuter-communion. Sacrificing another day for their jobs, to support their families, to pay off mortgages, to live their boxed-up lives.

I sit on the pavement, leaning on to a cold stone wall. People give me odd stares, but I don't mind. I'm used to odd stares. Too young men are discussing about the trains always being late. Just when they get heated up, the train arrives in schedule and leaves their complaints lingering in the air as they both get in. Personnel blows the whistle and the iron behemoth growls before setting off.

Sun colors every surface, wind blows used train tickets and receipts back and forth. It's almost cold. But my train is yet to come. I sit here, listening to Tom Waits sing a song about Singapore.

People gather around as another one of these monsters approaches. I'd like to yell at them. "DON'T GO IN! CAN'T YOU SEE IT'S A TRAP?!" But I don't. I know that in due time I'll be trapped, just like them. Just like yesterday. Just like today. Just like tomorrow.

This next monster is about to swallow this exceptionally beautiful young black girl. She has curly hair, which the wind keeps constantly throwing at her face until she ties it with a purple bandana. I realize I'm staring when she suddenly looks into my eyes. I turn my eyes away, pretending to be really interested in the rails. When I try to look at her one more time in all the secrecy the crowded and busy station platform provides, I find her eyes still looking into mine, capturing my sight. This was unexpected. She smiles at me lightly. That smile touches something inside of me. i'm not sure what it is, but while my mind is still thinking about what it might be, my body decides to panic and turns my head away.

The voice in my head shouts "No! No! No! You fucking moron, smile back!" I turn back at her, but she's already about to board the screetching monster. I feel stupid, but on the inside I'm smiling. Her smile is drawn into my soul, and the memory of this short incident I shall carry to my grave, where I'll place it delicately, carefully between all those traumas and rejections that I have faced, and that are yet to come.