I took a hike at twelve-thirty-five... The streets are dead but the roads are busy. In the distance, the merrymaking of drunken misery can be heard and seen. Oh, such a ghost that is me to haunt this bag of bones that wears my face. I whistle a tune to haunt the forest too and the night jars carry it on. I named the little critters that scurry all around the floor even as I watch their inevitable falls. Oh, such a cruel player that I am to play such wicked games. A firecracker lights the sky, then another and now I wonder what day it is for such festivities. That reminds me.. It seems I forgot my birthday again. Oh well, it's just another date for the calendar man. I gaze at the stars in the sky as my fingers trace the scars on my arms. Oh, such a fool that i am to bring such woes to a timid beast that is me. It's been awhile since this stroll began. Round and around we go, yet I never tire of you. I wonder if you're online right now and if you'd reply if... Never mind. There must be words I should say here but none of them would matter. Oh, such a bother I must be to the ones I love, ever running away only when the song begins to play. I've come to a standstill... This place seems new. No, it seems I'm the only new thing here. I ponder the mistakes of the past week just as much the possibilities that may be in store for me if I were to be discovered here. Sleeping bodies in every room, diurnal creatures of habit living out memories.
I know it hurts down in the deep end When the currents sweep you up like inescapable dreams and your seizing breaths as you discover yourself here when you awake. Such a mystery you are, beautiful little one.
It grows tiresome, the pointless conversations. It's become a chore, this endless salutations and dreary felicitations. You try to pick up where you left off but that won't work. This is not a class of your kind, we killed them off. You grow close to beautiful faces and create familiar names But all this proves is that you're obsessed with strangers. You try to force us into talking to you? How stupid do we seem? You must be blind, little wolf, Or perhaps a little dim. You think we care how your night went, little boy? Don't bore us with the details, we get it, it's just a ploy. You require too many answers... Turn off your lights. It's amazing how well you lie these days when you say your days are allright. More lines in text than words that ever come out your lips. You say it's a drag instead and yet you find no comfort in sleep. Lie awake all night and you get bored enough to turn off the music. Such a fool, little boy, you are just another thing useless. Can't shake off the feeling you're being dodged every minute. The messenger says goodbye but the light's still turned on. You've been lied to, little boy, you're the one they're avoiding. It's not that they hate talking, it's just you are quite annoying. They dance around it cus' it's become too easy to tell when the moody little boy is moving. Moving mad as you begin to vent to your brain and your rants end up running. Running around all over the place and their timelines pick up the chatter. Their phones ring and the collective sighs grow louder. They say "the little boy is sad again, and guess who he is blaming today? " You, the quiet one, has become the chatterbox. Devoid of company, you latch unto finer cords, Switched into higher chords and took on the talker's curse. For you thought "how lonely can I say I am if all I do is avoid the noise? " Alas, you've danced your way into a crowd and it's gotten worse. Did you think this through? Oh no, we think you did not. Your craving for love is a fool's errand, little boy. You know what you are so don't try so much. Stop being so needy, you're a clingy sod. No one wants to hear you whinging, it's a boring song. "no one needs me anymore" " no one loves... " Little boy, do quit your gobbing, we've heard it all before. Now cringe in your corner and be the ghost you are. You are not to be noticed, young Sir. You're the odd one out. Remind us again why we let you out. You're not human, little boy. You're something else that's not right. Go find your machinations lost in that creepy mind. Here, little wolf, take a bite. A little care and compassion and the bait you bite. You fall for this ruse every single time. It's such a shame, this thing you are that desires warmth. So many incomplete conversations and awkward silences. It's just another boring façade in a cage you've built. It's a drag knowing humans. It's a drag indeed.
Don't run away just yet. A long write this will be, ol' bub, but the old soul I am has coughed up one more hurriedly written tale of his existence. Now I know this would be the time for you to expect from me some very frightful things But I believe you've seen the last of me on the Halloween scene. I've not lost my touch for gore but out went the will for horror, And somehow, it's to my delight to say we will be seeing it no more. ____________________________________
He's alone on this train. He's a witness scarred like a bloody combatants vest. Time's frozen this streets and everything stays still but the dry breeze. Too many years past to have the love back that used to exist. The forgotten footpaths have revived into a fading green. He can feel the open door's creak, it's like some scary dream. In here, everything not currently occupied with the task of being born is busy dying. It's a psychoclimatic survivor's habitat where you don't dare breathe. No one's running anymore; Everything here has been kissed by the grave. His heart is ticking, the rhythm is tocking to nothing in particular. Many burnt bridges out here, the few still standing will collapse from underneath you. Rivers no one will cross for fear of being lost, Oceans without ships for none has ever sailed far; They all sunk. An empty home, a relationless junkyard. Chairs that bear the weight of dust and tables that carry nothing but mulch. Roofs that taste of rust, Floors that crack to ash. The bed has lived out its life in here, the walls have faded away. Restlessness doesn't find here comfortable; Peace was buried here. Tracks show only signs of long-dead flames. The engines have lost all hope of ever burning again. He feels colder than usual down here: It's to be expected of him being at home. Bones intertwine and lay uneasy, you couldn't even tell if this was a bird or a rodent.... It resembles a new species of dirt. He sees faces he hasn't seen in years, there's a story that will never be heard anywhere but here. A stranger looking in through the window will see nothing but the pane. Light is not welcome here, no gateways to let it in. Breathe in the old rancid odour of the apologies for things lost and lies that were bought and sold. Sights to see include all the damage he's caused, numerous tombstones for the regrets and the lives wasted down the road. Does it seem too fast, this melancholic monologue locomotive? He doesn't think so, neither do the scarecrows stuck to the lampposts. Then again, they have never thought and they never will for a thousand years more. There's a lullaby being played in the background somewhere, on a violin in his hand by the fire near the edge of the seashore. It's the only warmth in a cold dark world he's got. The blizzard begins. Here comes another decade-long storm. It's late, little one. He falls.
There are no survivors. He's alone in this ghost town.
Don't wake him up, leave him to his lonely mind. He's gone. The pen drops. _____________________________________
I live in a house. It's a big house with spacious rooms. The closest house to mine has a family in it. They just moved in. They don't know I live here. I like the silence that comes with living alone. They never do fancy keeping quiet. There is either a shouting voice or a crying child being heard in there. I ... My father tells me that perhaps the lady of the house is scared of being alone, Hence she makes up for the silence by all that cacophony of lunacy.
I live in a flat. It is a hostel for students. It is comfortable enough for a recluse loner like me. The roommates, though, never know when to shut up. It's either a loudly played song, a moaning 'n' a groaning of bonking lovers, or a jumble rumble of voices and feet. I ... My feet tell me that I've done enough runs for today; The noise will still be there when I get back
I walk into a store. It's a mega-supermarket that has it all. Well, almost. It has what I need, at least, for today. A set of teens and young adults just walked in. The noise they make, the laughter so loud. A trio of pretty ladies are browsing the same aisle where I am. Ironic, innit? They keep snickering right where the bars of Mars and Snickers are. I ... My watch says to me shopping is over for today.
I... I ... I ...
I am struggling to take this. I grew up with a few key codes. One of which was learning to take pain and torture in absolute silence. I ... this is hard..this thing called complaining. I tend to fix things instead. Shouldn't people learn to live in silence or at the very least, in less noisy ways? It's bad enough one has to deal with certain laws ...now one has to deal with a whole new growing generation of noisy complaining slobs. Who knew a day would come when I could almost identify with a serial shooter? Almost...
I... got to bottle this rage.
Alas, I am not a furnace. I do not scorch everything. The chap was right.
I am just cold and quiet, and on days like this, it sucks.
It's cold outside tonight. You ask yourself if the laughter you hear ought to be annoying or cheerful. Not an understanding thing, this thing called sleep. Denies you its sweetness until it's six in the morning. There are nightingales tonight. You're a bit miffed. You ended up posing a question to the lady your OCD impulses picked (And out of nowhere developed an obsessive need for) Knowing you haven't talked in weeks due to her not replying you quick, Or at all. One false move, you delete. Then no more need for company. She's the last link. She doesn't know it and quite frankly, you won't be missed. No apologies do you require or else your resolve on this becomes weak. Here's to knowing (or fervently hoping) she does not care; Cheers. Everything's almost a sore subject like the infected wound caused by ticks. You don't even dance around most of it, You walk through and within; The dog eats what he sees and sees what he eats.
You are writing what is currently rubbish, the half filled ash screen. White words written on it, here and there a glitch. You're unsafe to be around with, normal on the outside but nursing something you have to keep under lock and key. Good call you haven't had anyone to talk in twenty three weeks..apart from Miss Irene and that's for the poem you didn't complete and for which a reply has not come yet. It'd be a shame to talk in public, the very private nature of yours doesn't tolerate spills..and conversations that you can predict. It's a sad day to be hard on the inside and the out. A bad night to be cold hearted and feel right to the teeth. Alas, the call of sweet sleep. It's six a.m and finally, the nocturnal animal falls deep.
There is a river. I hear the sound of oncoming rain. It is like the voice of my Father. His Spirit I ask of Him gently; To fill me with, for I am empty. The river that runs without end. The earth and its people reject it nevertheless, Though they drown in their self-pleasing thirst. There is a river paid for with blood. The blood that was shed for man's own fault. The faults so numerous, it was done on a cross. The Cross that is the message that should be taught by the Church. The Church that now wallows in iniquities and self-love. Nevertheless, there is a river and it was paid for in blood. To wash it all away, the sins of both the kind and the unjust. There is a river. I hear the rain that comes. I see the clouds gather. It was only in drops before. Them that are troubled, come ye forth. Saved but still oppressed, drink of the water that falls. Quench your thirst and be filled and washed. There is a rain. It comes like a storm. To cast asunder the chaff with winds and feed the crops. There is a rain. It's beginning to fall. The flow of the Spirit, the reviving Pentecost. It falls to guide, to teach those willing to be taught. The children that have come forth, bought by the blood. There is a river. From it I now draw. I ask of my Master to make it a flood. I know He that made the very world. Even Him that stood after it all, and before. The rain, like a deluge, He will send once more. To pour it all out, even on your daughters and sons. There is a rain. I hear its approach. ...
" Our bodies pain " , they too said Yes , our bodies pain A nest can be seen from this side of the casement From where comes the chirp Of love - To this distant cage Of torture ; " See those marks ? " It's where years ago we played , Over the skin we drew Circles of epiphany and crosses of quietus Where now rests the bruises And wounds and laughs and screams Stiff limbs , polished knuckles over the tainted floors "Water , water" , lava they spilled Over ribs and canvas , The knees show up valour Which the elbows hide ! Corpses here and corpses there Like the withered and fallen leaves No autumn red , nor winter grey Can hide the smile as they lay This swarm of mortals are the next batch "Our bodies too pain" , they howled -
With our freedom over their tongues , Our coins in their hands , Our women in their rooms , Our saliva over their feet ,
A purge of guilt haunted the cells of Diamond coals , And we screamed together "let the dead be free" Our chests sank In the ocean of mud That smelt of our motherland
Evenings creep past our horizons When homecoming seems like long ago And secrets on the Last page of the city's diary Get lost in the clustered alleyways. Peeping through the shutter doors, Our memories , Like old stained teapots Covered in grimy pasts , Rot in the reels of the old camera. The bindi and saree and kohl Cramped up in the wardrobes Of moth-eaten yesteryears And the blackened red circles Of the dog-eared calendars. The sun really does set Somewhere between your dreams And mine When dusk filters into the sky That we no longer share. Your part of the world; With it's changed postal codes And technicolour neon lights Shimmering In the darkness of some Black and white photographs That hide between the pages Of the last book on the shelf. Sometimes hours stand on Rooftops, that topple Into desolate nights , Leaving the city behind In a crowd of faceless nothingness, And count the stars and twinkling fairy lights. Yellowing letters and Rusted postboxes, Fondled in gallivanting streetscapes, Stand in silence As time rings between Our changing galaxies and cities. Yes, the sunsets are all the same; Just the windows have changed.
Present day is, Pain signals misfiring An otherwise healthy anatomy Abnormalities Attacking your nervous system Tainting antibodies Depleting immunity No longer harbouring strength To support your frail frame Living in fear each day You might never be the same Neurological defects Dreading what more will malfunction How worse will it progress Awaking to your body Running less and less
The past, you grieved Lost love, or lack thereof Unsuccessful in your grand schemes Still a perfectly oiled machine Now, you find yourself Mourning loss of life Ambitions far from reach All hopes, disintegrating To a distant dream Disease a ruthless theif Snatching freedom from grip Exams, scans, mystery diagnosis Relying on medical advances To outlast your life expectancy Tasting death brush your lips
Do you ever stop to wonder? What will become of your future? When you imagined An entirely different life Today, everything has changed Counting down deteriorating time Of all the mishaps to go wrong You've seemed to meet the worst one Autoimmune disorders Is uncertainty of a whole other kind Unknowing the future left in sight
Hi, Mirakee family. I thought it best to update you here - I'm on a semi hiatus due to more health complications. I've been in and out of hospital for the past two months, feeling crook. Finally heard back I have stage 3 iron deficiency anemia. Which explains why I haven't been able to focus enough to write, or take in everyone's amazing poetry here (which I dearly miss) because my vision/strength has been seriously impaired by insufficient oxygen supply to the blood. I'm starting iron infusions next week (providing my body responds to treatment) and hoping I'll be back on my feet and back to myself soon enough.
I hope you're all well & taking care. Feel free to tag me in your posts for me to read later. ~ I'll be around.