Month: March 2018

Samurai of chaos and order

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

Half of me sleeps and

wakes up again,

The other half

laughs

all the time,

but hits like

a full punch,

a straight to the face

I was walking towards

that sits me down again.

 

On better nights I sit

and take it all in –

there must be somewhere that

feels like home –

the lights dazzle

and the crowd cheers,

the bed sheets hug me.

 

On worse nights I wake

still ordinary and plain

and corrupt from deep within –

every fibre of every inch of

bent, hammered steel of hatred

and destruction and cunning.

 

I am the two edges of excitement –

chaos and order –

dancing on one blade together.

 

I’ll cut you so you can feel alive,

and I’ll take every arrow fired at you,

to make my life feel less worthless.

Kings and gutters

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

There’s a king for every castle,

and a degenerate for every gutter,

but the world is filled with gutters and so few castles.

 

Man jumps at a passing star,

his own shot,

and falls through the sewers

much more often than catching it.

 

The history of human excellence is the story

of climbing out of the shit to build an empire

when everybody refused to pick you up.

Digging out

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

The stale, winter apartment air filters through my nose, entering my once-mighty lungs. The powerful, lean frame has become softer, older and scarred. The scars on the outside seem to heal stronger, but the internal damage keeps leaking and flooding the empty cavity of my soul. My heart is somewhere in that lake – drowning – just splashing around waiting for one pathetic donut of a life raft to stumble into my world. The off-white, beige-personality girls pass through my life – so many faces on that digital screen – without leaving so much as a pin-size scar. Nothing worth remembering. No one worth foregoing the precious sleep of life for.

A migraine begs my skull to cave, and depression begs my heart to stop. My wandering ambition is just happy to watch words vomit onto the page, hoping it can steel itself against the tide of indifference and neglect. The multitude of missed first steps and false starts shake an already-wobbling confidence. The bravado and brash nature of too many yesterday’s is lost in the blizzard of aged emotions.  No path emerges, but the words look like a shovel and warm clothes. It’s time to start digging out.