Author: andyveilleux

So much baggage

/ andyveilleux / 7 Comments

So much baggage:

Why do you still talk to HER?

Who are you sleeping with?

Why did you write on HER wall?

Who have you been dating?

Do you still talk to your exes?

Who is the last person you slept with?

Why did you friend your ex again?

Are you just going for coffee?

Which friend are you hanging out with?

What are you going to DO?

 

So many questions,

such a waste of breath,

stop worrying about things,

that don't really matter;

live happier.

new beginnings and new endings

/ andyveilleux / 13 Comments

 

It isn't my time yet,
the phoenix syndrome again,
burning out my frozen life,
filled with stagnant ideas,
confused thoughts and feelings,
from biting through wires,
trying to understand you.
 
I need a ressurection,
the second coming,
or maybe it's in the thousands,
but who's counting?
 
I wouldn't climb that mountain,
it's peaks are too high and icy,
I won't pay the reaper to go back,
that's far too pricey,
and in the end,
the cycle starts again.
 
I won't pull out a guitar and sing,
that's for the con-artists and kids,
trying to bed you under their favourite star,
or any of them, because he doesn't know the difference,
or how much you've already given away with your mouth,
and all the inappropriate things we said,
as far as he's concerned a lay is a lay,
and if he's got you naked it's been a good day.
 
I remember when life was that easy,
actually I don't, because I'm not like that,
it takes more than a random night to keep me smiling,
and even though sometimes I'm unhappy,
no one ever called me out for a lack of trying.
 
Democracies tend to favour civil liberties, 
but Mill knows what you'd give for me,
to be your overwhelming fascist,
like I used to be on our mattress,
and are those too strong of words?
 
No, because it's important to strike chords,
that'll make people listen,
break out of the soul-battering system,
love and passion aren't dead,
listen to the voices in your head,
Loneliness is a reaction to a need not being met,
and the only way to fill it is to get your life set,
and stop looking back,
that's all in the past,
and it can't help you now,
it'll only drag you down.
 
New beginnings,
new endings,
are we at the end or the beginning,
and what does it matter anyways?
 
I see new wings sprouting from my back,
or they're old wings I couldn't remember I had,
refurbished wings,
carrying me skyward,
and I know you'll come in the night like a thief,
a solo act of wisdom bearing three gifts of grief,
waiting to give away all your worst parts,
packaged with your body, passion, and smarts,
a one-way ticket to take away a piece of your heart,
and who would take you up on the offer of a second-hand start?

Sudbury: An unfinished poem, for an unfinished city

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

 

 
The cold, frigid tempratures,
mix with the black, tailings-stained rocks,
which seperate the occasional sprinkling of vegetation,
to create the hard rock landscape we call home,
and the people are spread out just like the trees.
 
Who'd want to stay in a place like that?
I would, and apparently so would a lot of people.
 
Sudbury's not all bad,
and it's getting better,
There are a lot of people here,
who are trying, 
and are succeeding, 
at making a difference.
 
Trust me,
I can feel the pulse of the city,
and it's getting stronger.
 
The city needs a shake-up,
it needs new blood,
but what city doesn't?
 
There's so much potential here,
so much talent.
 
The city needs to listen,
and then accept the new generations,
who are feeling alienated,
and leaving en masse.
 
…..

nothing lasts

/ andyveilleux / 5 Comments

 

I was in love with Finland,
her beautiful blonde hair,
and the bluest of eyes,
but especially,
the tender way she spoke to me,
held onto me as if it was forever.
 
I was in love with Ireland,
her fire burned my heart to a crisp,
and I stuck around to watch it, 
and see what it would do to my soul;
what a lovely fury,
what an intense love.
 
Everyone other country of my past,
is woven into a tapestry,
as are the countries I currently visit,
and it's so beautiful,
but how long does beauty last?
 
All that glitters…
nothing lasts…

I don't believe my memories

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

 

Sober moments of reflection,
I've come to doubt,
with all of my heart.
 
I don't believe my memories,
they don't feel real enough,
and it was too long ago to recall,
with any accuracy.
 
Where's the authentication?
You're not crying on my chest,
or ripping at my heart,
any longer,
so did you ever?
How would I know?
 
I wouldn't.
 
My compass is broken,
I'm lost a sea,
with mirages all around me,
and where do I go from here,
when every direction is North?
 
I'll just drift along now,
and you should run along now,
there's nothing left of me,
that you'll recall fondly,
so don't recall me at all,
it'll hurt both of us,
too much.
 
you should run along now,
even though,
it'll hurt both of us,
too much.

a sucker for staring

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

 
Your eyes won't leave my mind,
They're stuck there,
suspended in time,
and in my life.
 
How is that for broken,
I can't break your stare,
and you left awhile ago,
you were never there.
 
But I'm a sucker for staring,
into too many beautiful eyes,
and it always catches up to me,
and I wouldn't have it another way.
 
You've caught me,
a squirrel in your bear trap,
too weak for these game,
I'm wasting away and it's not a wrap,
not yet at least,
beggin my ghosts to leave,
and my demons joined the party,
I just can't win,
I need to get settled,
figure out what's happening,
and how my world's been turned over,
despite my protests and four-lear clover.
 
And that's life, 
my lovely,
that's life.
 
Would you have it any other way?
 
I wouldn't.
 
Life for excitement,
or die of boredom.

you asked and i delivered

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

 

You asked me for a poem,
and I'm here to deliver,
but what will it mean,
if it's forced,
or broken?
 
Can I write for you,
as though I was a painter,
painting portraits on commission,
Maybe I'm an abstract artist and,
your nose isn't even on your face,
and your beautiful eyes are nowhere.
 
Am I hiding the best parts of you,
because I'm scared to lose you,
to somebody else?
 
Maybe I should stop,
with my selfishness,
and share you openly.
 
No.
 
You are my lovely secret,
and maybe my secret love.
 
There's an end coming,
a great wave of nothing,
but there's no saviour,
no upcoming heroic behaviour,
 
 
What becomes of us,
are we to be,
hollowed out,
left for dead?
 
Broken hearts from the future,
already sensing the end is near,
and who could blame them?
 
The reality breaks through,
and destroys the dream we've built,
and who are we to fight against it?
 
Nobody,
but it's time,
to be somebodies.

Frankenstein living

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

run away,
because everyone else has,
and everyone else will,
that's the law of the land.
 
 
People shouldn't stick around,
spending time with corpses,
if you've got more life,
get the hell out now!
 
But if you're dead too,
we may as well stay together,
share in one another's misery,
try and harvest the dying grains,
or all the memories we made together,
when we cared.
 
Maybe we have no memories,
the lesion method of living,
or maybe we've overloaded our minds,
dying for something important to come along,
and hold on for dear life,
a reminder that we may live again.
 
Frankenstein living;
pieces of broken hearts,
strung together backwards,
a patchwork of broken souls;
eveyrthing we've ever known,
was faked or never existed.

It was better than nothing

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

 

 
That's where you're meant to be,
Not stuck with some old soul like me.
 
It really meant something,
back then in the dead months,
even if our life only existed,
between the sheets or in anger.
 
It was better than nothing,
and better than anything we had,
before each other,
wasn't it?
 
I'm not afraid that I'll hurt you again,
because we both know I would,
and you would hurt me,
the pain is too easy,
not as difficult as love.
 
Love's the part we never got right,
we were so good at the pain and despair, 
we lived for it.
 
Self-destructive doesn't describe it,
it's a petty, importent word,
meant for petty and impotent people,
and we're not guilty of that,
most of the time.
 
An air of immaturity choked us,
from time to time,
but that's life.