poetry

the first picture

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

The first picture is the dagger,

not meant for killing blows,

meant for suffering and pain.

 

Suffering and pain is fine,

that's what fuels the fire,

or passion and growth;

nothing builds like the bad,

times and all the bones I stomped,

on my path to the top of the ant hill.

 

What love comes for the king ant,

can not be described simply,

in your kiss of death;

it's in the past.

 

Hearts have moved on,

but some feelings remain strong,

like those of hatred and volatile reaction,

and he way my body convulses at the thought of it.

 

These kid gloves refuse to come up,

permanently sewn onto my weak flesh hands,

with barbed wire soaked in sulphuric acid and vomit,

a mirror of my corrupted soul;

still trying to get better,

better times happened,

in a past life,

or forgotten memory.

 

Your ghost is weak,

and my resolve is weaker.

 

There was a time I was built for this;

mucking my way through some resemblance of hell,

fueled by a passion fallen out of favour,

long ago.

 

Do you remember it?

It doesn't remember you,

passion forgets quicker than sunsets,

on the boulevard where innocence was lost some time ago,

in its place resounds a soft, unsure echo,

fighting for its own space,

in this timid rat race,

where corpses wed,

the good are dead,

and my soul pukes up daisies,

symbolic of the lies it was fed,

it must have been something that was said,

or the mindless blood that was shed,

ridiculous,

blood doesn't have a mind,

and maybe you're over-exuberant rush of it,

explains something.

 

maybe the mirror's judging you,

again.

Shadows hang from these walls

/ andyveilleux / 3 Comments

The shadows hang from the off-white ceiling,

made of aged tiles with their black paint spatters,

held together by cheap metal supports,

never moving or changing much,

save for the almost-yellow glow age gives white.

 

The shadows seem to roll down the walls,

pressing their weight down upon my shoulders,

forcing me to question my lofty dreams and ambitions.

 

These are the days people don't talk about;

the words never add up;

that sinking feeling,

in the pit of your stomach;

a thick belt of lead,

limiting everything you do,

impossible to ignore.

 

Anxiety has a way of destroying a person;

the slowest erosion, 

a harsh wind scraping the bare, unprotected rocks,

and throwing all the soil away,

until vegetation is impossible;

nothing lives there anymore.

 

The wind refuses to give up its assault,

my rocky exterior is smooth like glass,

and just as transparent and fragile;

where has all my soil gone?

Sleep begs my surrender

/ andyveilleux / 4 Comments

You occupy my dreams;

is that a good omen,

or a warning sign?

 

Sleep begs my surrender,

but the words come first,

the words are always first.

 

Could tomorrow be important,

or will it be another day on the calendar,

where nothing of consequence happens?

 

I feel the warm, fuzzy happiness,

or not truly caring either way,

as I drift off in between these lines.

Sleep begs my surrender

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

You occupy my dreams;

is that a good omen,

or a warning sign?

 

Sleep begs my surrender,

but the words come first,

the words are always first.

 

Could tomorrow be important,

or will it be another day on the calendar,

where nothing of consequence happens?

 

I feel the warm, fuzzy happiness,

or not truly caring either way,

as I drift off in between these lines.

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.