lewlewalice

[lewlewalice]

I try not to think too much about the morning after.

Universes will shatter.

The universe will remain the same.

Still.

What about my parents, my brothers?

I'll have the purity of a dead dove.

I’d like my ashes mixed with glitter

So they’ll stick to everyone’s clothes

And make them brighter.

[lewlewalice]

God was dead.

And distracted by flickering fluorescent images on their phones, commercial music in their ears, and shiny pocket money in their hands, no human had noticed.

Nobody had noticed when there were no more feathers on the streets, when the concrete megastructures had reached the clouds. Nor when the whales went silent, swallowed by the hum of offshore platforms that had completely covered the oceans. When the sun was no longer bright enough to pierce through the smog, no one seemed to care—multicolored neon advertisements still lit up the streets, anyway.

Without a God to watch, the angels had come down. Someone said you could see them—skin like a peach, though no one remembered what that fruit was; eyes like an owl, though no one had ever seen one. Smoking cigarettes on empty balconies, in crowded night-clubs, taking the worst drugs.

Someone said the devils had come up too. They sat next to the homeless, on cardboard beds. Jobless for so long—since humans were born. Since Adam and Eve had stolen the apple, strangled the snake to eat it too, and used its poison to kill God.

Its huge, intangible body had begun to rot beneath the cyber cities. It smelled of tidal waves, hurricanes, and nuclear winters.

It was time to be reborn—for the birds, the trees, and the whales—after the infinitesimal era of humans, with their weapons and electricity.

It wasn’t enough to replace God after all, was it?

[lewlewalice]

God left the clay from which you are made wet and pliable, so that you too might take part in his divine creation. Turn your flesh toward the sun like a sunflower. It will dry your tears and your body with its warm radiation.

(I read a post very similar to this a while ago but I don't remember where. Anyway, it's inspired by that and also other things in my life, all that to say it's normal if it seems to you to have already read it somewhere, it's very largely inspired blah blah blah)

[lewlewalice]

I understand the hamster spinning endlessly in its wheel

And the gloomy tiger circling in its cage.

I'm crazy like the first, striped like the second.

Locked up like both of them.

I paced the hospital courtyard until I counted a thousand steps. And it seemed like not a second had passed.

Luckily, I'm neither a rodent nor a wild animal; I have hope of being free one day.

(not a very good poem but who cares)

[lewlewalice]

Time sticks like dust between my fingers.

I'm locked in two prisons at once: the psychiatric hospital and my mind. To escape the first, I must free myself from the second, but this prison has neither key nor door, and its bars are invisible.

[lewlewalice]

This is my face but this isn’t my face. Triangular and crimson drew by Kanoguti.

It’s red and scary, smell like cadaverine and rosary.

I will die in a long time, decades of decomposition in a societal cemetery.

My mind is a corrupted USB key.

Alone. ME

Do you really know the colors of the things? Really?

Is the sky blue to you ? Only blue ? Only?

Then you don’t observe. You can’t see.

It’s an evidence but people will say my perception is one square on the side from the right square of normality.

This is my face, my envelope. My mind is an infinite letter. Tear my skin open like paper or a surgery.

I tell guitars, bunny, father, dog, death stories.

Other faces aren’t my real one, but something make me believe it is.

An old lady, a young boy, a red cadaver. Not a physical reality.

I’m scared of it. I flinch over things that exist only for me. With me.

Do you really know the colors of the things? Really?

Have you ever seen your blood in abnormal quantity? Have you kept it in a jar out of your body?

What color are people (body)? I don’t know. I’m separated from human by a glass breakable by drugs only.

Psychoactive make me feel comfort, like a lot of human achieve without needing pills. I achieve normality chemically.

It also make my brain and mouth connected by a slide, every idea fall free.

And everything is clear, limpid.

In a way, every thing had always been clear, if you gave me the opportunity to tell them. Put them out of me like my blood out of my body.

Exhibition of raw meat and I’m not chewy.

I fake humanity good for a day but I lead me to decay. It’s not me.

I’m scared of the same thing than Kanoguti.

Like snapped fingers, I fall down the hole of insanity.

Doll disjointed by red guitar promises.

Breath, Breath.

I write to protect, for or all the hase who were once a bunny.

Reflection of someone on a pale pink board I’m the only one who can see.

I wish I wrote good poetry.

Good art like Kanoguti.

Someone says hello, by the window. It’s scary.

I’m not grounded. I want to cry. I’m thorny.

I know it’s not real, but it doesn’t mean it can’t hurt me.

KANOGUTI is an artist who creates somewhat strange video games. I had a little crisis one morning and wrote this.

[lewlewalice]

The peace had settled at The Citadel thanks to Imperator Furiosa and it had left the desert thirsty for blood. That’s when a rumor started, traveling, crawling, on fury road, from dry mouth to burned ears, exchanged for a drop of water or some rotting meat. Possessing among its words the only thing able to threaten the endless expanse of sand: hope.

Millions of people wanted to try their luck, and so millions began to migrate. Waves of bodies dried out by the sun, roaring tides shook the desert floor. There was peace, somewhere; one only had to cross the burning mountains, the dead lands, the dusty highways, and finally Fury Road, because in the distance, peace settled quietly, under a woman's sway, and with it, greenery returned, to this place called The Citadel. Where, they said, water and food abounded, enough for everyone.

Well, that was not what everyone thought. Some thought: enough for me, enough to give me power if I took control over it.

I'm a little fixated on Mad Max at the moment so I wrote this.

[lewlewalice]

How does the metal and the blood taste at the top of your mouth, gun kisser? How does the air feel, brushing the hole in your skull? You did a bit shiver, when you pulled the trigger. You did miss all the parts that could’ve kill you, it made you dull.

Now your face, is one of an expired. You died once, Now your face is one of a killer You slayed once

It’s two life lost for one attempt. One stone, two birds. Yet you walk. Yet you talk. With now your face a buckshot-mock. The others will see you as a victim. You pained them, they’ll also see you dim.

Now your face, can’t even show the only feeling that remains, Now your face, is the epitome of the little that remains Your face, that you sculpted with one gunshot and too much pain.

Now your face, is one of an expired. Now your face is one of a killer A gun kisser.

[lewlewalice]

Make love to me, not just because I'm a woman

Not just for my soft body that caresses your eyes

Not just for my sex that ignites all those of your kind.

Not just because I'm a woman.

Because it's been enough for too many men

To violate my envelope and my self.

Make love to me like you pray to a god

In the purest and most innocent union

May each moans, our eyes to the heaven above

Be a symbol of our adoration

May our hands tie,

Until our skin sanctify.

Make love to me; like fire burns the forest

Consume me until my little death.

Consume me, as if you needed it to exist.

May our hot bodies burn the sheets

Warm my heart, ablaze.

Make love to me, come into my hold,

And stay with me, until were old

Make love to me like I have a soul.

[lewlewalice]

I will go, places you can't follow.

I love from afar, I love low.

My love is an empty Bed,

And an open window,

My love will make you feel,

until the end,

like a beloved widow

You'll tell me 'I love you' and be met by silence.

You'll be left with nothing but the scars of my absence

[lewlewalice]

"It's been a long time Since you last cried" Said a voice hidden in the back of my skull. It was not mine, 'cause 'me' was no more than just a pile of flesh and bones and 80% void. 'I' wasn't. The only reminder of life in the corpse lying there was the breath it  couldn't take, the loud beat of a heart trying to get free from it's rib  cage, And the tears. "It's been a long time Since you last cried. But those eyes, Never got the odds to dry."

[lewlewalice]

She’s not the love of your life, just a lover for one night

Manic pixie dream girl in micro dose

All her drugs in overdose

[lewlewalice]

God from the start made me for betrayal. I have the sharpest teeth behind the softest lips, my skin is like one of a peach but the energy that fuel my heart is pure rage and I crave and I crave but I'll never be satisfied and I love and I love but I can't commit.

[lewlewalice]

I seriously wonder sometimes if I must’ve once been a soldier boy, for how war always makes me weep. Or maybe his sister, or his ma’.

I must've been on the field, frail and scared, my trembling fingers wrapped 'round the barrel of a gun, tears running down my red, round cheeks — for I'm still a boy, not yet a man.

I have dirt everywhere, on my clothes and on my unwrinkled skin. I'm damp and freezing and I don't know to whom belongs the blood pooling in the snow at my feet.

It could’ve been my sister's, my brother's, my ma's or da's. For that, I weep, like war always makes me do.

I've seen too many boys fall, for the orders of a man who'll never walk this snowy field. I smoked cigarettes in the trench, shoulder to shoulder with other scared folks. I’ve seen my brother call the nurse ‘ma’, for they needed comfort in this hell.

We stand on trembling legs in the red, melting snow, the ice salted with our tears — and the enemy cries too.

Now there are no more nurses, no more cigarettes.

The only thing smoking is the barrel of my gun.

[lewlewalice]

That girl in the mirror is pretty

But she's not me.

I'm the paper, she's the enveloppe.

I'm a letter and a moment.

She's the constance, I am instant.

She's the sempiternel buzz of electric courant.

It is a phase.

Life is only an addition of phases for the same old face.

There is no constant state of the self.

There is no real self.

You are a collection of neurones sharing the same memory and flesh.

That girl in the mirror is pretty

But she's not me.

Still I say I and I see,

That girl in copy.

[lewlewalice]

I practice laying in my tomb days before,

To be sure when I’d kill myself

death was what I wanted.

and I would be perfect in death.

I wasn’t.

Life clings to me like an old stain.

[lewlewalice]

I feel like I can't survive without creating. (Here's some poetry I wrote last month)