From the High Rise Where I Will Commit Suicide


Everything looks so meager down below,
As miniscule as the stars overhead,
Each dot an entire person,
An entire world upon which everything else revolves,
Unmoving by other worlds amassing their own gravitational pulls,
Each one self-contained, suffering its own entropy.
Yes, these people are dying stars,
Once so bright, but fading out quickly,
Sliding toward oblivion, taking entire worlds with them.
It evokes the age-old question, “Why do we bother?”
I thought the city would provide comfort,
Some transient camaraderie or psychological affluence,
But just like the crimson damsel who exiled me here,
This parochial prison only entreats solitude
And a growing reclusion atop my perch,
Where I examine countless people—
And admit with no alacrity or pleasure
That mine is a barren solar system,
No worlds or lives revolving around whatever light I exude,
Deriving no subsidy from my warmth,
Unfazed by the lure of my gravitational pull.
So like that rare star, I serve only to observe from a distance,
Perhaps that someone may achieve data from my death—
Inescapably brighter and more bombastic than my life.
If supernova is truly all I have to look forward to,
Allow me to hasten its arrival, so that someone may learn from its occurrence
Without learning anything of the star itself.




This is the landscape of my soul,
Reaped of the famine that would set in motion the apocalypse.
The stars have waged war with the sky,
And where you see salvation and safeguard—
Perspective derived from the dilution of your spirituality—
I see the beginning of the end,
Because I am fallen, a demon,
And in this state my soul is trapped in
There is no perception of hope or rescue.
We are all doomed,
Because you and I were the link to life,
And with our chain severed,
This earth is condemned to perish;
And we, its saviors, our responsible for its destruction.
So the world can behold our savagery
As the slaughterers of seven billion,
And our hatred—
Bred from the love we possessed and tarnished—
Has rendered us Thanatos
To exist forever in this penitent Tartarus.

Would it Kill You to Kill Me?

Author’s note: these are actually lyrics to a song I wrote some time ago. I have restructured them here to read a little better. I would share the song itself, but I’m shite at singing.

I’ve waited so long,
I’ve waited to carry you home in my arms,
I’ve waited for that second chance,
I’ve waited for that gift that you’ll never give.
I’ve waited for all the things—
Beautiful things that hypnotize and entrance.
Contemplate the rest,
And let me die with my head buried in your chest.

Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you just to go ahead and set me free?
Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you to eradicate this disease?

I can’t even bear it,
So go on take this confession
And tear it to shreds,
Hope there’s nothing left—
No memory of me for you to cling to.
And if I die, would that be enough for you to satisfy
Your sanguinary horrific desires?
Your catatonic liars?

Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you just to go ahead and set me free?
Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you to eradicate this disease?

I’m already dying,
So drive these nails in and crucify me!
These lacerations won’t last—
Merely another mistake from your past,
And I won’t pretend that they didn’t happen,
‘Cause you know they did.
Should I act in blind obeisance,
Or would you rather subject me to your abuse?

Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you just to go ahead and set me free?
Would it kill you to kill me?
Would it kill you to eradicate this disease?
Would it kill you to kill me?
Won’t you do it for me? Won’t you, please?
Would it kill you to kill me?
Why can’t you for once deliver me?


An Appeal of Sorts


I often wonder what would happen if I were to die tomorrow.
Would the lives I’ve drifted into weep for me?
Would there be eulogies and platitudes spoken in my honor?
How would you remember me, at the end?
Would it be with fondness,
As someone who loved you, lifted you up,
And offered something no one had before?
Or would you feel caustic, hating me
For my deprivation and abandonment?
You see, these are the thoughts that torment me,
Urging me to tear the flesh off my face
And immolate myself in some morbid asceticism;
But there is no atoning, is there—
No erasing pasts or healing wounds?
I can only hope tomorrow will not be my last
And, more importantly,
That whatever day is, you will be there beside me,
Standing vigil as my soul departs this realm forevermore.


Are All Farewells This Bitter?

Horseman Death

The edifice has collapsed.
It wasn’t conspiracy,
Just a lack of maintenance,
Allowing the supports to bend
And the cracks to widen
Until it all fell down.
This is your life, or rather
Your existence,
Because you are not living,
Despite the oxygen you consume.
Those eyes are dead;
You are a wraith moving through this world.
You may declare otherwise,
But the confessions you purge
Are ludonarrative dissonance
Betrayed by your inertia.
You have invited apocalypse
To your doorstep,
And against the might of its fury
I am powerless;
This is the end.
The horsemen will spread their disaster
As you grieve over ghosts
And a life you never gave a chance.
I reached out to your rescue,
And in so doing
Sacrificed both my arms.
Helpless, bleeding,
And useless,
I cannot watch another tear drop,
Cannot hear another cry from your throat;
My sympathy has dried.
Now, with a back turned
And a fractured mind,
I leave in your personal Gehenna,
With all the prayers and supplications
I can incant on your behalf,
Knowing even as I do
It will never be enough.


A Betrayed’s Lament





Sketch by claralieu

You bring out the worst in me:
That darkness I’ve struggled so hard to suppress.
I didn’t realize it until today,
Staring at meaningless words
On an artificial screen,
Trying to capture the essence
Of everything I feel for you,
Everything I’ve felt.
It has all unraveled before my eyes,
And the person I thought made me strongest
Through nothing but a smile and presence
Has allied with my worst enemy
To deceive me, trick me,
And eviscerate my emotions.
It is the words you speak,
Melting the coldness of my soul,
Because they are exactly what I yearn for;
But without action they mean nothing,
And you would not lift a finger,
Even if it meant I fell to my death.
You have killed me, you know;
And in the jowls of Tartarus
I languish in my solitude,
Wondering if Hades deems this justice
Or, like you, if he just doesn’t care.


Ponderings on the Shores of Death

Alone on the shore

What do you do
When the loneliness creeps into your heart,
Crushing you with the weight
Of a thousand temples that once stood
As monuments to your empire of amorosity?
How can you combat
Something that is so real,
Yet so intangible,
And strikes like a hurricane,
Crashing into the coast,
Felling even the tallest buildings
As though they were anthills?
This was never meant to be my fate,
But here I am, perennially,
Suffocating in this space,
So open because I share it with no one,
And yet it constricts me,
As though the space I occupy is more than I have.
Will death come soon,
Leaving my soul in regret
Because every achievement,
Every interaction,
Every thought, desire, and emotion
Was squandered, never shared,
And lost to oblivion?
If so, then this life is as waste;
These words are waste;
These breaths are waste;
And if I should forever exist on this bank of Styx,
Charon could not come swiftly enough
To ferry my soul to the underworld,
Where others know my solitude.


A Beautiful Existence, Fleeting

Near death silhouette

You are not a possession.
You do not belong to me or any other;
You belong to yourself,
And who you choose to dole out grace to
Is just that: a choice.
For as much power as you wield,
You cannot prevent the world’s pain,
And in the end, there will be obliteration.
Woe for this apocryphal regime
I alone elected into power,
Knowing full well the gambit I took;
But what choice was there, really,
In light of your necromancy—
Resurrecting me, even if for yourself?
You had attributed my altruism to kindness,
But I have never claimed to be a good man,
And I attest now I am no such thing;
I am selfish, seeking to extend this life—
This fleeting blessing you bestowed—
And though you would never admit it,
You know the truth.
Despite the sheer terror that subjugates my spirit,
I thank you still,
But as I learn time and again,
Life does not last,
And in the end death will always conquer.
At least it was a beautiful life.


Renewal Through Bloodshed

River of blood

You are my hubris,
My succubus,
Feeding on every ounce of pessimism
Draining from this puerile cadaver.
You sit across from me,
Smiling in the way only you can,
Delighting in how your mere presence
Is enough to derail my sensibilities.
Since time immemorial,
Or so it seems,
You have been there,
Knife in hand waiting to thrust:
To make me bleed,
Watch me squirm,
And suckle my wounds
With your infernal agenda;
But by the gods of Olympus,
And the heavens,
I will no longer deign to live under your heel—
Your oppressive sadism.
You are a witch,
A demon,
And I will strangle you,
Eviscerate you,
Disembowel you,
And watch your blood cleanse these streets
Of the filth you’ve perforated them with,
And I will not cease
Until you are ash at my feet.




If I had to describe the sensation
Of stepping into your iridescent presence,
Knowing I can only get so close—
Never close enough to bask in your light—
It would be the panic of suffocation,
The constriction in the chest
That paralyzes all rational thought
And ignites a frenzy of apprehension,
Except I can still breathe;
And no matter how long I struggle,
I cannot escape the pain,
The sensation of life fading,
The realization that death is creeping into my soul.
Everything turns grey;
Nothing amuses or mollifies.
All ambition that once burned
Has now been doused, smothered;
Sometimes it makes me scream out
Or pace back and forth
Within the confines of these sallow walls,
But most of the time I just sit and stare:
Vapid, nothing more than a shell,
As if I am dead already,
Because once you stepped into my world,
Vivacious and ethereal in every breath,
I realized in your absence, there is only death.