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  • alto_spade 49w

    Adrenaline rushed into
    my blood, the moment
    of downright numbness
    sneered at the lid toppling
    over my suppressed rage.
    Bitter coldness ran on my
    flesh, I clenched my fist, my
    bones craved for a thrust
    of pain and I needed to know
    if there was any life left under
    the dead man's skin I wore.
    I punched, swung my fist at
    concrete that stood helplessly
    in the dark. Fresh blood tipped
    over my bruised knuckles, I
    rammed my fist into shivering
    waters and in the midst of the
    tussle in my head a stinging
    sensation clasped my fingers.
    As I opened my fist, a sharp
    snap broke the silence and I
    chuckled at how lifeless it
    sounded. I had nothing to give
    up on, the walls played victim
    and my bones seldom felt the
    need to stop.
    ©alto_spade

    19/7/2019

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    Beside oneself
    -Even the loudest cracks die a silent death-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 49w

    A nostalgic longing to hold a
    chunk of lost time ushered
    whispers into long hours of
    loud love. Our blameworthy
    broken promises of an evening
    out, forlorn anniversaries and
    flirtatious glances of infidelity
    thrown for granted were caught
    and brushed off for a silent
    midday falling apart. When
    you grow tired of falling back
    to save love, grief files your
    tongue, storms don't stop you
    from slamming the door shut
    and barging out and darkness
    seldom feels like another erratic
    expression poets ink in metaphors.
    Forgetting to swim in the waters
    you've made oceans from drowned
    me in a myriad of night terrors.

    Waking up to a fatal, pitch black
    room didn't smoulder my heart
    as closing my eyes to your cold
    spine did.
    ©alto_spade

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    Dès vu
    -Most of us write poetries for
    the love that was never ours-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 50w

    Nitpicking confessions
    from corners of a loose
    thread. Silencing squeals
    of solicitude for time that
    bears suffering more than a
    pair of heavy lungs.

    A presence holding a name
    with uneven breaths waged
    a losing war against bones
    that knew nothing more than
    camouflaging trails of self
    destruction.

    Making room by walking away
    from a claustrophobic heart for
    a sunrise beyond the shimmering
    city lights. Far, a bit too far, for
    anyone to search and question
    you.

    The purity of incessant pain
    remains untouched. As no
    matter how far you run and
    barge through hell and back,
    what stays will stay running
    in your veins till you find a way
    to let it out.
    ©alto_spade

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    90 degrees
    -It's one of those days when I feel safer
    surrounded by walls than people-

  • alto_spade 50w

    Your empty eyes melted to no
    touch, your fluttering eyelashes
    stole courage from the ocean bed
    to remain unwaveringly cold, in
    the dark you couldn't lie no more
    letting the shades you wore to drift
    away with the setting sun. As you
    leaned over the top rails of your
    balcony with a fag in between your
    lips, I wondered if another would
    be lit and then one more. Your
    smeared mascara has tales of its
    own, each one screaming out the
    words you feared to utter to another
    soul. Your nails looked polished
    with coal and trimmed to scrape
    off unfettered charm, your delicate
    wrists hiding beneath your sleeves
    still lacked the credence to be flaunted
    to the world. The wind blew on your
    tears, as it consoled you I saw the
    lust bites that you wore on your
    collarbone. The sterling silver chain
    swirled around your neck, a few
    inches away from your tucked away
    heart, it homed a tiny crescent
    moon that resembled the smile
    you've lost. You don't need someone
    to share your pain or hear you cry,
    you've learned to put on a strong
    face all on your own. You don't need
    a person to hold you close, kiss you
    softly on your scars and caress the
    bruises on your waist, you found
    out it's easier to jump from one to
    the next.

    It's a chilly night, the stars ain't
    shining bright, the city has gone
    to sleep turning off its lights and
    you seem too wild to care with
    that glass of wine swaying you to
    life's misery weaved melody. You
    need someone as broken as you
    to stitch your pieces together with
    his as a friend and a foe. I watch
    you take another drag, I want to
    get deeper into you, so I bid you
    good night as I'm not the stranger
    for you tonight.
    ©alto_spade


    1/4 - You can't hide it
    #avs1

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    Crescent moon
    -You needed someone to hold your hand
    in the dark and let it go in the morning-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 50w

    Bridges collapsed, armies fell, the sky turned crimson purple as nightcrawlers dragged away whisperers into suicide forests where death was the least agonizing torture. I hastened into open ranches, snowy terrains and into the arms of wildfires, brushing off nature's wrath and stumbling closer into hell's jaws. They found me shivering, bleeding, rotting and hanging on to my last breaths in a jet black sea cave pleasing my stomach growls with half handfuls of salt and rock dirt. I was forced to embrace the mayhem under the daylight, I sat through it days and nights, I suffered through it for long hours faking an assuring smile and nodding as a response to stick figures donning teal and white. They let me go into the world, plastic cuboid shapes commanded a herd of insanity doped leaches to feed off on each other's blood. All it would take is a perfect slit, ear to ear, right across the neck to completely silence them and feel nothing at all for one last time. The thought just ran in circles in my clustered mind, knocking down the focal points of tolerance and restraint.

    Stitches across my neck, hands and legs strapped to a wooden chair, weights dangling over my shoulders and nail holes adorned my feet under a white light as he walked up to me with a notepad in hand and a bored look dancing on his wrinkles.

    Do you want to live?
    Do I look like I do?
    Do you want to die?
    Do you need to ask?

    My whimpers were his answers, answers he didn't take to his heart, he scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to them. They took me to the streets, jolted me around town, clawed my chest and shoved pills down my throat.

    Years later, now, I wear only turtlenecks, they tell me to smile, I laugh, they order me to make love, I do, they convince me to spit on my kids, I throw my kin out. At 3:30 in the morning I go to work, I see one of those brainless rebels with slit wrists crying to live a life and I walk away smiling at them. There's no life in hell, there's only pain, excruciating pain and the silent tales are known only to the cilice belt tightening around my neck.
    ©alto_spade



    Heavily, heavily, inspired by George Orwell's 1984.

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    Hoodwinking tricksters
    -Death is mercy and it is one reward life
    doesn't give away in bundles-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 50w

    During the nights we ran
    through the alleys, dodging
    every stranger on the way.
    Sneaking into a nightclub
    as an escape from the voices
    ringing in our heads. We held
    hands and caressed our lifelines
    that didn't run long.The live
    music played quite loud in the
    background and drunk dancers
    swayed on their toes through
    the tipsy night.

    One too many shots of grey
    goose down your throat dug
    thunder from the pit of your
    stomach. You are a soul that
    knows pain, deep enough to
    ignite another. The songs
    sound like they were written
    for you on a late chilly winter
    night in the middle of December.

    A striking blow on my nape
    shoved me onto the stage with
    the world's eyes glued on me.
    You were right there in the
    front row, cheering and mouthing
    unscripted tales. I stood there
    motionless with no ounce of
    breath enough to utter a word.

    It felt like the world came
    crashing down and I was in
    the middle of a burning hell.
    And you were staring, with
    the same glint in your eye
    that broke the heaven I knew.

    Everyone and everything faded,
    I was never too far away from you.
    The limits I went and the oceans
    I swam were nothing to you, call
    it grunt work but it went in vain.
    You became my worst fear and
    looking into your eyes burned my
    very own.

    May it be in a bar, on a stage,
    near the shore, atop of a mountain
    or right now in front of my mirror,
    you were never beside but inside me.
    What I held and feared will always
    be lingering in my chest. Dug a
    hole to bury my empty memories and
    the uneasiness proved to me of
    how I was uncomfortable in my
    own body.

    The seconds clock sounded
    like a ticking bomb and I have
    no intention of rebelling, so I
    wait during the long nights for
    a sign that you didn't leave me.
    ©alto_spade

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    Calypso
    -In between breaths and heartbeats, you've
    lost your facade to your struggling misty eyes-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 51w

    Death slithers through these
    iodoform snogged corridors,
    knocking on doors which
    have prayers and hopes keeping
    them shut. Will it choose to embrace
    a 15 year old who slit her
    wrists giving up to depression
    or a half a century old man
    who wants to spend a few more
    summers in this cold world?

    The heavens smirk at this
    hellhole, perhaps it was just
    a pity smile that lacked courage
    to bless. Pain isn't confined,
    it's contagious and no number
    of painkillers can heal an invisible
    wound that gnaws through
    flesh and eats up the bones.

    A few held inside them agony,
    tears and a breaking heart while
    a few had no more in them
    except for emptiness slowly
    creeping in. If death could only
    hear a cry, a cry that could
    break the silence it masters.
    A life's cry that begs for a day
    more not for its soul but for
    the one it loves.
    ©alto_spade

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    Grey wounds
    -Goodbyes have a tinge of sadness
    lingering around each syllable-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 51w

    Last night's Rye whiskey
    swirls around your half-cut
    fingers, intoxicating the
    crumbs of bones you are
    to forget how madly in
    love you were.

    The morning after drew
    you closer to the hell you've
    oddly found comfort in. The
    silent cries of melancholy
    gambled with the insanely
    indestructible pain growing
    from the wayward weeds
    of hope in your veins.

    Reality brings you
    down to your knees,
    striking you in the gut
    and lying in a puddle
    of broken trust you
    realised you can never
    see that sanguine
    smile on her face again.

    She walked behind you,
    following your footprints
    in the sand. Digging way
    deep into past scars and
    judging too quick what she
    saw. Frazzled, she wanted
    to walk past you.

    She did

    You could have stopped
    her but you have a body
    that feeds itself on lonely
    heartbreaks and she smelled
    like grief you could never
    find again.
    ©alto_spade

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    Trouvaille
    -I found solace in my unspoken words as
    they will never have the strength to reach you-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 51w

    You seldom scribbled
    tales of your nightmares,
    never tapped your fingers
    on escapades, buried
    your neck under threads
    to cloak the marks you
    prized yourself with and
    for what life needs to be
    lived for is one tale you
    always dreamt of knowing
    the end. One toss of the
    bottle sent whiskey dancing
    to the melancholic tunes
    winter played as gently as
    possible to hush you into
    a timeless slumber.
    ©alto_spade

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    40 winks
    -Look around, a bunch of pretty faces with
    lonely hearts and you're just one more in the crowd-
    ©alto_spade

  • alto_spade 51w

    I'm at the end of my
    rope, I got no patience
    left to undo the madcap
    knots tightening around
    my neck. The euphoria of
    reaching to the pinnacle
    of passing out filled up my
    crumbling lungs with a
    hunger for tainted breaths.
    The subtle art of compressing
    the right carotid artery,
    running on the side of my
    neck with my head under
    flowing water benched
    the thought of asking
    for help. Under my hood,
    pipe dreams got replaced
    by choke marks. Hours rolled
    by, the pressure on my chest
    grew enough to push me
    for another try
    ©alto_spade

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    Fool's paradise
    If your fears had a face, it would be your own.
    ©alto_spade