This morning I stared at my
veins, and I realized they’re as
blue as an ocean during sunrise

And I’ve been drowning in
myself since my first breath

For how long must I
breathe underwater?

Am I still alive if my soul
feels like it's sinking
endlessly
into the abyss?

I catch a star in my palm, and
it brightens my dark thoughts

God is far from me tonight,
so I pray to the moon

The midday sun burns me
like my mother’s touch

I am all the dreams
you had at night,
but forgotten
in the morning

I scratched my head,
and a memory got
stuck under my nail

I sang to my aching heart,
it is yearning to be broken, again
Call it love

If I leave, I wonder if
peace will visit my grave

Next to my pillow,
I keep a bottle
of her perfume

All of my longings are
for her small hand
holding mine

My heart still aches,
but only for her

And my poems only end
with her

I cannot utter what
is bothering my soul

Perhaps it is the fire
of my own mind  

The same fire that
kept me warm was
the one to burn me

Or perhaps it is the
unbearable weight of
my sleepless eyelids

The closest thing I can reach for
is this harmful glowing cigarette

I tend to worship the
things that burn me

You burn me

I burned for you,
but my love’s flame
was suffocating you

Our hearts were
scattered ashes,
I’m sorry I couldn’t
carry yours gently

There are certain things
I cannot explain such as

This suffocating flesh  
This howling knife
This harmful yearning   
This hungry heart

I am yearning with
an ache for something
sharp to caress my arms

Christopher is utterly wrapped
within the cocoon of his own mind.

One can vividly see him
as he struggles with
understanding what
others think, feel, and believe.

Therefore, his self-identity,
his idea of himself,
is practically the same as his
sense of the outside world.

2.
Unlike everyone else,
Christopher does not seem to care
about being identified by other people.

He prefers to spend his time by his lonesome,
it somehow keeps him more connected with
reality which is something he struggles with.

3.
Christopher is quite an observer,
he views the world
in a distinct, but a unique way.

4.
Christopher never uttered the word father,
for it was heavy on his tongue,
like heavy rain on a bleak midnight.  

His mother loved him, or
ruined him and called it love.
He cannot tell the difference
between these two things.

So whenever he loved someone,
he’d unintentionally break their heart,
and utterly ruin any chance of love.

5.
Christopher beloved was
in the shape of a knife,
so he used her to write this story.
The gushing blood was his ink,
and the tears were his last silent screams

The cigarette hasn’t left
my ugly mouth
ever since yours left mine

Now I cannot speak
without pouring
as a frightening  rainy night
I cannot love
without burning
my heart and yours
I cannot breathe
without gasping for your scent
I cannot think
without remembering
the meaning behind your name

And I cannot eat
without being consumed
by my unsatisfiable hunger

For you,
I starve

She forced me to pray for a god
that never answered my prayers

When I told her that I wish to die,
she told me to recite Al-Ikhlāṣ

In her own eyes,
I was a sinner who didn’t worship
the same imaginary friend as hers

An imaginary friend that let her
steal my innocence instead of saving me
from her cruel hands and piercing eyes

How can I worship a god that
didn’t listen to my desperate cries
when I was abused,
abandoned, and bruised

All my years, I’ve been preparing to die,
and now they’re forcing me to stay alive
Claiming they can heal my wounded soul
by shocking my brain causing more trauma

How do you go back
from being buried?
How do you find peace
when you know what’s awaiting you?
How do you love
when your heart has stopped?
How do you remember
when you’ve lost your mind?
How do you cry
when you don’t have tears?
How do you overcome your past
if it’s still your present?
What do people do with their lives
if their whole being didn’t yearn for its doom?

How do I start?
Where do I begin?

This is the first day of my life
where I’m not suicidal, and
I don’t know what there is to do
when death was my only salvation

I don’t know this new version of me;
the one who doesn’t find it impossible
to stay for another day,
another endless night

I’m scared of shifting back;
I’m scared of being buried
by my own deadly psych,
I’m scared of dying again

Things are more lighter now
The elephant in the room is no
longer perched upon my chest,
and my wrists are no longer
bleeding, only the scars remain

What if I get hungry again, and can’t
find anything to feed on but my own blood?
What if I woke up in a casket again?

I can’t help but wonder
for how long is this going to last?
How long am I going to last?
I hope this lasts,
I hope I last

I can hope like others do!
I’m hoping again
which is a sign of life!

Am I deluding myself?
Am I better or worse?

I need someone to squeeze my hand
just so I know that this is real
It’s dangerous to get stuck in
a state where nothing feels real
No matter how deep
you went to draw blood,
you still don’t feel like you’re here

In my head I’ve already
killed myself, long ago,
and now my corpse is
somehow trying to breathe, again?

This goes against logic
This goes against my own head,
my head is going against
its own suicidal thoughts

Am I going to look back at this,
and not believe that one day
One day I felt alive enough to breathe,
and not wish I wasn't

I am sorry for leaving,
your gentle touch was
hurting me, and your
gaze ate at my heart

I woke up
in the middle of the morning,
and I was six years older

Every inch of me
was yearning for its
                         doom

A broken voice,
crooked smile,
and raw scars

I closed my eyes,
and now,
I’m no longer here

Oh, what I would give for your grace,
if only you ask of me

I am an ocean of sacrifice when
it comes to you, my day and night

And so I shall bleed for you
till you ask me to stop

And I will still love you
even if you ask me to stop

And I will keep yearning for you
till my breathing stops

And if the day comes where
my love does not move you

Then I beg you to rid me of this old thing,
hold my heart, and bury it gently next to yours

The sun and I both
burn for his morning face

We await his cold almond eyes,
and crooked lips
to greet us each morning

But he’s sharing his light
with another soul,
but mine

I wish to know how many cigarettes
must I burn till my burning longing  
reaches his frigid heart?

You,
I tried to forget

Does my longing
not reach you?

You,
who abandoned my trembling hands,
it is my dreams you will not leave

But tell me,
is there a cure for longing?

You called for me
after I uttered your name
in a passing conversation,
but it’s too late now, father

You see,
I’ve already drank
your poison,
I savored it to the last drop

It’s in my bloodstream,
it’s in my hollow stomach,
it’s pouring over
everything that I am today

My soul is mine,
you can’t touch it,
it’s achingly burning from a
fire I can’t extinguish alone

Your name is laced
with mine, I’m sorry
I couldn’t forget you

But please let me
keep my soul,
It’s mine,
but can I keep it?

It burns me,
let me keep it anyway

My lover’s name is Depression,
and he clings himself to me,
like a ghost that still haunts
its old lover’s house  

I wash off my mouth,
but still taste him

I wrote him endless poems,
but he demands that
I **** myself for him
so he knows it is real

“I don’t want to see you with other people”
he yelled and his face turned blood-red

“I want to engrave my name in your heart”
he said with a knife in hand

“I want to consume you”
he whispered in a flirtatious way

“I want you to disappear with me tonight”
he said as he grabbed me by the hand,
and we disappeared together

The clock is stuck at 3:33 AM,
my mind is stuck in yesterday

I drink a glass of water,
and wait for my heart
to stop bleeding

My soul weeps,
but I don’t stop writing

In the dark
I write you a letter
hoping it would reach you

It starts like this:
My beloved,
I love you still

From afar,
but I still love you
as tenderly
as ardently
as ever

I hunger for you
as violently
as madly  
as ever

And I wait

I would give up heaven,
and worship her instead

I would give up heaven
to suffer through her hell

As long as I am
with my cruel angel

Oh, burn me
mighty one

I thought of you after a year,
but this time I didn't weep

Only my heart ached
over your absence
that left me breathless

I held your scent in my lungs
till you suffocated me
with your crooked smile
and broken promises

I swallowed your name
under my tongue,
and now my words
rhyme with your initial

I thought of you after a year,
but this time I weeped

A longing-pain
took hold of
my anguished heart
for I’ve missed you terribly

A rosebud
bursts into bloom,
and my thoughts
wander towards death

The unspoken words
grew in my veins till
they intoxicated my mind

A deadly psyche planted inside
a breathing corpse
that’s perpetually dying

An eyelash stuck
on my left cheek,
she gently removes it
and tells me to make a wish

Her fingers smell like
orange peel and the sun

Her mouth tastes like
citrus and rose water

When she left I peeled an orange,
and wiped away the salty tears
with my citrus fingers

And with every eyelash
that fell on my wet cheek,
I whispered a wish
for her to come back

A heart is a torturous
thing to hold, alone

Will you carry mine?
Can you?
If I asked you to swallow it
Would you?

I’m all swallowed up,
I tried to be easier to hold
I did it for you, my darling one
But I am a creation
that cannot be named

My blood seeps of poison,
and I still long to be dead

I thirst with
an ache for
something I
cannot name

So in death I shall
quench my thirst

I take a pill,
and wait for it
to doze me off

I take double the dose,
there’s no need to wait

Now, I’m holding
a bottle filled with
promised
goodnight sleeps

I’ll swallow a pill
for each night I stayed up
suffocating  
instead of dreaming

I write so not to
suffocate on my
smoky thoughts

I write so not to
forget that I, too,
have a voice that
won’t be silenced

I write so not to
use the knife
as an outlet

I write so not to
choke on the thorny words
that linger in my throat

I write so not to
be hushed by my—
inner demons
—sweet seductress

I write so not to
burn alone in
my own inferno

I write so not to
die

The thought of you lingers
like a ghost that haunts
its old lover’s house

I spit your name
out of my heart,
and hope to never
remember you

Today,
I’ve dug a thousand graves for every
funeral that rose inside my heart,

and tomorrow will be a continuation
of this never-ending sorrowful funeral

And the only one
who’s grieving
my aching bones
is me,
and me alone

Tonight,
I’ll keep an empty stomach
enough to carry
my deathlike solitude

along with a cup of
coffee by your company

When I write a poem,
it is for you

Even if it does not
begin with love

You were to me what
Patroclus was to Achilles

What Aphrodite
was to Sappho

If I knew that one day
I will be apart from you,
I would have quietly chosen death

I remembered the lines
of her shadow, and wept

Every line was an ardent poem,
and I worshiped the poetry of her

You have forsaken me
in May,
now I know that every
love is prone to decay

I heard you call my name in a dream
Did you need me, my dear?

I stayed up night after night
just to hear your I love you’s
just to hear your repetitive lies

Won’t you come back again?
Lie to me my dear darling one

I beg of you,
my dear,
my light,
in the shedding bleak midnight,
come to me with your wounds

Or at least get me a cigarette,
and leave me to drown along with my sorrows

I was born anew when she said,
“Thank you for being mine.”
I felt like I finally I belonged.
As if my heart’s been wandering all my life trying to find hers, so it can surrender itself in her palms.
And on that day, that one specific morning,
it was the first day of my life.
That she is my whole life.

But now she has left mine,
and I’ve been trying
to get my life back ever since.
My soul was laced around
the rhythm of her soothing voice.
And what remains of my stubborn heart
has melted into the lines of her palms.
She was my life’s begging and end.
It is in a way, a kind of ******,
and I’m grieving at my own funeral.

I have never wished
for anything from life

But if there is one thing
I truly wish for before
I am in the arms of death

It is
to be held
by her

To soak in her
warmth, scent,
and harmful touch

To melt deep
between her thighs
till I dissolve completely

To release an inhuman cry
from under my skin into
the dark abyss of her pupils

To be kissed by
her cruel mouth
before death comes to kiss

A rotten skull
wired to feel melancholy

A nightmare self
that only saw freedom
at the tip of a kitchen knife
isolated from this life

A mind
with death plants
flourishing inside it

A garden of Angel's Trumpet
abloom with a deadly touch
recherché but poisonous

One of Azrael’s early visitors,
I’m now a flower in his graveyard

My bed felt like a coffin,
shivering with agony,
I laid

Both the weeping angels
and the weeping ghosts
sang me a lullaby of sorrow

I drank a sea of my salty
tears hoping to drown

Hoping to meet you there at
the end of the shimmering moon

Covered in my gushing blood,
I asked Azrael for a kiss

I will write one last
poem which bleed
from my wounds

And in its final verse,
I will write a rhyme,
and say, weeping,
what my heavy
heart truly feels

Give me your
crimson mouth
to devour in secret

Help me put out
this burning desire–

All the unspeakable
things I hunger for

Be my muse,
so I can finish
writing this poem

I’m a light switch!

You see,
when I‘m switched on
everything turns bright,

and when I’m switched off,
I become one with the darkness

I could be
too bright at times,
or a an utterly dark self

It’s hard to recognize me
when it‘a dark, I’m unseen

But I can’t recognize myself
when it‘s bright, I’m blinded

All I need is the a
trigger to turn
a bright room
into a graveyard

So please be more
careful with me

I am a light switch

I have been buried
and grown used to
utter darkness

But I dug myself
slowly
out of my own grave  

I could finally
kiss the sun,
and taste the flowers

I hope it lasts
I hope I last

I have been ruining myself
for you

I still write you
after all these years knowing you
will never read my bleeding verses

I dream of you
dancing in a black dress
as I try to hold your gaze

I spray your perfume,
and the ghosts of my mind wail
from the rushing memories

I still exist,
but not with you

If you wish to grow these
sunflowers within my blue walls

Know that I am a house
the sun never visits, but I have:

Vacant rooms
with burning lovers

Floors
with footprints of dead florists

Albums
with nostalgic photographs of her

A single bed
on my scorching roof

Stairs
that creak to the rhythm of my growing pain

Doors
with engraved haikus

Mirrors
that reflect her image in front of my blue walls