breathless,
i press my
red, iron lips
on your
cold, unmoving ones.

i'll find you again.

as some people have said,
everyone wants to be the flower,
but someone has to fill the role of its vase.
and it's all ridiculous,
because why be either
when you can be
yourself?

gravity is obssessed
with pulling everyone down.

may it be to hurt others
by letting them fall in and out of love.

or to see them never get up again.

God, God,
if you will,
please tell me
of the things
i cannot understand.

what does
the melancholy
in my heart
mean?

what does
the wrath
pulsing in my veins
mean?

this strangely peaceful,
nostalgic feeling...
what does this mean?

galaxies
  in your eyes,
constellations
  on your cheeks,
the sun
  on your lips
oh,
  how you put the universe to shame!

the summer breeze gently ruffles my clothes
i tuck my hair behind my ear
and smile as i observed leaves and petals dance.

a beautiful mix of greens, pinks, violets, blues and reds.
they flow with the wind so smoothly
just like you.

and i find myself thinking of you again.

(i was already happy,
very happy.)

but i will never be silent.

there it goes,
  a sliver of hope
      fading away
    once again
into the lonely dusk

  my thoughts,
are muddled up,
     cornering me
at my own made-up
       precipice

look down,
   the waves splash wildly,
rocks firmly standing

    look up,
the romantic shades
  of violets and blues

look inside,
   and there's nothing.

there was a pair of twins
one of them wore a happy smile on the outside
on the inside however
she would smirk and frown and laugh all over
the other one was gloomy and dark
but he had empathy deep, deep in his heart

she would get all the toys
play with them
until she gets bored,
breaks them
and gives them
to her other twin

all he had ever wanted
was warm company

how silly,
he thinks



(for she was life,
and he was death)

may 13th, 9:22 pm
it's so silly to think that you used to be so warm underneath me and now you're underneath the ground six feet in and no one to love or kiss your broken fingers

may 16th, 8:41 pm
i wish you didn't have to leave me
i wish you could've killed me yourself
your heart's too soft for that though and i love you all the more for it
that's still not stopping me from missing you still

may 27th, 12:34 am
i loved you
i still do
******* for leaving and not telling me about it
how could you have done that
you caught me unaware, you *******
i miss you

jul 6th, 11:32 pm
my chest hurts
i don't think it's my ribs this time
it feels deeper

jul 18, 4:03 pm
i wish you and i had been a little stronger
i wish i had a chance to see your greying hair
to kiss your wrinkled eyelids
to wrap myself around you
'til death do us part

jul 20, 2:47 am
death came a little early for you, darling
you were my dream

jul 23, 6:08 pm
you still are.

your expression is
blank
as you stare at him
crying
and crying
and crying

it's a pitiful sight
but you can't tear your eyes
away from him
repeating that same
mantra over and over
again

you can't understand
what's happening around you
everything's in a daze
but you do know that
he's crying
over her

you laugh as you
see him kiss that girl
on the bed

"That's disgusting—
it's like you're kissing a dead body."

(that girl
mirrored your entire face
except her eyes
were closed)

time has passed
and he looks sharper
all formally dressed

the look on his face
however
does not
suit him

he repeats that mantra
he kept on saying
to that girl

you smile sadly

"I won't give up—I believe you'll live."

his hands
were cold
for such a warm
person

("Let go, love. It's been four years.")

that continuous boisterous beeping
from the machine
stopped and
stood still

his face
broke you

and you had thought that
that girl who he loved
sure was lucky

(and then you faded into the dark abyss)

there will come a time
when you'll find yourself lost
in the blazing throes of passion,
and you'll forget what the meaning of right is
because you know what you're doing is wrong,
but it just feels so **** right.

shut eyes,
clenched fists,
tense body.

angry thoughts
running through my head.

i breathe.

and release.

wide eyes,
open palms,
running through a field.

barefooted,
i inhale
and shout
and laugh
and

*i am free.

screaming, screaming
she pounds ******* the bars
crying, crying
she has no voice

she glances down
and sees her hands
that are doused with blood and,
she can never bring back
everything that they took

clenching her fists
and shutting her eyes,
she continues to scream.

love is in the little things.

the way a couple would hold hands and smile softly—not minding the snow gently falling around them nor the cold harshly reminding them of their time limit—because it was enough for them, wasn't it? the warmth between the molecular spaces of their fingers entwined together.

the way he would wake up first and press a chaste kiss on her forehead. the way she would open her eyes and giggle after he leaves the room.

the way their eyes would sparkle when they catch the other looking at them.

the way their hands would subtly brush by each other and slowly intertwining as one, finger by finger.

the way he'd leave the horoscope page of the newspaper spread open on their coffee table with their signs both encircled in red. the way she'd leave a small bit of poetry right where he left the newspaper, letting him see through a little piece of her.

the way she'd lean her head on her shoulder as they both gazed at the stars. (even though they know that their own personal star was right beside them.)

the way he'd put his head on his lap as the other worked through their balances on the floor of their tiny apartment.

they way they'd carry the other to their bedroom, seeing as their significant other fell asleep on the couch (probably waiting for them to come home).

love may be a coup de foudre—a wild hurricane with passionate storms.

but love is also the earth—solid, steady,
home.

something
as gentle as
the sky above
was staring at me.

i look.

and i see you.

heading towards me
as if dancing to an unheard tune

i see you.

with eyes as beautiful as
the rainbow
(even more)

i see you.

you
who left with me no choice
but to fall

i see you.

(passing by me
and waving at
someone from behind




you don't see me
at all.)

darkness
  has swallowed
        the key
   to the room
     of my mind.

you
who danced your way through my heart
the fervor you showed me
will stay, ne'er sere

you
who sang your way into my thoughts
the hope you gave to me
tainted my black, black heart

and you
who drifted away from me
as if you had the audacity to be the wind

*you took my breath away with you

i splash
my plain white canvas
with shades of
my favorite colors—
blue, red and yellow

but
i guess i got
too excited
that i
did not
notice that
the colors
were mixing
and had created
an ugly gray

(too little,
too late.)

we have two ears
     and
  a mouth
            for a reason.

*humans,
             by nature,
     are supposed to be
                  creatures
   that listen.

how do
people
go
insane?

they say
they drown in it.
isn't it more like,
suffocating?

you either choose
to stop breathing,
and the drive to
control yourself
will get to you,
andor
you just
run out of
air to breathe.

if i could,
i would hold your hand
even if your rings would hurt my fingers

if i could,
i would embrace you
even if your hold would be too tight

if i could,
i would kiss you
even if it would leave a metallic taste in my mouth

and if i could,
i would love you
but.

you look below
and see the ****** mess
that was your friend.

the fifty-meter distance from the ground
teases you.

and lures you down.

and i suppose
               that you are a window—
    playing it safe,
        observing everything
  from a distance.
       (and i suppose
                    that i
             am your curtains.)

pure, white walls
stare back
at the figure
trying to stand up
on their own two feet.

said person staggers
and breathes
into the deafening silence.

and you helplessly look at him, your eyes following every curve of his face;
the curls of his dark hair, wetly plastered on his forehead, his flush high on his cheeks, his grin and his warm, warm eyes, looking down on you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen and wouldn't dare look away as if every second he lived shouldn't be wasted not staring at you
and so, chest undeniably tightening under the force of his smile and the way his glasses are messily porched on his nose, you think to yourself, god, good god, this man. i love this man so much i could die.

there was a time
when you were larger than life
you flew when you ran
and you were so beautiful
you were so great

now i see you
on that white bed
that matched your equally pale face
and i want to hate you
because how could you have been so dumb to become this weak

but i can't
and i just sigh
as i simply resign
myself
(from what, i wonder
for what, i wonder)

"Fly for me, sweetheart," you said
but how could i
when you were my wings

i wish
tears
could wash
away
memories.

(then maybe i can finally sleep.)

at first,
he had felt that
everything was going too fast
and that he could only stand and stare
as the world passed by.

now,
his whole world
became her,
and never had it been so
easy (painful)
as before.

hey, can you
          hear the whispers of love
    from above?

huddled in a blank corner
with my knees
as my best friend
i drown
and d
           r
                    o
                            w
           ­                             n
a                                 ­                d
                         n        
                                           r      
d                                                        o
     ­           w


                                n

swallowing
the fear at
the back of my throat
I
take a step
forward

you've always believed in two things religiously:
1) if you want something, you have to pull your hair back, grit your teeth, and work for it.
2) stopping from improving is regressing.

tonight, i realise that it was never about winning.
never about getting that medal or that spot on the stage.
it was silly of me to think that you just wanted my blood on your hands.
starving for recognition from your blood family, you were in a completely different competition than i was.

we carried corpses on our bruised shoulders.
they pushed against our broken backs; our swollen knees trying to keep our bodies upright.
you once told me i had a face that was good for punching,
and, oh god, i'd have had let you if it meant your hands on my skin.

in the end, what's left was this:
a single note in a cacophony of screams.

you are dead.
you are dead.
you are dead.

maybe if i keep repeating it to myself, i'd start believing it.

and yet it's far too late for impulsive declarations of love.
too late for so many things.

(but some days, i like thinking of you, thinking of me.)

i hate writing
i hate the whole process of having to destroy and to rebuild myself
i hate the way some words just won't flow right; the ideas are there, the heart and the soul, but not the words, god, not the words
i hate the way my muse keeps me up on completely inconvenient times, three in the morning, or two in the afternoon
i hate the way i have to bleed across the page to make something i can barely call good
god, i ******* hate writing