Abba, forgive me and forget
     The sins for which I live disgraced
     And face the wicked world shame-faced,
And I shall live to prosper yet.

Life is a funny thing, it’s always been
Just when you think you are up, it drags you down
With every grasp I try to reach
The elusive promised land

Walked many a mile, I have
But I am yet to see
That glorious land
but get there, one day I will

Then all my sorrow will be gone
All my tears will be wiped away
I will not tire anymore
finally I will be… home

death is a sneaky person
he can snake tendrils into the folds of your brain
while you stare at a blank page
hoping the slithering in your head
is inspiration begging to be let into the empty space

the time between was a constant crime
perjury over and over to a jury of past selves
the slithering I felt at 14 became a buzzing by 21
and at 23, could cause hearing damage
I had to scream my inner monologue
just to hear myself

death and I walked together
and soon, his grip on me
transformed into my grip on him
holding on tight to what he promised me
"death," I spoke to my longest friend,
"won't you take me soon?"

those words became breakfast on hard days
lunch on long days
until it was dinner every night

I finally had the courage to look him in the eyes
so that I might see who I adored so dearly
his grip loosened on me to take down his hood
and I saw the life I hadn't led
every promise I never kept
every cut that ever bled
I saw a quiet somber in death's eyes
and I realized I had to let him go

with a sad smile,
I indulged my old confidante
and promised to live until he was ready
to walk together again.

The way flowers
twist themselves
to face the sun;
I do the same
at the moon,
at you.

At the darkest hour,
my despair has grown
around this fortress:
an indivisible field
of sunflowers.

What does it take to live
in this patch of grace?
To become the dewdrop
freed from quenched lips;
to become the day
that waters an endless
garden of galaxies,

that sprout generously
and rot willfully
inside every cell;

to live in a body
called a nebula
and a graveyard,
knowing in the end
I will inevitably
become soil,

to belong to you
and to the world,
and learn
how to breathe again.

But this fortress
I built around my heart
is the reason
I can’t feel the sun.

Part One of Two

Dark thoughts are twisted
in the back of every child
black eyes we though civilized
is thrown into the wild.
Torn clothes thrown to the wind
protection glass cracks, failed sworn.

Sins are carefully placed
in the rubble of moss rocks
Silence is shattered by babies
stitched bloodily to the caves

The vile-ness as the bodies are piling
as the wicked keep on, twisted smiling
No worth can break out of the frost
And evil deeds grow the dead seas' moss

The new blocks the sun from smiling
All hope and desperation as they're trying
Darkness gives shape to cryptic eyes
The chaos versus the wisdom won't die

you’ve suffered
for so long

and now
you want to give up

because all
you’ve ever wanted
was to be
something
to someone —

to belong
in this world

your knees buckle
and hit the ground

you try to cry
but nothing comes out

you ask yourself:
am i emotionless?
am i
down
for the count?

touching the surface
you look
for ways
to escape
this spiral

is this
the final
temperamental break?

you scream
shaking your fist
at the sky

you search
for hope —
but you see it
nowhere
at all

maybe one day
you’ll wake up

and realize
hope
was always
around

move
forward,
rebound.

this is your
time —

your time to
not let your
emotions
drown.

The wall without end,

without gates and hope, carries --


many illusions.