My words morph out of place— would you
still entertain the thought of me in the end?

Every star rules its own space,
but the circumstance of a cosmos knots me up,
its circumference bending beyond my grasp.

A smile cracks the mirror—
I cut myself and I bleed from the shards.
Alone in my room, my sighs are heavy
as a tomb buried under the world.

It’s cold, too cold, and I’ve waited for
the heroic ******, that movie moment
where the hero rises—but I’ve climbed my max.

My throat feels split by an axe.
It’s all out of my hands; I tried to leave
it in God’s hands, but faith feels like
hand-me-downs— worn thin, never quite mine.
I light another cigarette, to drag time along with me.

I am not a sad song, just a tune people sing
along to, a chorus written in tears.
Tear me apart, piece me back like armies
lined up only to be shot down.

And when I fall again, I look up,
choking on the silence, and ask,
"Is this really the life I was promised by God?"
But then again, I did this all to myself!

slumber
oh how i wish to paint it golden
let me find peace in nothingness
find the missing amity i'm desperate for

slumber
always weeping without it
please come to me soon
i might go mad, keep me from going lunatic

slumber
i slowly fall into your arms
i trust you more than anything else
don't let me lose my wings when i hold your hand

slumber
you hold me even more tight than before
my bones numb and skin blue 
quite the hostage, isn't it?

slumber
you ripped my wings off and took me under yours
it felt so much better, goodbye sweet joy
i now am dependent on something that worsens me, but i believe it's for the better.

How long, how lost,
how

lonely
is the day?
The sun lies recumbent,
as I do:

languishing in cold storage,
perfectly preserved
in its hollow corner
of sky.

I'm
learning
that we're not unalike.

We burn, with equal intensity
and others, love best
to gaze at us,
from the furthest,
faraway plains.

I seem,
to bring naught,
but discomfort.
Wrapped in pain
like the fading aurora bloom,
of day,

I'm a solar-powered picana

so, please...




avert your eyes.

I didn't know I was
Trapped
Until I met
You.

~

The walls were pressing in,
Though slowly;
Suffocating me,
While I pretended not to notice.
The darkness consumed me,
As the light that was my life
began to dim.

I though it was normal.
Normal,
as my eyes adjusted
to the lack of light,
my lungs to the lack of air.
Adjusted to the merciless pain
This world gives.

I was alone;
Glad about it at that.
Glad that no one else had to
Suffocate;
That not one else
Walked blindly
Beside me.

Then a door opened.

Light poured in,
Burning my eyes at first;
The goodness disguised as bad.

Then you walked in.

You told me that light isn't bad,
and that I'm supposed to breath
In my own skin.
Told me burdens are often
too heavy for one
to bare,
but never
too much
for many.

Floating on an ocean without a shore in sight
"What is the meaning of life" was whispered in my mind

On a moonlit night in the middle of nowhere
I could hear nothing but the weeping of a clueless heir

In the depths of depth, where even light couldn’t reach
I saw him staring back, over the dreams to achieve

In the cold,so cold where even the sun could freeze
I saw him, by himself, looking for a gentle breeze

As a missing part somewhere, I couldn’t but admire
Yet I found myself, once again, nowhere, slowly drowning in an endless quagmire

In the search of warmth,a hope and light
I kept floating and floating,untill the dawn of this night

I asked the Unabomber
if he had ever been in love.

You know--before Montana--
before wandering the unforgiving winter woods
holding a frozen tulip
and a rolled up poem
nestled inside a pipe as if you were a minstrel.

I asked him
if anyone had ever inhabited
the slow-cooking smoker
of his heart.
Was there ever the very emblem
of desirability
in the formula of anyone's eyes?

In your Harvard classes
full of second-week quitters
and callow
nattering plebes
was there never any elevated romantic
who might have solved for the
impossible equation
of your isolation and your need?

Oh Teddy,
you coward,
you murderous nutjob,
if the one whose heart could have stopped you
were to speak at last to your wobbling soul,
could you still be fixed
even now,
or are you already ******?

Perhaps my question itself
is like postage on a parcel
that can carry your remainder
softly out of shame
or suddenly into Hell?

Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who’s sane,
And maybe stating this is all in vain.
I look around at my peers, and I swear we aren’t the same.
Completely different faces and completely different names.
It’s not a profound declaration,
Or a shoddy improvisation,
And no amount of medication,
Could treat this impersonation.

Too much noise leads to vice.
That’s not even complicated advice.
If you leave people to their own devices,
You’ll find,
That’d we’d be better off leaving them all behind.
When they’re taken away,
You’re left with the glitchiness that remains,
Spouting the funniest thing,
That they heard in every sentence they say.

Perhaps I’m just an alien,
In an atmosphere I don’t belong.
A tree receiving acid rain,
A singer without a song.
I start questioning.
Does anybody think?
Or do they say whatever thoughts enter their brain?
Or if they do,
How many filters do they put their words through?
Are there harsh words I haven’t heard,
Because someone thought it’d be absurd?

Sometimes, it seems as if I’m the only one who’s sane,
But I know my thoughts, sometimes, can be rather deranged.
From fruitless worrying to self-deprecation without blame,
Perhaps, all of us are a tad insane.

There was a soft thud, the sound vibrating through the air but loud enough to warn me.  

Its furry shadow flickered across the window.

The sheets where already above my head.

I was curled, terrified on what was to come. And yet...

A thud, another. A bang, a shriek.

Its teeth were scraping along the wood of the door.  

It was soon to come in, the collar given sitting beside me.

It wasn’t for it anymore.

She told me it was the perfect name.

I thought my name was perfect too.

Until I had to wear it.

its shadow emits over the window, creating darkness like the night.

It was quiet. It wasn’t scraping the door or thumping its feet.  

It was staring.  

I thought of it at least being peaceful.

But there is no peace in the silence it gives us.