In a forest, where bird songs are silencers to a pistol and their feathers are scattered hopes, like broken dreams are to fantasies, I sit.
I stretch my arms, wide enough to fit grief and happiness in my muddy hands that I use to bury unspoken apologies and eulogies for days I have not yet lived.
I begin to stare aimlessly at the sky trying to spot the night moon. Its silhouette, that I trace with my finger.
I've drawn
And in the folds of the night, I hold you close
like day does dawn.
I let your depression stain my cheeks and see it drip between the gaps in my teeth,
sting my gum,
and so your language interweaves itself upon wounded scars on my tongue, so when i return back home, i return with the same cuts identical to your tongue that you hung
I don't want to sound too much of a stranger to you when I talk thus tonight, I’ll choose to tie happiness to things that have asked for no such burden
and stictch my lips silent to silence our silent violence.
My eyes bounce back at the hazy sky as if it’ll tame your inner broken and mould it into a less wild creature
more civil, more mature
less aggressive, less of a spirit
Your spirit appears in the bezels of my mind
my trachea catches fire burning deep into my whines ,
my breath disappearing into a silent hymn in the dull light
and watch my tongue chameleonize into a trillion hues of white
until my tongue becomes a graveyard for all my white lies
Until pain becomes a part of my diet,
until I'm able to chew the residual images of a broken girl, until her sadness becomes the air I breathe
until her inner warrior becomes the battle field never fought in
until I'm able to swallow sadness when chugged down my throat,
until I'm able to befriend your wild.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
as a matter of fact,
I am alive and breathing
conscious calls from my heart beats to
reprimand me,
'continue being a dead beat citizen of my street'
but i'm alive and that's all that is of me at least,
i guess its best to keep it discreet
lest I fall back into the trap of deceit
i see it from afar covered in cobwebs , ancient remains
it feels like its been abandoned for a while
i sit and contemplate about all the times i lived in there denial
an abyss of pure resilience to my foolery
i'm the joker at times and the bait other times
a bait to my own traps
i remain content but whither over time
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:56 AM UTC
I was born to love everyone but I loved so hard the insides of my lugs tore apart. Sometimes I love too deep. In a city too dark to love in, we overlook the mountain and hedges that have pricked the life of us with thorns, banished us in places that see silence through congested thoughts. We sing Like a humming birds. Singing in attempt to abolish the very existence of our stars and the stars we shared yet, we lay quilted in stardust and the silhouettes of our shadows. They burst into flames or kaleidoscopes, a beauty, complimented by the prophecy of life itself. Sometimes we hope to speak like our words have lost themselves in the coils of our tongues but we hope to live with strength not habituated in settings of frost and snow. Our worlds don't intertwine but our hopes do. We seek refuge in prayer during the midst of our foggy minds and the very cosmos of our thoughts. We recite the soft speech of the holy book to excuse us from the blackness of the universe. Our souls wonder naked from emotions and exposed to our own destinies created with incompatibility and dissection.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
And within lies a pile; a morsel of threats
Designed to aquire the last savoury taste
Of her bones and flesh
recoiled with a salty flavour
swallowed with bitter bravery
Her After taste
Half smoked and medium rare anguish
Its can't take its hands of her temples she's designed to be the flesh that fashions Pain's skin
Her eyes become the fire that cooks its food
Until death does well
It motions
And thrusts its hands adjacently
Gripping its nails into her pulse
A burn in chemistry
Ignition
With a spark of empathy
Until death does well
Shes is impaired with hope
Of solemn spoken prose
Designed to fit in between the gaps of its desires and her dissolved oesophagus
It laughs at the sight of joy that diffuses from her breath
The only energy it needs lies between her plead and its aggression
Between defects and bruises
Misconstrued sentences
Explanations with default answers
Until death does well
The heart lies sunken
In a slideshow of mistrust and agony
In part heat and part pain and part of her will no longer feel the need to abstain
Until death does well
Hope has lost its place in her life
Pain has become her only true friend
Loyalty; everynight and day its with her
Its her lover, her protector
until death shes dead and burried in Hope
-SYAli
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
Lone wolves are the essence
Of warrior marks
Tatted in riddles with signatures and line imprints that age scars
It's sealed, with no cut or graze
neither of which can penetrate through
It's been protected
Created through burns and of black smoke
White washed heartaches
Living in a slideshow of paintings
Celebrations and chants
mistaken for a melody in a senerade
A confetti
A pretty painted canvas
With emotions of coloured paint
Splashes of ornaments
green hues
Bursts into kaleidoscopes
Strips of flower prints
Of a thousand splendid curses
Blinding to an eye
It leaves no traces of fear
But a mind in the magnificence
It leaves no traces of tear
But sealed inside hard rock skin
To protect the marks of the warrior
SYA
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
Parched are my lips
saddened from every emotion you feel
my voice apologizes
for my cowardice
I'm too afarid to ask
for every hardship you face
my silence is an assailant
kills every moment of bliss
Dried up thoughts and helpless gestures
It's as though I'm watching your body suspended
on to a cliff
My hands urge me to save you but my mind makes me wait
I'm not sure what is the right option
I'm a marionette
..controlled..
My mind
jammed
too afraid of what
May escape your tired tongue
tongue tied
bushwhacked
I remain broken
from selfdestruction
I remain at peace unaware of your destruction
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Anyone who's trying to drag you down, is already down
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 6:06 AM UTC
They say a person can’t hide from themselves but what if they hide in polluted air? Surely only then, the obscurities of their souls are hidden and faded away from the naked eye. The spirit lies in pure discernment in times, or at time were the poignant ending of their lives are none but self acknowledged forthcomings. I understand why some may not play by the book; they find loop holes or visual breakthroughs to get by their days. They say that man was never born for society and as greatly as they venture, a cloud of thoughts trail into memories, little can be done to forget and little can be done to be forgotten by it.
Perhaps the air isn’t dense enough to stop a person from breathing but it certainly is enough to clog a thousand memories
Silhouettes harnessed to a scope only far enough to narrate that this world is like a rain storm except the thunder rumbles and it accepts its few seconds in the spot light but I, carry a surplus and let my rule in empty delight.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
As if we passed by the same trail out of spontaneity
I figure that we each carry pieces that fit into each others
But not our own
We are so selfish
So frightened in thinking that this is the end of the road
We won't give each other what we need in case we never find the pieces we will ever need
The cruelty that masks the inhabitants on this bit of soil
Recoiled and manifested their unholy native traits into our blood
Made us believe that selflessness was a weak act and empowerment lies upon scriptures of revenge; the book
"Its time for you to play by its rules so that you can live"
Rejection between blood, its survival of the fittest
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
Sometimes I would purposely never ask you about your well being,
Because I did it so often that I felt the sentences in my mouth poison my tongue as they readily align with my saliva ready for deliverance-ready to tightly grip onto my throat, burn to ***** the last bit of air that remained..
It's still far to much of a dangerous question;
"how are you?"
I'll never know what next to expect perhaps I'll start to retrieve my answers more from the way you speak or the way in which to sit or the way on which your mind runs it's thoughts. I guess it's a lot less painful than to hear your stories. I never really wanted to be in the same box; questioned and secreted. My job was to aid you, place a safety banner around you to secure your remaining fragments. But I held my emotions so closely to the fire and let the affection between us spark large enough to cause my skin to burn. And soon, I learned that I am unable and unfit to carry your burdens with mine. So I threw my memories in the sea and carried yours in my sack.
Though you would never know because I will never ask,
''how are you?''
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC