Under inlaid sky
by emptiness
and
paved floor
with coldness
Carrying
bright colors
of pain
I meet you
while
you are sitting
at the edge
of the abyss
swaying your legs
as if it is
the paradise
We stared
at each other
this is an invitation
to expected end
or
may be
unexpected salvation
Stared at the silence
rejoicing the loss
and
singing the pain
This pathway
opened by blood
sweat
and human cell debris
We paid
our debts of emotions
and walked
Like a smile
waiting
to be planted
in the ground
of the freedom
1 second
before
the apocalypse
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
to all the worlds inside of me I've tried to hide
for the sake of infatuation
boys like simplicity
so simple I will be
but who am I without my thoughts
who am I without metaphors for love
you want to trace the maps of my skin
without hearing of the places I've been
I refuse to soften myself
for your own indulgement
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
I am a reader
of a thousand stories and more
I am a lover
of the familiar scent in treasured hoard
paper and wood, freshly printed ink
I am an admirer
of simple words that tug the heartstring,
of emotions that make the heart sing.
I am a dreamer
of a hundred stories and more
I am a believer
in power of language, languages I adore
in the flow of a song, along with delight
I am a string of unfinished ideas
trains of sidetracked thoughts set alight
a flame that flickers out and rises to new height.
I am a writer
of ten stories but definitely more
I am a creator
of records in glimpses of a bird in soar
and its fall
I am not just a reader nor
just a dreamer or
just a writer
But to give any of these up my dead body you’ll cross over
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
There was no blank canvas
fresh pages nor empty void to fill
There was.
Delicate taps of dancing feet
Roars and screeches in constant symphony
They felt.
Skin curling from scorching heat
Dust choked the lung suffocated the brain
But the rain of fiery arrows still
fell
punctured
sank in them.
They couldn’t make it rain.
What is.
Howling winds crying out a message
Frantic scurrying to seek and secure
Before.
An ever growing snowball barrelled down a cliff
Frost devoured and gnawed for the last scrap of warmth
And then.
They reached. Struggled and crawled and climbed and fought.
For the faint drum of familiar beat
Until.
The indulgence of an only child
Cuts and gouges, rips and tears
Storms of acid, rupture in their
skin
heart
soul
to the very core.
They were very sore.
The child asked for a second chance. Ha! Whatever for?
You wish to enter a broken door.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 9:57 PM UTC