They say to make a friend out of your enemies,
a phrase I never cared for,
until you entered my life,
sauntering in with a cheshire lilt,
prodding my hand to make a muse out of you.
It’s a waste of time,
a voluntary sacrifice of ego and soul
to stoke the flames beneath feet that walked all over me
and expected gratitude in return.
Sometimes it’s as if you’re still waiting—
in passing when your tepid gaze glosses over me,
and pins needles in my back the moment I turn away.
(I returned your gift with a smile once.)
I was blinded by the subtleties
between admiration and comparison,
fruition and competition,
barely able to keep up with myself amidst it all.
In the castaway of my sinking ship,
you saw a flurry of white the shape of a flag,
and beckoned to the horizon,
while I welcomed the sea.
You tended to only see what you wanted to,
presented in the way you liked to see them—
refined, polished, adept.
Idiosyncrasies strung on the wrong chord
were chided with a sepia-rimmed simper.
I, a marionette in your world-class act,
saw through you an act too late.
Yet you, assiduous as ever,
continued to entice and bewitch,
performing for contenders and for prey,
for whoever will stay and watch.
After all,
what’s a class act without an audience?
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
come home to me, darling.
i left breadcrumbs for you along the river, along the trail, but the forest decided to keep you a while longer. all to itself. how selfish.
you’ve always been so sweet.
so irresistible.
honey drips from your lips and coats your face like a candied apple. it’s not halloween yet but the children yearn for a taste of preserved innocence.
you’ve never been a sweet tooth, you say. perhaps you’ve grown sick of yourself. your sugar tongue melts away into bitter lies and sour endings.
the caramel from your tears form rivers in the crevices of your wrinkles. quick, the pool in your collarbones is overfilling, drowning yourself in what you’ve once hated.
now, you’re just the same:
deadly sweet like the rest of them.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
Oh darling, don’t cry,
this is merely love’s way of getting revenge.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
Take a stroll with me
Lets walk on the decrepit road
beside a dulcet rivulet
Asleep from the susurrus of the stream
I fall into step beside you
Ask you to hold my hand
And let me listen to the susurrus of your heartbeat
Just the same
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
My skin dreads your fingertips ghosting over it
Whispering lullabies from the distant shore
My lips dread your pair that trail butterfly kisses to the juncture of my jaw
My ears dread the dulcet tunes murmured from your pillow lips
That caresses the inner workings of my heart with bonafide admiration
My heart—the one you have—is the only one that adores every little gesture you make
Every slight remark
Every subtle action
But the rest of me does not want you
Because as much as I adore you
I cannot picture us together
Without the image shattering again.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
form a truce with your fears and build them into warriors,
set them on the battlefield and prepare them for war.
we begin to realize who our true enemies are when we fight beyond our own kingdom.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
fire can never be fully diminished
as long as wind exists to enkindle it once again.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 7:55 PM UTC
i find myself drowning in murky waters,
an oil spill of equations and metaphors,
quandaries and paradigms.
the sun is a constant overcast even on the most blinding days,
faces are grim even with the brightest smiles.
messily scrawled words read chaos on pristine canvases,
incessant scribbles drill canals into my brain.
one tentative tap away,
always one tentative tap away from reality,
but never quite there,
and so i fall deeper.
thin heels clicking against glossy tiles,
heavy footsteps shuffling into classrooms,
distant chatter stalking my shadows,
actuate stings of dread luring me in.
thread-like strings are attached to my limbs,
a marionette with a feeble attempt of procuring freedom,
i am a victim to disorder.
inundated with scattered pages,
furious streaks of neon hues form riots across my desk.
before me stands a mirror of my very own thoughts,
and my mind takes everything in
only to be left with nothing specific in the end.
i work with a jumbled puzzle set,
consisting of no essential moment
to print itself onto my memory.
yet there remains a fascicle of nerves
screaming,
waiting to be heard,
but it becomes like me—submerged in murky water.
living in chaos is living
where moments are constantly out of focus
and the abundance of simply everything is too overwhelming.
but to wake in the earliest hours of the day
when the sun is still yearning to lie upon a mattress of stars
and neighborhood lights are flickering onto rusty street signs and empty tar roads,
is a blessed refuge from the tumultuous scenes
that plague me daily.
silence slices through the fog of my cognition like a bayonet,
and i blink away my sleep-addled state to take a dip in the tangerine skies.
nascent rays gleam over rooftops,
trees become silhouettes on an oil painting,
and golden clouds blush from the soft caress of the sun.
for some reason,
the experience felt foreign,
like a mirage of all of the images i was never able to grasp.
dawn is a portal to another realm,
a shelter to shield myself from the murky waters,
only there’s still no escape—
i’m just no longer drowning.
instead,
i find that i can breathe.
(chaos is loud but silence is louder;
i wouldn’t mind listening to silence for a day,
because i’ve already been listening to chaos for years.)
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 3:08 AM UTC
i held you on my tongue,
you were **** and squeezed my tastebuds
before melting into a sickly sweet syrup.
even golden shots of dizzying acid
weren’t enough to wash you away.
i was forever tainted by your taste.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
your skin was weaved from moonlight and glistening dust,
that danced with the fireflies
and painted empty canvases atop empty canvases.
sometimes in the latest of nights,
i can still see a fragment of your soul,
illuminated on the silken sheets.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC