Limping on charcoal, wearing a smile.
Stuttering in the night and
staring at poison,
wearing a coat with bones for a mask.
gaze at stranded trees in highways
raided by dust and smoke.
dreams of smudged paintings, broken arrows
were stolen and sold for a dime at stores.
Soft, blue stars fell in the dusk of night
and I was stranded with half a mind,
lost,
under the city lights
that snuffed out the dreams and wishes
made under the starry skies.
Colder nights than the deserts
my lips are a shade of blue, cyan,
fingers numb with scarred knuckles
hold hands with ghosts and lie to their graves.
Six-inch bars keep the sane out.
I lie to myself that pastel conceals my eyes;
while I made red wishes
stealing coffee from tables every other night.
Outer space,
is just vacuum with a couple of stars that die. ©
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
set wilting flowers with a bright smile
sketch hearts on curling paper scraps for him and
steal carved needles by dark.
“Stay away from him –
He pulls strings with no puppets at the end.”
the other nurses wore white on white
like the ceilings and floors,
screams and sharp chokes.
hard cuts on soft hands,
straight lines piercing bones.
the sky is a violet
whispering,
red and aching
scattered leaves and broken twigs
bruises upon lip-stained skin.
trace braille for the songs in his mind
rub charcoal on your cheeks
the hollows of your eyes –
he trips on wires,
a dead noise.
a rope sunk with the ghost of his last voice. ©
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
The red lines on his wrists don’t belong to him.
Gun fires! Grenades!
They drink coffee from a cup
between glass doors.
*he rubs the red patches away,
they still leave a slight stain.*
“Mothers’! Come out into the streets!”
The little children hold tiny daggers up to heaven
blind, to the stars and oceans.
Lost screams under rail tracks,
their eyes twitch.
“Mothers’! Come out into the streets!”
See the blood of your children run down in streams.
*the red patches on his hands fall in love;
they became contagious.*
Standing under a grey sky,
on a ground marked with an X.
He prays.
Comrades become detonators,
when the living start to die off.
He prays.
There are more bullets in the bodies
than in guns.
He still prays.
(Orange is his favourite colour.)
He sees a sunset before the dark invades.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
shattered glass in midnight bonfires
I see strips of flames dissipate into the night
and it never burned my
eyes.
I held blue flames in my hands and burned
my fingerprints to form
jagged lines that melted ice like a
scorching pair of lips.
with a sigh, they turned to walk away
setting fire to the roadside.
The flames morphed into scattered coins
incinerated by the sorrow they carried like an anchor
that sunk,
pulling them down to the sea bed to
sleep with the ocean at midnight
where the flames drowned,
drowned,
drowned…
and the smoke turned into words without a sound.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
“Do you think we can count stars tonight?”
“Why not?” I replied.
I sensed the smirk playing upon his lips.
Smiling, I continued tracing my fingertips over the braille upon the music sheets.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Leaves whispered the sounds of our past
In desolate silence we watched,
The grounds slick with dew
A broken hourglass concealing candle fumes.
The grey skies loomed overhead
The wind crooned echoes of our songs
Yellow meadows bleeding out their life
Whimpered to the stars in the sky all night long.
Dry, withered leaves with veins threaded to it,
Fell from the branches
Like tears down our cheeks.
Spring bloomed but sunk like our hearts
Our sight becomes a misty grey
Lost in the mist we started to fade
Among the darkness that concealed the truth
And bolted it shut, in a bird cage.
Our eyes were dull like a calm ocean’s tides
Never thinking about the time passing by
Weeds prickling our skin as we walked through grass
Looking at old addresses we burned through glass.
Forgetting about the days that passed so fast
Such that the paper is crumpled and torn
Like the words hanging from our lips until
They are scattered on the murky pavements we came upon.
Illuminated by the dim lampposts on the road
They read the broken promises we once told
Lies and truth connecting with each other in years to come
They were lost once spiders spun them into moonlight
And threaded leaves into the branches burned in a ghost town.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
I promise I'll try to stop strumming nightmares to hearts.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
The space between my fingers to my heart is greater than
the distance between the cliff and the waves.
I feel so d i s j o i n t e d.
Is there a word for this? I guess I could consider it a curse.
When I tell myself not to write.
-coldness
When I look at the sky and back at equations.
-coldness
When I'm running out of time.
-coldness
Soon, I'll get hypothermia from sadness.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
“Wishes are made to be broken,” he says,
stacking up rotten dust-filled letters beside the trash can.
no matter what he says,
he was never able to throw them away. just a couple of years’ ago
his words would climb up tree trunks and lamp posts instead of
tripping and falling like a drunken figure on the rooftop the night before
Surely the candles that he keeps lighted up around the house at night
have more meaning than this words.
but the fact that they still don’t help him see in the dark
frightens me; to see him stumbling into a building, to the rooftop.
maybe the city lights from the roof would show him the missing step.
I really don’t want him to fall.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Frozen roses lined her arms,
white frost tainting her heart,
red blood spilled on pavements
with snow to cover her cuts.
Rain splintering her skin
like broken wood in a haunted house,
her mind screams, throat closes shut,
the beating of an empty heart.
A thief under the moonlight
couldn't scream to save a life,
she dreams of smudged paintings and rusting knives;
fell prisoner to a world of lies.
A falling figure couldn't change his mind,
hearts kidnapped and nowhere in sight,
she was racing past the wooden doors,
to save an angel from taking flight.©
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC