when we love someone,
we give our hearts away.
to those who aren't fortune's favored,
their hearts are taken permanently.
but the heart we can reform,
and reform,
and reform, again and again,
but after a while, we forget how the genuine one feels like,
and all we are left with is the shadow of what used to be.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC
i was drowning
but then came the pouring rain
and for the first time i could breathe
the glass on the table no longer tempting,
the voices in my head no longer speaking,
and the smoke that suffocated me have left for the night.
sober nights like this are what make me glad i didn't call you in the dark of night,
asking for a place in your heart that was never mine.
sober nights like this are what make me realize i was right,
right not to ask favors you were sure to decline.
they say doing nothing is an impossible thing to do, but sober nights like this are when i do impossible things for you.
shattered glass on the floor
but they were not mine nor were they yours
because we kept ours and so we dont bleed
i know tomorrow the wolves will howl again,
i know tomorrow i will miss the silent,
but while i can say this to myself, i'll ever be grateful for
sober nights like this take up my regrets,
regrets that i could have had if i crept on your blankets in the moonlight.
sober nights like this give ease to things i fret,
because here i get acknowledge the cost of fleeting delights.
the ghouls in my head make it hard for me to see, but sober nights like this let me know what's good for me.
the glass on the table no longer tempting,
the voices in my head no longer speaking,
and the smoke that suffocated me have left for the night.
i know tomorrow the wolves will howl again,
i know tomorrow i will miss the silent,
but while i have control over myself, i want to burn this to my head:
sober nights like this come and go,
and i know tomorrow i'll be drunk in my thoughts.
sober nights like this are hard to let go,
and even harder to remember after the return of the demons i fought.
i'm a slave to the darkness that broods inside, but at least in sober nights like this, for a while, to myself, i can lie.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
i closed my heart and hid the key.
for protection,
for deception,
for reservation.
but now far too much time has passed
and when i decided to unshackle the locks,
i've regretfully discovered
that the key has long since rusted,
and the vault will be forever closed.
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
they call me brutally honest
with words that spare not even the most fragile,
with jabs that tear through hearts and leave scars,
done in an arena where the weapons are dampened by rules, culture, and norms.
if this holds true,
then how harsh do they think the battle is fought in solitude,
where the only one who oversees what can and cannot be said and done is myself?
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
"do you know why i'm always right?" he, nothing but a boy without reason to exist, asked in the depth of their conversation.
"because you're smart," she said, echoing the words of tens, dozens of others in the exact same assured tone.
"no," he replied, his draw of breath done so meticulously as if the words he'll utter were from an overused script, "because i'm a pessimist,"
"because i accept the fact that if anything can go wrong, it will. if even the slightest chance of misfortune exists, the universe will favor it. this is the truth, and people prefer to keep living in the lie because they think it indefinitely can protect them from the pain. but the truth? the truth always prevails."
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
these walls were made to be unbreachable
built on the heart that shattered countless times
no giant has ever ruptured this rubble
and no god had enough power to see inside
so when the fissures started appearing
and the stones slowly watered down
i ascend to see nothing but a weakling
with velvet words and eyes of brown
delicate and precious as the intruder may seem
his dance was probing and destructive
the words he spoke fractured the seams
and the walls could do little to disrupt him
panic kept rising as the questions insued:
was the intruder a blessing? or was he the scourge?
should the walls be torn down? or immediately renewed?
was this an act of good will? or just another purge?
from this perspective it was truly hard to say
what his intentions were and if his heart was true.
or maybe the wall had made me forget how to play?
i laughed and went down and pretended to know what to do
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
i think about the people in prison--how some of them find solace within cold metal bars and isolation.
one might say that they conditioned themselves to feel that way, or that it's not a façade and their happiness is genuine.
however, prison is still prison. every convict has their way of dealing with their sentence, and each one came from the same place the others did--outside. they grow up to be different, matured individuals while serving time, and they fulfill certain roles to maintain harmony.
those without life sentence are eventually set free, and they find the experience enlightening and fulfilling, or tasteless and dull. either way, being set free after years in cold cells makes for a feeling of bliss, as if a heavy burden has been lifted.
i long for that feeling of bliss. i long for this burden to be lifted. i've yet to find whether this experience is fulfilling, but i'm anxious to know what it's like to be free. i try to fulfill my roles, and inevitably i also mature. i know we all came from the same place, but i've yet to know how to properly deal with the experience. i'm conditioning myself to be happy, although it's becoming apparent that that's a façade.
all i feel is cold and isolation, and i cannot find my solace.
i stop to realize then: if this life is a sentence, then i dread to think of what i was charged with.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:31 AM UTC
if every day is just a struggle for another,
if every hope is only for a better tomorrow,
if every breath and every heartbeat rests only on the most breakable threads, on the false promise that the light is waiting at the far end rather than being just an illusion or a figment of imagination to ease our bearings
how can we say that being alive is still better than not?
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
he beckons to me,
donning a persona as dark as night
yet with it is the promise of light.
his embrace, i am aware, is supposed to feel cold,
yet i swear it's the only place left to find warmth.
his presence proves heavy,
and yet, consent to his touch promises relief.
he beckons to me,
right now he is the man i desire.
he will come for me when time deems it so.
i know because he approaches everyone.
and i wish to come to him now,
yet i cannot find the strength in me to court him.
should i?
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
the bruised neck and the dangling rope
felt less painful
than the expectations wrapped around her.
the silver blade and the crimson fluid
shone more distinctly
than the dull stack of golden medallions.
the doctor's prescriptions?
oh, she took them.
but she had no time for prolonged treatment for she had her 'obligations'.
so she ingested them all in one go.
and for once,
she had received what she had sought
the honors,
the love,
the concern,
although she had wished she had received those
on a place without the black clothes and the pretentious words of preachers.
her only regret
was that she could not say:
doctors will always find people who need their care
and lawyers will always find people who need defenders for a fare
but when painters go without making a single stroke,
and when musicians leave without composing a single note
only then do we wonder
if the lives of those who fostered fake aspirations
were ever worth their parents' expectations
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 5:47 AM UTC