I saw the darkness long before I saw her.
It was reveling.
Some dark and untasteful yet lovely.
I never wanted anyone more in that sleepy second.
I became ephemeral.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:19 AM UTC
i am the western culture,
i am misunderstood
cos i am different.
i am the irony of century-old tradition.
i am an alien
the one that gets to be looked at twice
i have become their fears
i am the stranger
i am the western culture
i must be misunderstood.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
i wept for the moping owl
that had blood dripping form her eyes
then at midnight she’ll always cry
“your demons are out why don’t you follow suit”
I’ve always known this night-bird
for the darkness she and i shared
my shows had also known her
together darkness was our only scar
i loved the dark scribbling of poe
that demons may come and demons may go
on the illusive road of Eldorado
like blood melted in December’s snow
no one is ever there you see
behind the garment of your lovely fear
whatever you think is whatever will be
Goodbye Owl, for dawn is near.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
there's a part of me that stays hidden.
the true me.
i hide it from her. for her sake.
if she knows, i fear i might lose her.
id rather appear predictable to her.
i'd rather be boring to her.
there's a type of darkness that lurks within me.
if she saw it saw
she'll crave for it.
she'll be tempted to take it out of me.
she'll be forced to change me.
and she'll lose me, and i, her.
i don't think she's ready yet.
i don't think my virus is all in her yet.
she has to be too far gone to know who i am.
after all, love is all about losing oneself to another.
she makes me vulnerable to everything.
but i don't think she's ready for my kind of love
for my kind of love is exhausting, it ***** everything up like a vacuum cleaner.
it's like a disaster, and earthquake rather.
my kind of love is rare. it's pure, and it's deadly.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
i let her **** me.
slowly at first.
i felt the life leaking out of me into the thirsty ground.
it was painless.
she killed me so well i wanted her to do it again.
i ask myself
how did i get here?
how did i make her my self control?
the question are useless now.
i'm trickling to my last bit.
i've tasted the euphoria of death.
i have taken death by surprise.
she is not the murderer.
i am.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
"maybe the world was afterall a faulted whisper at the edge of nothing..
maybe the world and the realities in it are made up off numbers.
maybe the world is an illusion hoisted firmly in the mind of humans..
maybe the world is a container of mortality; that somewhere out there there is another container of immortality.
was the world born out of desperation?
was the need to exist so immense?
are we really existing.."
these questions floated around his weary mind as he sat in his study with a pen in his trembling and a voice in in mad head..
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
don't undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don't undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.
she's long ago
forgotten me.
she's trying on a new
hat
and looks more the
coquette
than ever.
she is a
child
and a mannequin
and death.
I can't hate
that.
she didn't do
anything
unusual.
I only wanted her
to.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC