I have tasted how bitter the world could be,
and how sometimes you'd find clarity
at the bottom of a bottle.
I know that blood pretty much tastes like rust
and that instant sleep can come from a pill,
leaving a sickening aftertaste.
I know how liquor burns your throat
and how it fast forwards everything
while you're stuck in slow motion.
I know how tears
aren't that different from seawater—
you'd drown in either, one way or another.
I've become numb enough
to tolerate fire and venom,
numb enough to say
that the world tastes bland.
My appetite for life
continues to deteriorate.
I no longer want to taste
the world in all its flavors,
I no longer want experiences
served on silver platters.
No matter the presentation,
Nothing ever seems worth savoring anymore.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
I know
that the only thing i'll get from loving you
is loving you;
that I am only ever destined to love you on my own
because the chances of you reciprocating is thin ice—
I don't want to try and tiptoe my way into your heart
because little do you know
that I carry heavy burdens in mine,
and no matter how hard I try to take careful steps,
my affinity for brokenness
will always linger at the back of my mind.
I know very well that when thin ice breaks
it'll hurl you into cold waters
that sting like shattered glass,
and though I've already grown accustomed to pain,
I don't want to face it again anytime soon.
I don't want to remember you with regret and remorse—
maybe I love you too much to let everything end like that.
Perhaps I am only ever destined to be like the sky—
the prime witness to how the sea
unceasingly tries to kiss the shore.
I could show you all my colors
and cry all the storms I could muster.
I could show you what the universe has to offer—
the sun, the stars, the promise of a new day—
but I doubt that you'd bat an eye
because no matter the push and pull brought about by the moon,
you'd always be drawn to land.
I know
that the only thing i'll ever get from loving you
is loving you.
I could only ever love you from afar
because I feel like I'd be asking for too much
if I were to wish for more than what I deserve.
I'd be asking for too much
if I ask for someone like you,
and I couldn't possibly live with the thought
of letting you settle for a world as lopsided as mine
when you deserve so much better,
so much more.
I'd be asking for too much
if I ask for your hand
when I know very well
that I can't control the tremors in mine.
I know
that the only thing I'll ever get from loving you
is loving you,
but darling,
even if this is all it's meant to be,
just know that it is both a pleasure and an honor
to be in love with someone like you.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
After suppressing pain and keeping tears at bay over a million times, you learn how to lean towards numbness all because being hollow is ultimately better than overflowing with mayhem.
At first, you try to convince yourself you’re numb. In the long run, you’d no longer be a novice in this game. You’d learn to walk amidst the flames.
But darling, this isn’t strength; this is me coping, lonesome and alone.
Darling, this isn’t strength; this is ignorance well-meant, this is appearing whole when deep inside I'm disintegrating, this is me trying not to fall apart in your presence because I don’t know if you’d have the guts, or the conscience, to pick broken pieces up knowing that the shards could very well hurt you too.
Darling, this isn’t strength, so don’t put your faith in an empty cause. Spare yourself and say goodbye, and I’d give you my last farewell.
I’d rather we make amends before we part ways rather than just breaking away without breaking even.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
She downed wine bottles to the last drop,
Smoked cigarettes like her life depended on it,
And took her good night’s sleep in the day
Until streetlights become her sunrise.
She never thought about tomorrow;
For her, there was only today.
She didn’t believe in yesterdays either,
Because every time she woke up
Last night’s memories become blurs
That she could not make sense of.
Sometimes she smelled like a million dollars,
Sometimes like morning breath and alcohol.
She was like a thought passing by–
Within arm’s reach but still intangible.
Strangers line up to unwrap and taste;
She is savored for a moment,
And forgotten the next–
Another flavor confused with many others.
She gave pieces of herself away like candy,
And sometimes I wonder
If she still has enough of herself left.
Maybe she does.
Maybe she doesn’t.
Maybe she looks for pieces she could use
To fill her hollow gaps
Every night she goes into town.
She was the blooming child of “Maybe” and “Why,”
Wilting, but still alive,
Still taking in the air
Even when it reeks of tobacco,
Still taking in the water
Even when it’s mixed with alcohol,
Still living in the now while she can.
Maybe “now” is all that she has left,
And maybe she doesn’t know what to do with it.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC