He is spaghetti
A forkful through her fingers
Quick to eat in trains.
She's just hungry for pasta--
Come now, the Train's arriving!
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 8:25 PM UTC
Scoop spoonfuls of joy
and let dark beads percolate
in a tiny cup.
sugar, milk, milk and sugar
clock doesn't stop--tick, gulp, tock.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
I had a dream that
Everything was drowned in tears
All sounds were silenced
And the rain fell with a thud—
Shards of broken memories.
A lone snail was caught
Amid the torrent of tears
Not for a moment
Did it let go of its freight
I let it carry my weight.
My world is fading
Melting in desolate tears
And I can't stop it.
Woes do come as raging floods
But who'll be there to save me?
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
I am sorry if I'm just a mediocre
for not being good enough
in everything
I am sorry if all I could do is whine
crying out like a swine
how imperfect the world can be
I am sorry if I'm not beautiful
if I'm not friendly
if I'm messy, stupid,
insolent, sensitive, and grumpy
I am sorry for being so quiet
that it makes the air awkward
for being a sickly *******
or when I sometimes talk a lot
as if I know everything
I'm sorry if I sometimes feel special
like a protagonist of some story
looking at everyone with scornful eyes
for being so disgustingly melodramatic
for always making excuses
for piling lies on top of lies, on top of lies
or for not even trying
to make these ****** words rhyme
I am sorry for being so hard to like
let alone, to love
and if I ever made you frown
of any of the above
or simply of my existence
know that I am deeply,
truly, and terribly sorry.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Unwanted, it came out of the sky. Each drop falling straight for the earth. Feels heavy upon my shoulders, as if a giant presence filled the air: everywhere I go, leaning, clinging—hanging on my back, with its grips of quicksand. Time and again, it blinds, disarming me with its painful Flash, before its booming Roar, that the beating of my heart seems to shake my vision, and my bones to creak—all out of a stupid fear; creating an earthquake insensible to others, with its epicenter at the very core of my being; while my stomach growls in resonance, giving a severe indigestion, and a vertigo so persistent as to make someone ***** his own life. And though it came down with a chilling breath, sweat unceasingly springs from my body. For the truth is—I am truly nervous, that this rain is but one of the many storms to come.
And so, as the discordant melody of the city continues to lull the world
I, like an infant mewling at night, remain awake, cursed to ponder
never to be reconciled with peaceful Slumber.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
My heart almost stopped
While I was inside my head
I did not resist.
You know, it feels great!
How the dark suffocates me
Sadly, I awoke.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
Would you know me, my Love
And wave your hands at me
Or curve your lips blissfully
If my name chooses to escape
Your memory?
Would you embrace, my Love
A body that has turned to dust
— An image of the past—
Nay, would you return my love
For as long as I last?
For it would mean everything
To have someone like you
Here and everywhere, a companion
Knowing that the sky is pale
So she fills it with hue.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
Am I a spider without web?
In its silky warmth it abides
Am I a wolf without fangs?
From which a hapless prey hides
Am I a lion without its mane?
Upon which the kingdom rests
Am I a snake without its hiss?
From its music springs death
Am I a foolish mouse?
Without its genius, it becomes fad
To the feline but with stealth
The slower ones are just fat
Alas, am I a human without a purpose?
Slowly thus his soul corrodes.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:04 AM UTC
I long to die
And have eternal respite
From these tormenting woes.
Yet I'm afraid that
Upon closing the eyes,
Will ensue regrets.
But if I live,
and force myself to breathe
this air of lead,
I shall spend days and nights
Lying in bed.
For there is no soul
As tired as mine—prematurely worn
By the hands of Time.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:00 AM UTC
Monday is a lie
Like your parents fondly told
To make you behave
No less than the morning news
As real as the Boogeyman.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC