Maybe it was not you, maybe it was me
Setting bridges ablaze
Before crossing
And trying to find  out
What was there on the other side

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were left there on the other side. If I had only known, if I had only seen, maybe we both would not have been smothered in the fire I had kindled. I swear it was only meant for me.. It's really funny how the fire I had hoped would destroy me just burnt me, it was that one look of anguish in your eyes that reduced me to ashes. Too bad. I'd have taken hundred of those burnings to take away your pain away. Pain that I had unintentionally carved into your flesh.


Maybe I should have said something, maybe you would not have heard it anyway,
But now these silences have become the crime scenes as well as the witnesses*

It's kinda ironical how you've always been the one to  get me down on my knees to pray and the one that had me concluding that both of us had fallen out of God's grace long before we were born. Lucifers in our own hell. Aching from the loss of what we could  have been.

Maybe I should have asked, maybe you should have stayed,
Maybe then we would have something in common other than our parents,
And our disappointments.


I wonder if you too have just gone through your life, uncaring, and, uninterested as if you were stuck in someone else's dream. I wonder which no. Of disappointment it was after which we decided that there was nothing to be salvaged. Not even us. Esp not us. We have gone so long without talking that yesterday when I opened my mouth, no words came out. Whenever I look at us, I wonder if cremation is just going to be a formality? I wonder if they know why I talk so much because I'm afraid if I stop I'd hear the unwanted sounds telling me that I did not talk you out of ruining yourself. I did not say a word, probably, the only time when my words held any significance and I'm sorry, my baby brother. I'm sorry.


Maybe If I had tried harder, maybe if you had not resisted longer
Then maybe we would not be soaked into this rain, permanently
The sky weeping silent poetry that only you and I can feel.

I never played with you. I tried yesterday to get you to but it was too late I guess. You remained seated in the corner of the balcony. I wonder what it is that you see that is interesting enough to keep you looking but not enough to go out and feel it. I wish I could tell you that is how I feel sometimes too. But I just don't know how to. So I stand there awkwardly in the sidelines. I laugh mirthless. Sidelines. That's where I have always been when it came to you. Have not I? I see our neighbor look at us. I wonder if they call it sweet, or, love? Me? I don't dare call it anything.

I can't sleep without you tucked up against me,
By my side.
But if you were to ask me how I'm,
I'd tell you I'm getting by,
I'm getting by.

And it's like walking through a door,
Just to find another
It's like watching you look for me,
Through my window,
In a house, with no door.

I can't seem to be able to watch you mourn me.
I want to tell you,
You can't be both the killer and the ambulance,
But you're.
And it's just not fair,
It's just not fair.

And It's like I'm the bullet you want to dodge,
But you can't go far without the adrenaline.
It's like how every flower will wilt for you,
If you love it hard enough,
And boy, did we love

I can't seem to be able to make use of this leftover me,
So in case you're looking for an empty, secluded place to rest from your inconsistencies,
Use my heart,
But you can't, you won't
A heart so tamed is no fun,
My heart is no fun, anymore.

And it's like the whole world is spinning,
Tauntingly, obliviously,
But I can't move,
Unless it's to write,
Somewhere along the line,
Expression was the only time
I was away from self destruction
And it's sad, but kind of funny, don't you agree?
It's sad, but kind of funny.

I can't seem to tuck out the disappointments,
Hiding in the wrinkles of my skin,
Or be a disappointment dressed up in
This messed up body,
But if you were to pass me by, I'd compile all the burnt out suns inside of my heart,
To give you one last warm smile,
Anything to convince you

That I'm getting by,
I'm getting by.

I don't ask your permission
to make a fool of myself,
tell you publicly
what my near, dear ones
have almost no clue

my mental torment,
headache-constant,
imperial and impervious
poetry, pills, therapy,
caring words
don't pay my kind of bills

a man has a job.
Feed you family.
Protect and serve.

do  it well,
there is no acceptable excuse.
none.

was supposed to be easing on down,
slipping under.

come so far, my soul is old.
my tired is w/o definition.
the legs, knotted shoulders,
body aging faster than I can write.
the doctors only give me
if's and unless's,
contingencies in order
to die a little slower

warped, reversal of causality,
the older I get,
the more mouths to feed.
tough, this unexpected situation,
a nine lives time survivor,
do it again?

defraud myself,
living like I can afford
to write,
with courageous reckless abandon,
when earnest is deadly
and Lady Luck gave me the finger.

simply amazing.
eyes, constantly tearing,
nobody notices.

Do not ! Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.
this well, just got dregs left,
drudgery ain't potable, or even
worth drinking.

need nothing,
for myself, need nothing.
not one object on this planet
want to posses or be possessed by.

Monday wrestle with strife,
star in my reality show once again.
now, deny reality.

Do not!
Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.

my voice is stilled,
it's poverty exposed,
ashamed of every word I ever wrote.

hush me not, for tis true,
write on for an audience of one,
on but one subject,
a life, mine,
yet, still unmastered,
after decades of trying.

poverty exposed,
a life unmasked
for what it is worth,
or not.