I am wearing my brother’s old t-shirt
when I see you dressed in white.
You’re smiling next to her.
You’ve never beamed that way before.

You look so grown up.
The boyish charm all washed up
into the greys of your mind—
where maybe, a picture of me dies.

Funny—this is our end.
You leave my revenge undone.
I imagined it would hurt more.
But my heart is steadily sad.

Treat her better than me.
Keep the other quests at bay.
Have a home.
Have children.
Have laughter.

Maybe,
when I am wearing white,
my smile will prove
that you never existed.

The world is weird.
I pray to gods of stone—
and ignore
the god in me.

Three minutes of song
flooded my brain
with images of that night.

It felt like I was there again—
you,
me,
and a deflated mattress.

The window rattling in the rain
as we whispered
our darkest truths.

It’s night now, baby.

Do I still make you stare—
stare into the sky
the way we once did?

Or do I melt
like a snowman in the sun,
leaving a puddle
for you to run through—
laughing,
barefoot,
untouched.

Just three minutes.
I’ll be sure to skip it next time.

But for now,
you can consume me.

There it goes.
I tried—
thrice—
to catch it.

Slipped past me
like that summer
in the rain.

Wasted.
Desolate.
Alone.

It went away in tears.
They stream
down my dusky face,
slide
down the neck
where my shame hides.

You see,
Mother—
I am not blind.
I see it too:
a mirror to my being,
held up
in nails.

It’s vile.
It moves on its own.

And yes—
I hate me
just as much
as you do.

timing is different from time
therein is a mystery deep

it lives on a celestial plane
out of reach for normality

to eat at its mystical feast
you have to be invited

A familiar smell
Brewing from the orange sky.
A cup of tea.
Leaves start to dry.
Felt on me -
A breeze - so shy.