There comes a point when all you wanna do is to surrender,
Surrender all that hurts, all that you can no longer bear.
There comes a point when you wanna give up,
Even when giving up for many means defeat, but no.

I wanna go back to that day when things are free,
Free that I could laugh at the top of my lungs.
I wanna go back to those days when all I wanna do is to pick flowers from my Mom's garden
Cos those times made me feel that such place was paradise.

I wanna jump back to that very time when Mom tells me to sleep every afternoon,
but I was too stubborn that I just played around and ignored her words.
I wanna jump back to the time when Papa would let me go with him in his route,
and we'll play and haunt spiders all day long.

I wanna go back to those times when I'm still ignorant,
Ignorant that even small things could make me smile.
I wanna go back to those times when Papa would carry me from the sofa thinking I was fallen asleep,
but I was just pretending so he would carry me.

I wanna say now that if only I could go and turn back time,
I would definitely seize the moment,
Those moments when all that could hurt me is the wound from too much playing,
Not now that wounds come from my own decisions.

Wrenching lonely hearts plunge into the abyss
moaning over sleepless nights
With concrete weights attached to their wrists
and they cling to the tapestries of days spent
Coming up with endless theories of how or why
they were reduced to this
Beating their chest hoping the ache would forfeit
and the physical stain leaves the worst hunger pains
Graveling for a crumb of red velvet cake
Shaken to the core in the wake of a bed that's occupied no more
Twisting in the sheets
on the hooves of love's defeat
Playing beats to ease the tension
in desperate search of redemption but
within those late hours there's nothing but darkness
Wishing endlessly that they could depart from
the trials faced in rejection
Perspectives blackened and scorched
by a lover's torch

When someone loves their addiction more than they love you,
they will give you things
like candleholders and dried strawberries,
iPhones and giftcards,
midnight drunk texts,
they will hold out
an ashtray for your pain,
but they will cover their ears for they
have long since stopped wanting
to listen.
They will send you
on trips that lead to nowhere
but a dead end of endless guilt.
They will ****
with your head until you're convinced
that blackmail is love
and spilling the truth is hate.
They will tell you relentlessly
how much they love you,
how much they need you,
how you're the only person that doesn't leave them.

When someone loves their addiction more than they love you,
they will disappear for weeks, you will
forget what their voice sounds like
you will begin to miss
perhaps an idea you had of them
you will begin to question
if they ever did exist in the first place.
They will use you and you will think it's love,
your friends will shake their heads and tell you to run for dear life
in the opposite direction
and you will push them away because
they couldn't possibly understand the depth of this love,
they weren't there when you had to pick up the pieces,
and you will tell yourself
that they aren't there, still.

You will beg for them to stop
Maybe someday, maybe someday they will say
and you will hope and you will hope and you will hope
but they won't, they won't, they won't.

You will slowly begin to crumble
You will master the art of appearing strong
and you will find new people to save
thinking maybe just maybe
this time will be different
this time will be different
but it never is,
it never is.

And then one day you will have to make a choice
between truly living or truly dying, because yes, you see,
it will get that bad.
You will cry for days,
you will settle on anything less
than love.

You will have to finally face the truth
because something's gotta give,
it might as well be a first
or second
or third
or billionth attempt
at sewing yourself back up.

Her blanket of curls drape lightly around her face
as she carelessly handles a cigarette between
red-stained lips that grip
white and tan paper.

A flick of a flame grazes the tip, smoldering incandescence
highlights her mouth, a shade of sun-burnt orange;
the tiny lit secret sits at the ridge.

Without hesitation, she takes one long drag
and emits a lifetime of fear, worry, joy, and love
that settles into the nightlife. The escaping smoke coils
into the air, leaving a soft haze above her head.

She knows who she is,
and she knows where she is going, something
the man next to her at the bus stop has not quite figured out.

Neon red brake lights play off her face
as she glances towards him. Her wide eyes burn with intent,
jewels of sapphire blue. The huffing bus makes its presence known,
and he holds out a hand to motion for her to go first. She smiles,

and they slide into the light.

A burning cigarette.
Maybe that's all we are.
We are all cigarettes,
burning and burning
in these places that we recognize as home.
Wasting away,
Waiting for something,
anything,
to take us away from this hell
that we disguise as happiness.
When I walk around this place
I see through these facades that we all put up
every one of us has a secret,
our goal is to hide it.
Hide the pain
or the happiness,
refusing to look weak.
We're all walking around this earth
trying to figure out the purpose,
the reason.
For existing?
For continuing in this unhappiness?
I don't know
Maybe
I don't pretend to know everything
I have days where I'm happy
I have days where I'm sad
We all do,
I contemplate this life more than I should
I question this all knowing power that is supposed to exist
Not denying "his" existence but wondering
if he does,
if he's saddened by what he sees.
Not in society,
but in me.
With the paths I've chosen,
I really hope not.
Because as much as I'd like to say I do,
I don't regret a thing.
With that said,
I guess I'll just sit back,
and light my cigarette,
and watch it all pass.
Hoping like everyone else
that the day that the burn reaches the filter,
there's at least one more in the box.

Forgive me I’m Singing
The praises of a stolen night
How your lips burned in spite
Of January’s lonely chill
When bottled eyes began to spill

Forgive me I’m caught
In the calm of sea glass eyes
Steam that slowly will rise
Your kiss, the cooking moon
Sometime in late June

Forgive me I’m staring
I can’t bring myself to stop
As hand in hand we window shop
Dancing under the harvest moon
Winter’s come too soon