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Erwinism Sep 18
You’ve got a city pass in City of Uncertain Love,
walked through the door,
didn’t so much as flinch,
even after all the plasma drawn from this love,
you walked away hissing,
bared sharp fangs, jaundiced from all the scathing words that flowed,
pale as a vampire,
it was you after all and not me you said.
Enamored with the sights and sound, the 360 degree dining experience with a view of the future, complemented with vocabularies to match your mood, aged like wine in the vineyard of pick-up lines,
while I’m left here in a curiosity shop of brokenness:
kisses spat back into the bottomless void of yesterday;
thoughts of once newly-minted strangers we were scrawling notes and now smeared by tear stains;
a heart with no discernible shape, slapped for dragging beats on the snare;
A corpse of a phone you have murdered taking it off life support when you eloped with my charger;
mismatched pillows you left, still possessed with the ghosts of restlessness nights haunting the halls of my mind with echoing arguments of what to eat for dinner;
a spare key—a wedding ring for a keychain.
I fell apart.
Ring!Ring!Ring!
“So, everything didn’t work out for you?”
—inaudible—
“Do you know what time is?”
—inaudible—
—you missed me?”
—inaudible—
“Uh-huh….
Sorry to hear, but there are no refunds for your freedom ticket. Bye!”
Click!
Erwinism Sep 17
Hi Eddie,
look me in the eye and hold my hand.
Sip the air slowly and breathe.
Eddie, I see the weight you carry,  
The silence that lingers when you speak,  
How love, like wind, slips through your open hands  and leaves you wondering where you belong.  
You are the lyrics and melody to my song.

My dear friend,
I can sense
your brokenness.
A thousand years that lived in our days
is not enough for you to mend,
you did all you could to blend,
still you were an outsider to them.

I know you’ve given
more than you received,  
and every time you try,
the door stays shut.  
But hear me now,
you’re not alone in this,  
I’m here, beside you,
as the shadows swells.
But I need you to believe.

Though they may turn
their backs
or look away,  
their blindness
cannot dim
the light you hold.  

It’s themselves
they are leaving to decay,
I’m near you
through the aging of the cold.

How I knew your story.
For every page that was dog-eared
I ached with you.
How could a playground
as innocent as children can be,
be an ecosystem for the cruel?
We often went home with you
mottled in blue.

You held your own and smiled,
but I knew deep inside
it is where
you were mostly bruised.

Behind those bright eyes,
are sustained notes on a string,
bent high enough then it
dove with an ululating vibrato.
I knew your soul was singing the blues.
But I was clueless about your truth.
Until time uprooted you.

I recall seeing you
hiding behind the bleachers
bawling your eyes,
wailing your inside out,
looking like a crumpled paper,
and you were.
As if you were a note
bearing tragic news
stinging the eyes of a reader
the way a coffee drinker
would burn his mouth
for being overly excited
to sip from an angry mug.
It was something you told
your mother and father.
“You were no child of theirs,”
is all they could utter
and while it left me bothered,
you tried brushing it off,
like those words didn’t matter.
Stood your ground,
against aches that could stain
you,
like you were a magic
eraser.

But you were a rogue moon,
pocked with millions and millions
of craters
drifting farther and father away
into deep space.
I recall sadness deeply
entrenched into your face.

Over time,
we grew taller;
not older.
How brazen of me to think
that just because our legs
grew longer
that they would be enough
to take us somewhere,
but I faltered to hear
you say that somehow the past
kept chasing you.
Fetters attached around
the feet of your heart
and it has been going on forever.
And in the mirror
is a stranger that you’ve
known longer
than you ever known yourself.
Seemingly stuck inside
of what was’ padded cell.
And how I wish I could help,
but to you swore not to tell.

So I must tell you.

But you are unbreakable.
I see it in you,
steady and untouched,
A quiet strength
that rises through the cracks.
You are enough,
even when they can’t see
The beauty of the soul
you show the world.
I’m here,
whenever you need to be heard,
when your heart aches
for words you’ll never hear.
Though I can’t make the
hurt disappear, I just wanted
to make it clear, I’m near. I’m here.

Lean into me
When like paper
the world feels too sharp,
that it seem to cut you in half.
When the silence is loud
and you feel unseen.
Know deep in my iris
you’ll see you in me.
Through storm
when the winds of doubt
snaps the sails
and you find yourself
cast away.
I’ll be your shore
throwing you a line,
Know that I see you, Eddie.

I’m sorry Eddie, but you’re not alone.
Erwinism Sep 15
Could you pawn enough courage to smile and pretend that everything is going to be fine? Just this time. One last time.

While the lines are blurred, and cries inside unheard, know that as the end unfurls it is that way by design.

As we cower like cowards in corners we run towards the cracks as the daylight chases us to remind us of the debt we owe for squandering every streak of light  on fights and afternoon delights, you and I knew somehow, we needed a place to hide. In an obscured sense, it is that of saying goodbye.

When I set the pen down and let ink bleed into the parchment, when I twiddle my thumbs cognizant of the things I meant, much is pondered about why the room in your heart I pay rent and as a tenant, I’m flagged delinquent.

And on your end, all along, you had all of me tucked in your hand. The silence too abstruse for one to comprehend and is unnerving.

Perhaps you found me undeserving of a love always teetering on the brink just waiting to succumb to gravity. Now the weight of unspoken truth bears down so heavily on us as we fall apart.

This throbbing anxiety seems to walk the road of eternity and in our insanity, we were two pyromaniacs playing fire with destiny, and destiny, a sadist as it may be, there is a horizon bordering its cruelty and honestly, we were vampires driving stakes in each other’s heart.

What I meant is speak your truth or forever hold your peace, for while we had our falling we loved nonetheless. No matter how we repress the past together you and I undressed and the future fraught with regrets, I must confess, though I detest, today we leave what we  had and we leave it to rest.
Erwinism Sep 14
Shoot for stars but take your world with you.

A space-lost man knows that he is trapped in his mask.

He blows breath onto the visor despite dwindling supply, creating a thin mist reminiscent of snow telling the world it’s December.

There he sees the past reflected on a soft, soggy patch.

There he momentarily lives, knowing the end has finally arrived to pick him up at the airport.

Through the glass he sees eternity falling and the stars gasping for breath and black holes falling on their knees.

The end is cold.
Like hearts devoid of love.
He clutches it by the arm.

In his solitude, he feels for once a king. Claims his stake in this lonely universe orphaned by reason.

Beyond nebulae bursting into light is a celestial villa where the forgotten lives tax free and there he shall retire. So, it seems.

He leaves his footprints in the coarse, sandy darkness, where most dread to follow. He drifts away with nothing but himself and his regrets talking back to him. Telling him of tales lost.

Too late, he could flood galaxies with tears but nothing can reconnect him with his harness. Communication slowly breaking down.

He hears a blanket rustling and heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards. A squeaking valve. Running water trickling down. Yes, a tub. Yesterday and Yesterday had enough of him. Got tired of his hollow eyes. Devoid of a soul. He hears the door groaning. The bells chiming. Door slamming. Engine revving and growing fainter.

Under a looking glass he plotted constellations. There is life somewhere he pondered, but there was life where he stood. He just didn’t have eyes for it.

He shot for the stars and lost his sun in the process.
Erwinism Sep 14
Low density,

not mostly empty

but empty nonetheless.

No definite edge

—strange for a world obsessed

with curves and edges.

We are but clustered atoms,

modest specks of particles;

we are free-thinking atoms,

and well-aware that we are.

My world began, and like everybody else,

I was in one piece;

a piece made up of clustered atoms

—free-thinking.

My craving sight,

longing to be fed;

longing to digest

an uncharted world in my mind,

not mostly empty.

The swaying room

On the wall, sunflowers are drawn

flailing under the withering sun,

waltzing with the strolling breeze,

beautiful, I thought

perfect, I thought.

It was a time when I cannot see atoms for what they are;

not mostly empty;

not mosiaced,

but in one piece.

That day we weren’t just atoms;

we were sent off to the swaying room;

we were wailing seals when our folks left

us at the care of our teachers.

A kid who sat across the table pointed his finger at my face and opened his mouth and out came the three words, ‘You are ugly.’

‘No, I’m not.’

Yes you are and so is everyone in your family.

I smiled and the more he teased me.

Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!

Lost my innocence when I was five;

no longer a ****** from the cruelty of
this world of clustered atoms.
Exit the womb at your peril,
lest, endowed with consciousness;
should have been told;
should have erred on the side of innocence
tucked under a placenta.

So began a world like everybody else;

low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
A world obsessed with curves and edges;
with shapes and sizes;
with colors and advantages.

Dragons are real; this much I know.
My mom used to tell me to ignore them.

As if on cue,
as soon as the school bells rang
their tongues loll out of their mouths to utter the word ‘ugly.’
The bells a stimuli
for their rabid mind.
Even at night they were cicadas in my mind’s
lawn,
chirping cutting words,
a cause of insomnia.
We were walls,
vandalized by juvenile,
nay primitive free-thinking.
Our pain covered in graffiti.

For so long we were made to believe,
the defects,
the blemishes,
the scars,
made us ugly,
all along it was their eyes.
Words have stimulated casualties
those whose souls leaped out to limbo;
souls who bought the idea that suicide
will make the torment cease;
maybe it did; maybe not,
what of the bereaved?
Words can be the longest noose.
For fear of seeing something unmeant
we set visitation hours
when we come to check ourselves in the mirror.

We wander;
we wonder,
as we navigate our way out of this labyrinth;
out of this house of distorted reflections,
we have the mistaken impression
that our images are warped,
in truth we are warped by the impressions
of us.

Sometimes we have to squint,
to view ourselves from a vantage
point where we can be beautiful;
where we don’t feel awful;
where we don’t have to take pills;
where we don’t have to dawdle eating waffles in the morning to avoid the hurt;
to avoid the prescription bottles.
People often find ways to medicate the hurt,
but not the hurtful.

Low density,
not mostly empty
but empty nonetheless.
No definite edge
how can these atoms relate words of hate?

A face cannot wear beauty,
only those who make this world a beautiful place for everyone deserves to be called beautiful.
Perhaps atoms feel better
seeing other atoms collapse.
Erwinism Sep 14
Not long ago
the twilight called you into her arms;
into to the depths of the unknown,
left your name in the care of this world
sweetest sound that leapt from your mother’s lips
and ours.
The tides where you are is unperturbed
by the mortal wind,
and in the clouds a garden sprawls
and thrives at the tip of its universe.
We can only imagine.
If such letter scribbled here shines a light; if our candles burn
may you find it a star in the night.


You are no more,
no more to share this borrowed life;
no more treading in the stream of time;
no more but with me still, stirring yet ever still,
shattered heart never heals.
as the last rays of the sun through the window of your room dim,
Your soul is lit up in our dreams,
as though a candle that eternally burns,
I bid time, return
for you my father had taken flight,
silence lingers in restless nights,
where you be, you be
for we shall have our time,
to reflect on this life; the endless sea
for too, shall we; in the crossroads meet the end of our journey: an inevitable destiny
and where you be, we be.
Erwinism Sep 14
Will I ever reach you
when there are tides surging and sweeping anything in between?

Have you seen something on these stair steps winding within?

Wild-eyed hope scurry into the woods of the night to heed the call,

wasted so many years growing up to find nothing beyond these walls.

I falter hearing blood and friends are in their ways broken, but all I do is listen and pretend to understand,

decipher encrypted messages of fate engraved in their calloused hands.

We are spent being rogue satellites looking for a sign of life,

fledgling wanderers cut by thorns through age made contrite.

When time plucks us out of the tree I’m hoping to pop up somewhere where the sun is free,

unlike this place where the end is only thing guaranteed.

And you and I laugh about it, a reprieve from crying out of sight,

so we hide behind comforting lies,
for the hurt is in the try.

It’s hard to own a face
in a confined and crowded space,

quietly we must go
and in time, leave without a trace.

Yet, though there are waves between us, let me know when you find a beacon guiding you back to the shore,

that unseen in the great unknown, there is much left unexplored.
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