while we
let the sun kiss our skin
we watched the sky
through the leaves
and talked
about the weight of the world
which is laying on the shoulders
of our generation

Scars on
my soul
and body,
eyes
closed,
I leave
my skin.
Isolation
pain imparting,
tortured
are the
souls of
men.
In the
empty night
I’m flying,
I pass this
gift unto
my kin.
Inside
I feel
like dying,
light infused
with dark
within.

my poems sway of love, tragedy, and growth
and at most times, you tug me into undead thoughts

a moment to reminisce into a play of illusion,
we sat across each other, making the most of there is
your existence, your memory forms a remarkable fusion
you're a masterpiece sitting before me, a view I long to seize

you were a nostalgic daydream from the past,
you held my hand, captivated my eyes, with a spell of love you cast.

you were there before me, alive in a memory and illusion
slapping myself back to reality; you're undead but gone and changed
I am haunted by a romantic, untold tale that left me estranged
this is a play of illusion, nothing but a subconscious' work, I stare at the empty space, reaching a dead-end conclusion.

IA