In this bungalow bathed with mud and leaves
Moss seeps through fissures in the walls
Sprawling vinery rips through paint beneath.
As my headdress rusts on the window sill
I glance to hush its last scorning glares
Hidden in this hammock, outlining my fears.
This sunken land fails evermore
How steady the brick counts its last dusk
How many more days to tend to them?
Old tapestry hanging above untucks,
Undone by the collapsing roof.
Leave me here a bloodied man, squashed by rock.
Limping, gushing, dripping in my demise.

Pressed onto these sheets, outlining my breath
In, out, in, out—each is accounted for.
I've drawn these walls plenty times over
I've sat for hours to sink into myself
I've swallowed melodies, delicacies and crack
Oozing mulberry, prune and cherry
Collapsing at the thought of it gone.
How do you feel when there is nothing to?
How do you retreat only to return again?
I am a puzzle who no one dares to sort.

And at night I plunge myself
Downstream into a river of foam
Set adrift to visions of grandiose places
Flaring fluorescence and friendly faces
Taking the time to tour towering cities
Where the rumors speak of golden tables
Gatherings for the dapper and pristine
I see myself indulged in flattery
A puzzle sorted exact.
And having drawn these paths
I'm jolted back upstream
Feeling the weight again.
Mulberry, prune and cherry

We wither like embers adrift the winds
With dreams set to depart eastward
Packed bags carrying rations, hopes
You sought to venture:
The beds of roses, bustling lands to scour
Enter the crowds' billowing cheers

In the city's grandeur, eyes glaring upon you
There at the centre, you stood:
Empty in mind.
Your flame roused.
A Silence that could sink you into a grave
Turbulence beneath the weight

Locking yourself into the burrows
We become pale peeking boarded windows
Counting passers-by like sheep
Conversing with them—only in mind
Have you become friendly to the Silence?

I share a dream on a warmer night
To know your docile embrace
And willingness to return
There’s only so much space in the dark

A vision or a memory...
You stood at the pavilion with broken thoughts
Still ready to quell your fears and set it ablaze
And rest yourself into the fissures

Will you miss the Silence when you leave?
I hope to see the flames in my slumber.

A fleeting regression of an evening bloom
The echo of my wailing voice—distant.
It seeps through the ceramic walls
Even these thick glass windows
cannot sustain a reverberation so profound.
Why retrace every step as an image in mind?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image of past faults remain?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
Why does the image continuously bother?
Why does the image taunt on repeat?
An echo of wailing voices under my breath
Snipping at my cords, they hush my objection
Silence, silence. Silence!
Remember, remember, remember...
“Do you remember the image of your faults?”
“Tomorrow we shall ask again”

It had been 11 months since I dared burst my skull
The ghastly vision that ebbs and flows
from mirrors to walls and solemn windows
Their precarious steps clouding my neck—
bottle after bottle and their vision recedes
How swift the mind guides away from the ruptures
How swift the world seek change at unwilling ends.
Stillness at the silence of once bustling dwellings.
Cyclical patterns I once fought to leave
Elated thoughts and galactic dreams
No longer suppressed within the concrete eves

How delicate the mind—
turbulent.
Devoid of warmth; devoid of comfort.
How cruel the nights have become.
The churning of my stomach grows
as I lie against callous tile.
My skull to burst as I
am erratic in thought—each one
burning me still.
They blur my throat for I grasp for air.

I cannot reach it.

I heard you—
Insinuating, fading,
dying exquisitely;
falling into your melancholy.