I wrote a thesis on what killed you.
I found the disease.
I took its name and studied it.
I broke it down piece by piece.
I spent my college on it, and then my residency.
I learnt words like
critical congenital heart defect and cardiomyopathy.
I wrote my thesis on what killed you.

I did not know what it was when mom told me.
I did not know it when you slept in blue drapes.
I did not know it when you missed my rehearsal.
I did not know it when I saw blood in your smile.
I did not know it when it took you.

But now I know it,
know it enough to write a thesis.
I know all its crooks and crannies,
all the histories and complications.
The early signs and the medications.
It took a while, but I know it all now.
So I wrote my thesis on what killed you.

I labelled all the tiniest arteries,
I wrote of all the chemical compounds,
the mutations of the genes,
the factors that influence it.
I even wrote about the treatments.
I analysed the plethora of cases,
“At least 200,000 people every year are reported to die….”
You were one of them.
“Smoking and drinking were the most commonly found factors among…”
You weren’t one of them.

I wrote about what killed you,
I didn’t write about the beeping sounds
I didn’t write about the knots in my stomach
I didn’t write about crying at my rehearsal
I didn’t write about all the cords and tubes that didn’t save you.
I didn’t write about the flowers you could even lift your head to see.
All I could write was your first name on the cover.

I didn’t write a thesis on what killed me.
I wrote a thesis on what killed you.

When I fall in love, I don't twirl my hair,
No coy smiles, not even a playful stare.
Instead, at 3 a.m., I'm pacing the floor,
Like a detective chasing ghosts once more.
Hands clasped tight some where behind my spine,
Broken glass, missing jewels, spilled red wine
One cigarette-holding fingertip
Tracing memories of a sunken ship
In the kitchen light, shadows stretch and sway,
I'm held in my thoughts I can't chase away.
No kicking feet mid-air, no hearts shaped bloom,
Just circling my mind in the quiet gloom.

A cold case of a love I can't quite name,
All the evidence whispers just the same.
There's a mastermind behind this feeling
My heart's swollen and my brain is seething
So I pace in circles, night after night,
Wrestling with these feelings I can't set right.
A detective lost in an unsolved crime,
I can't let them get away with this time
This time it's personal, I'll get those crooks
My heart's on the line, keep it off the books
Shakespeare said all the lovers burn in hell
Once this case is done, I'll visit as well.

I was a footnote in her book
She was the title of mine
I wish she had stayed a while more
Maybe given me a sign
She is all my eyes let me see
Doesn't matter open or closed
I wanna write her more letters
With the sunflowers enclosed
But she asked me to go away
Asked me to break my own heart
Her words were my gospel
So I use my skin for art

I'm not a whole person
Parts of me died in my first home
Parts of me were shunned by my parents
Parts of me got burnt in the rage
Parts of me were torn in shame
Parts of me I lost along the way
Parts of me are all I have left
Parts of me are just a part of me

I was the quiet one, lingering.
I was the shadow in the doorway, the unnoticed listener, drinking the music of laughter, living life through a keyhole.
I was the poet, stringing words I could never say. So many words and not a single truth.
I was a heart who breathed in beauty and exhaled longing, content to let the words linger unformed. Somewhere in me, there were screams, but the world asked for smiles, so I hid my eyes and grinned like a child they wanted.
I was the devil, with wings clipped by my father, tossed down to the lowlifes. Destined to reign, but never rise.
I was never a friend, never just a child, never the boy who lived, always just a problem, something to be fixed, to be changed,... to be broken.
I was the one who stood at the edge of the ocean, begging to be taken away, forever seeking, forever yearning.
I was—I am—a fragment of everything I have loved, everything I have lost, everything that has brushed against my soul, leaving behind scars and smiles, like echoes in an endless canyon.
And someday, I will be lost, from life. Lost from people. Lost from memory.
Perhaps then, I’ll be able to be me.

I heard the toaster go off
I heard the first toast hit the shelf
Then I heard the second one
I don't care anymore
It's silent now
Just me
My tears
And my years
Wasted beyond excuse
**** those pieces of bread
God's relentless disappointment
Another Tuesday.

September has ended. The rains have flowed. The leaves have fallen and now, the winds come. The bitterness builds and the weak wither. The devils get vicious and the hunger drives them wild. The softness of the mist is replaced by the sharpness of the cold. So go to your caves, hide your stocks and cover your young, for the grass is gone and the without the rains, the air smells of blood.