we were the best
those warm nights,
my head on your chest,
your heartbeat so melodic,
your every move so euphoric,
I could hear the chords of your heartstrings serenading me
the song of your love, crashing against your rib cage like the waves in the sea

we were so real
so new
so innocent
the real deal
that melodic heartbeat was really the saddest song
we believed we were in heaven the whole night long
but baby, we were so wrong

I was so deceived
your love what was i thought I had received
you've made me think that that song was fake
you lied to me
you promised you would never take
my trust, my love and crush it under your foot
your foot which gifted me a kick to my gut,

I am so black and blue
I don't want to love anyone as much as I loved you
you tore me apart, kiss by meaningless kiss
love is a tedious game of hit and miss
my eyes are sealed and my lip drips burgundy
the same tone of burgundy I wanted to paint the walls of our home, now a home of uncertainty.

that home seems to be me
I am burgundy uncertainty.

~ T.T

waking
newly human
strange and soft;
pinpricks, feelings -
the crawlings around inside you
shiver as your skin becomes real

a nightlight for daytime sleeplessness
carry the seas inside yourself
like people:
walking barefoot
drinking sunstreams
and braving the dark red nights

hark, choir voices, still
slurring miss you discrepancies
howls in empty skies
wolves die

a misunderstanding of your insides
bones
more sand than rock
crumble at a press too hard

on this,
last day of your first life
hung on a boy’s fingers
the edge of a cliff
taste the water in your nerve endings dragging you home
you splinter,
and you rise -

when the bruise blooms, you shine

The rose wept
bitter tears
                        when the thorn
pricked hard
the eager fingers
that plucked her
from the bush,
She imagined it was
her lover's.
                  Most upset
                  she kissed
                           oozing
                                    drops
                ­                        of blood
                                                  dry,
and wept,
not realizing
the thorn's anger
was directed
to the  irresponsible
aggressor, who has
only selfish motives.
The thorn meant to protect her,
while trying in vein to hold back his
tears that, for others looked like
                                                   dew
                                                      drops
    ­                                                    gleaming
    ­                                                             in pain.


Once snatched from the lap of the bush
she  hardly would last a day or two,
then  would be left to rot
                                         turn to dust
                                                 and vanish
                                                     in a rowdy wind.

In that din of dining,
a constant presence
in the unserved table
was moving silence.
Everyone talked about
gnawing pain in hushed voice
with such compulsion,
when he found his pain
following each foot step
without even letting him know,