.

*If I were a poem
I’d ask you to fold me up
and put me in your pocket,
then at the end of the week,
toss me in the wash
with the rest of the clothes

And when you find me later,
smudged and smeared,
ripped and tattered into
little unrecognizable pieces,
don’t worry about it,
I was already like that

Once upon a time
There was a boy.

He was happy
With himself
Until the thief came.

The thief stole nothing
From the boy
As he doesn't have anything
But his heart.

But the thief
Wanted something for herself
So she decided
His heart will be her fortune.

And so
The thief tries to steal it
She tried and tried
Looking for it
Everywhere she can ever imagine
But she never could.

×

One day
The thief gave up
And decided to ask the boy
'Where is your heart?'



'Isn't it with you all this time?'
The boy replied
As he gave her a smile.

Fantasies
Can be deceiving
Yet addicting.

I always
Fantasize about you
About us.
I don't know, it all seem too blurry to explain.

What I can explain
Is that we are happy
Together
Forever and ever.

Or maybe
It will only be
In my wildest fantasies.

Have you ever thought
That we might die at this exact moment?

What did it made you feel?
Afraid?
Relieved?
Sad?
Happy?

Let me tell you what I'd feel

Nothing.
Death, pain
Sadness, anxiety
We will all get desensitized.

If you commit suicide
Will your pain really end?
Or it would just hurt you again, and again
Because nothing could stop it anymore
Not even death
Because you're already dead
At that moment?

We will one day
Die unknowingly.
And be forgotten.

Is it the oblivion that scares you?
Is it the pain of death that got you chills in your spine?
What is it now?
Is it still death?
What is death?
Do you think that death are only defined
Of a death angel ripping off the life force out of you?

Let me clear something out for you
Put death into perspective.
Put everything in your life
Into perspective.
You'll see
That life
Has a lot of other things to offer.

She is an artist.
Perfectionist.
Enticing and lovely.

She would sit
In front of
The canvas
And paint for hours
And I would hug her from behind
And give her a kiss.

She is an artist
Painting the sky blue
Full of hues.
She would sit
In front of me
Staring into my eyes
And we'd stare into
Each other's eyes
For like what, hours?

And we would lie
Under the stars
When she would cutely gasp
Out of joy
Whenever an idea crossed
Her beautiful mind
And she would paint
The canvas
With all of her heart
Poured into it.

She is an artist
Painting my heart
With colors
I can see
Every time her sweet smile
Flashed in my eyes.

x

She is an artist
She once told me
About the stars
And how beautiful they are
When they collide
Well, I did ask her
'How did you know all this?'

She simply wrapped her hands around my shoulder
And replied
'I know because I'm looking at one.'

What if
Death is alive?
Sorry, I must have confused you there.

No, I mean Death is anthropomorphic
Invisible to us
But everything it touches
Dies along with its name.

Scary, or sad?
Think about it
He couldn't even touch plants, anything!
Even metals rust
When his hands touched them.

For me, that's sad.
But think about this one for a second.

What if one day
Death falls in love with Life
And he decides that he wants to touch her
For the first and the last time
In forever?

A glorious pink and blue sunrise
paints the sky.
And on this new day,
this is where I fix my eyes.
In the light of its beauty,
my troubles seem to shrink in size.
For as I behold glorious colour,
and let go of my woes,
Joy can begin to flow.