you’d said I’d broken your heart
said it was all my fault
said it was because of me

you flaunt the scars on your heart
blaming me for the crosses and trails of blue and black

telling me how irresponsible I am while your hand fumbles in my pocket for my heart while you’re just reaching for my wallet

squeezing your arteries and veins
pouring it all in a wine cup
sipping it in front of everyone
and it’s my fault that you’re a vineyard

putting your legs on the table
boasting about the abrasions on your knees
bragging about the finger marks around your neck
and it’s my fault that you live in a brothel

swaggering about in your “cheap” designer nightgown
gloating about your lipstick that isn’t waterproof
and it’s my fault you’re not a trending makeup tutorial vlogger

you can go on and on
but why should I listen

when you were the one who juiced the life out of my heart made me kneel before you choked me till my neck caved in turned me into a loveless prune painted my face red with your blood

how can you say all that
when you’re really the murderer here

not a stirring storm, rather
a lake in crisis, thunderstorm
rhythm in motion, my body
is used to the churning

acidic vandalism of the inner
walls, scars like stars in the
midnight sky, constellations
of hurt, trapped within the
observatory I am

soon enough, the familiar
pain eases itself through
the rusted pipes, leaking,
faulty, unfeeling cold
like stalagmite formations

it returns home, unfortunately,
again, and I am no stranger to
the wintry tendrils that have
replaced my blood, that give me
life that isn't worth living

my digits twitch and spasm as
the metallic river snakes to
my extremes, shores of icicles
erupting to the surface

if am numb to the numbing anger
then why do my fingertips hurt?

they look at it like x marks the spot
in a cradle of apprehension they are caught
in a chrysalis of fear and self-fulfilling prophecies
disturbed sleep descends like cold blankets on colder memories

they fiddle with the dirt with their calloused toes
an imprint of hope on the sands with their soles
the fleeting winds chide them with gales in the night of day
once a broken mind, a broken heart you’ll stay

turned head twisted neck on the floor broken back
from the burdens of many, their condolences in a sack
tugged along for many years to come,
a mission long lost, aimless as the sun
travelled paths leave marks like many stains
of fights long lost and won, of broken limbs and pain
weathered faces carved into fallen pebbles chipped off a boulder
made for something big, something more, just resting on your shoulders

“I used to love too.”
My words leave cuts
On your already dead body
In my ****** arms.

The rubble of your bones
And the destruction of your
Lovely face
Leave cuts on my dead body.

The failure(s)
is/are on my part.

It’s all
my fault.

A touch of my finger
Leaves nothing but nothing
behind.

A breath from my lips
Kills and rots all life
That it reaches.

A shiver on my spine
Is the electric chair for
All that is loved.

A tear from my head
Floods cities storms worlds
And all I can do is cry.

As you bleed out on the floor
You flood my heart with your
Sweet, sweet blood.

And I enjoy every last bit
As you fade.
As I fade.

And I cry.

True love’s kiss
is the spindle on the spinning wheel.

I used to love too.

this is humanity’s very own Pandora’s Box
watch as it unfolds watch as it unlocks

besties for life - what are friends for

to be used as an ends to your means
a toy to play with, a shortcut to your goal
a rag doll to shield your schemes
thrown away when growing mould growing old

love is a game - you won’t get bored

for like minded killers and villains
to slowly entrap, their lives under the lake
till spiralling obsession and infatuation bleeds pain
leaving the world with one less snake

people are leeches - death at the core

don’t get too close or you’ll become a shell
their heartless chests hold more than just evil
one wrong step gives way to vampirical spells
one more trick leads you straight to the devil

nature is a curse - thorns at the fore

we think we own it - it owns us
we sleep on thrones of poison ivy
we survive on the shadows of feeble trust
we bide our time before this becomes a privy

souls are myths - just emotional ******

we scream and moan and shout and cry
hanging onto threads of sanity
we think we’re brave, we’re scared to die
******* our own blood - please join us for tea

reality is dreamland - we hide behind closed doors

we cover our eyes so we can see
whatever we see is what we believe
what we believe are all the lies we’ve been
dreams are ghosts of things we’ll never achieve

maybe once we’ve reached the limit the ceiling the floor
we’ll learn our lesson, once and for all

every second spent
with him is another colour
in my menagerie

im painting the walls
magenta, hazel, aquamarine
they blend and swirl, a new form
of life, plastered onto a beating
wall

every second spent
with him is another colour
i can picture

im reeling from all the
moss green, the incandescent
violet, the royal purple
im reeling, but i like
the feeling of being spun around
in circles?

every second spent
with him is a shade lighter
than before

suddenly my world is saturated,
and everything is too warm,
and everything is too cool,
and suddenly the scarlets are violent
and the baby blues are depressed
and the olive greens are poisonous

every second spent
with him is a colour
lost in my world

i have decided that
black and white is the
only safe place to be, to
see, and yet the grey becomes
too much, the grey in his
hair, his eyes, his skin

every second spent
with him is bleaching
my colour menagerie

but i am the one with
detergent cradled abreast,
and i am the one making
all these colours bleed,
and i am the one running
into a world of no colour,
because i have given all
i know about colours
to him, and

he has
given
none
back

once you gave me flowers
radiant like your eyes
stark against the soil
of what I thought was
a scarred face

i watered it day and night
scared to drown you
scared to dry you out

i gave it the sunshine
of my life
so that it would turn towards me

then your back turned
and all of a sudden

the petals became fabric
and stalk turned to plastic
and the flowers turned
away

“their bright colours still
remain on my sill
next to my bills
a bloom of ill will

they never seem to die
no matter how I cry
a plastic smile for life
but it’s dead as your lie”

The point of games is to play, not win. Not many people realise that.

We don’t ask people to win with us. We want to win. Why should they? We ask people to play with us - so that they lose. All we care about is the triumph, the podium, the trophy. We are blind to those who watch from the sidelines. We are blind to those who stand in the shadows, waiting for us to slip off the stage.

Life is a game we are all playing. You’ll never know where you’ll land next. Some people find this thrilling. Others are too scared to move - they forfeit their turn. Because one wrong move might lead you straight to the devil.

Out of the corners of your eyes, you espy the people cheating. Their hands are empty... or so they seem. Fingers stained red from paper-cuts and stab wounds are hidden under sleeves of things that really aren’t theirs.

Those that are caught are sent straight to jail - you see a group of them huddling at the corner. Only a few manage to get a double roll - the others rot there for eternity.

Then you have the cliques. You are in one yourself. Uniform in uniforms. Groomed to perfection. Groomed to win. You have an anger, a slight enmity for the others, that tints your eyes red. You don’t know where this comes from.

There are the lost. The losing players, the already lost. They wander around like ghosts. You wonder why some of them are smiling. Why should they be?

You look up, and the casino called “Love” flares and glares in your eyes. You’re not allowed in yet. But you know what goes on inside.

Catcalls and shrieks are daily occurrences. They mix together to form simply a distraction. Some people walk out of the minigame with laughter and love. Others stay forever.

The rolling of dice clatters and clashes. You watch as cards fall, as cards slit throats, as cards splatter onto the ground. You watch the people you thought you knew turn into monsters of want and desire. You watch the blood-red eyes mock the world. You watch the floating castle in the sky, perfection encapsulated. You know it’s all fake. You watch falling stars crash and burn.

This is the rhythm of your game. Of your life. They tell you to stick to the rules. Play the game obediently. End it well. They say all of this with a huge curve on their lips.

It’s your turn to roll the dice. It’s your turn to play. It’s your turn to win.

we call it the light within, the core of our lives
critical to our survival, a light for all to see
we think it encompasses our conscience heart
mind, we think it is the reflection of our thoughts,
our very existence compressed into a glowing
ember of hope, love and life

we think that without it, death comes quick
and quiet, and quietly and quickly we go too
the air of our spirits, a fiery burst of determination
in even the darkest of days, a spark to revive
the flame that burns, an explosion of our colours
the very essence of ourselves

we don’t question why we think this way, we don’t
question how it burns, how it survives as well
we don’t see how it is a rock on fire, we don’t see
the price we pay, we don’t feel the tug on our
minds and hearts, how among the three, it is so
heavy, so so heavy, but we just can’t see

how does fire burn? it needs fuel, and we are the
fuel, burning us from the inside out, charring our
minds and hearts to a perfect crunchy crisp,
growing bigger and bigger, all-consuming just
like the humans are, always wanting more when
they already have more and getting less in the end
and still wanting more

slowly, we are overtaken by the flames we worship
as will everything in the end reduced to what we
actually are - a speck of dust in a universe
a universe of dust in a speck, reduced to ashes of
broken pride and nonexistent esteem, lost motivation
and dying wills, never realising their mistakes even
at the moment they die

i pity them. i pity their fake wings fake bodies fake
humans, their invisible burdens which are oh so
visible through uncovered eyes, resting on broken
backs, sprouting from the failing roots of a lost
life, desperately grabbing onto strands of sanity,
when they really are just tightening their own
noose

maybe their tears are their saving grace, wetting
their faces and hearts and minds so they don’t
immediately burst into ashes, the soaking mess
of misery grief and hopelessness, ironically
the things pulling them down to earth, keeping
them wet, so the fire of their soul does not
burn them up and out just yet

a relook at the soul: the spark within, tame at first
sight, before we feed it and do so gladly, spiralling
into a deadly monster of fire and darkness and all
we can do is to pacify satisfy it, with our minds and
souls and bodies till we fall back onto the fiery
soil as soil and soil once more

maybe humans deserve this life, and souls are just
blessings in disguise, and their ashes are meant
to be borne of the sky and sea, finally disappearing into particles of existence that
pollute our minds hearts souls.

or maybe they deserve a chance to fall asleep in
death’s soft arms.

behind the black days and torture and pain,
two friends hold hands as they walk in the rain.
they are invisible to those who see, and don’t look,
as they watch the humans and the toil they took.

they feel emotional vampires brush past their skin,
looking for love and only finding sin.
they count the days long past and fallen,
wasted on skipped turns and hearts already broken

they are stepped on and over in raging mobs
that only exist to scream and complain and sob
about their wings that won’t let them fly
while those that try can only cry

they lie on thrones of thorns and roses
and watch as humans pluck and pose
they look away as they get dragged back down
they walk away as their smiles turn to frowns

they hold their noses as charred skin fills the air
watch as they tie themselves to electric chairs
laying their hands on the ones that survive
they wonder how the humans ever thrived

they smile sadly at the art piece on the floor
they had hoped that humans could be more
they finally leave their hopes to fall
maybe next time they’ll respond to their call

life and death walk hand in hand
looking at the vast grey land
then they merge in the shadows that run
finally showing their true form as one

from the shadows a crown of thistles and thorns
clothes sewn from all the halos and horns
a quiet voice echoes in the silent morning
maybe the curse was always a blessing

don´t
splash the walls red
tell me to clean them
then blame me for the stained floors

i am already in your grasp
already suffocating within the metallic throes
the walls are red with my blood and yours
spill more, and drown

don´t
ask me why i am bleeding out
tell me to clean it

the cut on your face
was from your glass face
so fragile a word can break
so sharp a heart can break

don´t cry your diamond tears
sell them away
then blame them for buying themselves out

i am dead within your hands
don´t ask me to clean it up

stone walls guard scattered calls
of the birds tied down by their own broken wings
and they wonder why birdsong’s in its grave

the others whimper and squeal as
the walls move in and close in
nearer and closer
and run over the flurry of feathers
like exploding pillows and torn blankets
their screams seeping into the bed

some seem to be smarter - they crawl, their broken wings dragging on the floor as they drag themselves across the floor as the walls run across the floor
but broken they stay, a pair of broken bones wound across their backs into their hearts

the bravest stand firm stand tall stand against the unbreakable tide that breaks the unbreakable
but in a gust they are reduced to the shrivelled corpses of bright lights and brighter dreams

they have yet to realise a(the) force stronger than them

the wings that they dearly long for are really the ones that are tying them to the ground

the wall of feathers and pointed ends rushing towards them and they rushing towards it

the muffled bang as reality and reality collide

i am free to wander as i please,
feel the whispering forest breeze
my shadow splayed like an ugly crease
my face hidden beneath the trees

i am free to wander as i desire,
daydreams of a foreign liar
once bound to the burning pyre
i'll never start my own fires

i am free to wander as i like,
ball and chain adorned with spikes
and crown of iron, my royal hike
to distant lands, no two alike

i am free to wander as i choose,
ghostly kisses on a blackened bruise
uncharted lands mock my rues
i'll never leave my home, my ruse

I am free to wonder, never to wander
trapped within the glory and splendor
of my own mind, the foreign liar
ties his noose and sets it afire

they come from all the words
left unsaid in our heads
blood from all the swords
bleach the paper red

they come from all the songs
left unsung in/at our wakes
from all our deathbed wrongs
till death do us part (for our sake?)

they come from all the paintings
left undone, hung upside down
stabbed into the wall, only waiting
for us to make our rounds

where do poems come from?
they come from us, to you
from you, to us,
from you, to you.

many are left in wrath
in the wake of Time's path

he seems a foe, seems like
Death's master

treat him with no respect,
try to get away with neglect

he will seem a foe, seem like
no other

but hold his hand, and take your
Time, for

he will be a friend, will be
not asunder

know him all the Time, embrace
every moment and place

he will be your friend, will
walk you till your slumber.

your crystal mask,
cut to perfection
radiates in the burning
heat, a bright beacon,
blinding, bedazzling

yet it is the very same crystal,
that is so fragile,
so see-through
your crystal tears radiate
in the transparent
rays

you are the only white rose
in a sea of red

you are solace in turmoil, where my eyes
lay to rest and my heart beats quick

you are ruler of the bush, star of the
Christmas tree, moon of my sky

you draw my gaze, fuel my lust,
i look to the skies not for the stars but
to stare directly into the sun

but such as the sun does blind me,
so do you ***** me with your thorns,
pale face of rejection, moonshine of
pity, but not love

like the clouds covet the sun,
a hand caresses the spines,
and i lie on a bed of thorns,
for the hand is not mine.

bury me where the sun can't see
where its rays have never gazed
hide me away in the unknown
never thought of, never thought about

bury me where no breath has been taken
in soil where no root has defamed
a garden where nothing grows
is a garden where nothing dies

bury me like an unwanted memory
like a recurring nightmare, an endless dream
if extinction is forgetfulness' child
then remembrance is my nemesis
bury me where they won't know I'm gone
and where they won't come looking

bury me not like I've lived
bury me not like I've died

bury me like I never lived
and like I never died

when you're scared
to go home

is when you know the sun
has left the sky

and the moon has drowned
itself in its own reflection.

and i thought i could hold out long enough
to keep you alive

but you're burning me out
and so I will, you

the end, that's it.

i fall, a mime (s)till

as the curtain falls
farewells and thanks
in the night sky, resonating
empty eyes crying light

to culminate in this
how tragic, how unfortunate
cracked lips utter
gasping for the limelight,
kicked out of their own show

all for the punchline;

"you love I"

a mountain of bricks, glued by memory,
hand-built by you, hastily put together,
mistakenly given life, a glossy trophy,
i am a mountain of bricks you walk over

a splash of dye, a spill of ink,
i lie red, white, black and blue,
you cleave crumbling edges, watch me sink,
profanities in cursive, defamed by you

i bleed over the cracks, paint over the lines
as you take me back, piece by piece, brick by brick,
scatter me to the earth, burn down the signs,
i am a mountain of bricks, sweetly sick

The grooves of the door handle
clasp too perfectly about your
fingerprints. Push, don’t pull

and enter into my splendor.
The expanse of the corridor
is slightly familiar to you. The
gait, the wait, the bate
of your breath and the silence
that follows and the violence
that crashes through the expanse
of my corridor are
slightly familiar to me.

The master bedroom is
straight down the street and
a left turn after two blocks,
past the cafe you irregularly
patronised for all those years
where I could get but a glimpse
of the sunrise through the window.
It has a his and his, a walk-in
wardrobe and easily removable
wallpaper. If you would like to tear
it down because the deja vu
is too strong then I have about three
hundred other instances of solo
interactions between you and me, and a
colour palette no other interior
redesigner could ever possibly imag-

You peek past the slightly neglected
washroom, clinical scents wafting out
like blood washing off wounds that are
never meant to stop bleeding but
rather are orifices we pretend to
not understand. The leaky faucet hums
a tune you played on the harmonica
three years ago. You recognise off-white
tiles from the freckles of your face. I am
in the medicine cabinet, just waiting
for you to reach in and patch me up
along with the ever-bleeding orifices but even now
as I ****** the faucet with a hundred
unfinished melodies the bathroom is still
flooding.

The living room is a graveyard. But you
can’t smell the bodies because I set a
reminder for myself to put on deodorant
every alternate week when I stumbled
past you to get to the same side of the street as you
but each time a different car
would kiss my knees and colour my bruises in and
each time you would
already be
gone.

This next room is under construction.

This next room is under construction.

This next room is utter destruction.

-

I reach into the medicine cabinet and grab at nothing
and suddenly the wallpaper is just the pattern
of my shirt sleeve because I have long forgotten
the name of the cafe I saw you in once.

I watch the expansive corridor become
fragments of impossible sidewalks and
mono-coloured zebra crossings. I can
no longer see the sunrise through
the window. I have never seen the sunrise.

Do you know my name?

-

The grooves of the door handle
clasp too awkwardly about your
fingerprints. Don’t pull, don’t push.

Enter into my splendor.

i am lost, once again
in the candy floss
fantasy of his candied
nails, leaving caramel
trails as they flourish and
riposte upon the small
of my back

like a child, i want the
sickly sweet grape-flavoured
chapstick of his, glued to
the hairs of my peach-tinted
cheeks, lining the licorice
alleys of my palms

i want to remember and relish
in his flavour (that i have never
and probably will never ever
taste) - i want to store them
in display bottles in the back,
sugar crystals for my eyes
only

i want to be at the front of store
and i want to give him a
bouquet of my candy floss dreams
and wave extra long as the smell
of grape-flavoured chapstick
and caramel fades

he will never know me
as well as i do him

and he will never know me.

we clatter the seabed, grey-blue
curves dusted by sand, collectibles
forever left behind

we funnel beneath the *****,
beige shores, hidden from the sky,
out of sight, out of mind

we grind stones and pebbles,
fine as the freckles on your face,
against our chapped lips

we nurse the cracking carcasses,
saltwater biting at our raw cheeks,
puppets, helpless in the tide

we are hollow, devoid of shine,
and we feel our beating pearls
gasping for air in your poisonous,
silken pockets

when the blood bleeds blue,
and the skies turn red

is when I know I've lost you
for sure

when the rivers run red,
and when the sun cries blue

you look at me
like I look at my hand stained red
like the hilt of the dagger

your blood is pooling on the floor
like my love for you bleeding out
like the tears from your eyes shining
like my red fingernails

you were blind to my love
like me to yours, hidden
like the blade in your flesh piercing
like the words you just uttered

so I opened our eyes to the rawness
like your wound to my lips trembling
like your arms (hands) hung around my neck tight
like your lips against mine

you didn’t seem to understand, mind confused
like me as i fail to understand why you shouted
like when you screamed “i love(d) you”
like you love me

i
like
like
like
you.

that’s what I was trying to say.

maybe that’s what you screamed.

i sit amongst the wreckage and her sisters
destruction watches as i run my fingers
along an old scar, opening a fresh wound

i ***** every finger on every edge i can find,
trying to find some semblance, some feeling
of what used to be

the dust only reminds me of
how long its been, yet no dust
has settled yet on my
mind

within my fingers, i clutch
a fragment, glossy and new,
another one of the hundreds
i've created, one that i am
finally bound to love

right?

but what good is a
fallen flower
except to be stepped upon
crushed under your
unwavering soles
of courage, bravery and
anger

i gift you this corsage of
lycoris radiata and
poison ivy,
and may you wear it till
the flowers fall

and crush you.

it runs

all over me

clouds

soft, silent, sifting

through my messy and *****

hair for the

light bubbles and tousled curls

enveloping me in a breeze

of heat and warmth

falling onto all the

ugliness and dust

burning right down to my

heart of

stone, cracked by the cold

and i stand there for

years, decades, centuries

until it finally runs out, and

i collapse under the frozen burden

of air all around me

i shatter

without the

warm

running

water

i'd die for your frosted sugar lips,
**** gemstones rolling down my throat,
cutting my flesh into diamonds

seal your cheques in typewriter's speak,
i'd die for the rosy thumbprint over
my eyes, blind me from blood stains and
ink rain

bakery's closed, but you're still open, and
so am i, as we slow dance in the fading lights
of slow burning ovens, creeping warmth like
limbs around mine

i'd die from the bittersweet taste,
insidiously beautiful, black crumbs
in open wounds, ashen eyes hiding regret

as he utters slumber's name, i awaken
from beneath the counter,
dying to live
living to die

and in a beautiful show of collapse all around,
a shower of stars bleaches the ground

beauty fallen, but not from grace
beauty sodden, but not your face

a leaf sobbing in autumn winds,
i am but one of many for whom you sing

a song of light from the silent moon
i listen not for the lyrics, but for your croon

and in a beautiful show of collapse all around,
a glowing breath of life i have found
i live not for the beauty, but for the sound
i live not for the life, but to you i am bound

i wonder what it would be like
to be a shadow, void of light,
of weight, of stress

hidden from the sun, hidden
from everyone, asleep behind
thick curtains and black drapes

and at night, i'll come out to play
i'll leave my mark in the twisted shapes,
in the uncertain and in the unknown,
only to fade with the day

i will go back into the dusty corners,
alone but not lonely, freed by the realisation
that i am a shadow without trying, a ghost
tethered to plastic store-bought bones, and
i will collapse with all the finality of a thousand
spider webs and a regretful smile

steel cold hard air slaps you in the face as you
awake for the somethingth time. you drag yourself
out of bed and drop right into the steel chairs
rolling about in your office, a resounding ring
echoing around the room. but with their grey faces,
they couldn’t care less. you work work work work
and work, until you finally drop dead back down
to your steel bed.

you never question why. you just do it, for fear
of… you don’t know what you fear. you just feel
a steel knife pressed hard to your neck, the edge
cold and slick against your sweat, ringing in your
ears a perfect harmony of death and life, a
sweet sweet sound of release, yet binding you to
this thing called reality

you don’t want to feel that way. you don’t want
to roll into every single day the same way you’ve
done every year you’ve existed (lived?). you want
a rhythm to your life, ups and downs and lefts and
rights, a waltz, a sonata, a symphony of life. so
you make your own reality.

one day, you just don’t wake up. you cling on to
a dream, something so rare, so beautiful and so
powerful. you hang on for dear life, yet not afraid
to fall into the abyss below, the black arms
reaching up to reach you, catch you. you stand
on your dream. you jump.

a flood of something shoots up your spine
apparently called emotions, and your muscles
tense up, as you fall fall fall and you’ve never
felt better, never felt so alive in your life. you
close your eyes, feel the wind whip your hair
in a flurry, your limbs limp by your side.

you feel happy. a smile creeps into a blazing
bout of laughter, ringing in the abyss like the sun
in the bleached sky, the rocks yellow and blue and
pink, a beautiful height of ecstasy, no trace of
grey steel at all, only you and the world.

you fall, and fall still. your dream. your reality.

they can only see a body splayed on the floor,
eyes bleeding pink yellow blue, limbs twisted
and bent, and a gigantic grin frozen onto a
background of fading light

a pedestal for all to see
engraved on its bronze
bio: “reader writer - carpe diem”

as i let the liquid slip
out of my chest into
the pillows of my hands
resting on the pedestal of my face

minimum bid starts at
“has dog and is nice”
but the empty hall
gives no comfort
except for stray flyers
begging for
the thing in my hands
to fill their negative
bank accounts

as time starts running out
so does the liquid
out of my hands
and i can only put it
on sale

my hands are at my knees
without the warmth of my heart
and i am left with no choice
as it leaks into the open mouths
of hungry, filthy holes

and i crumble to the floor

“cadaver - free real estate”

It was the flash of white in the distance, the warning sign of the skies, that alarmed me. The glaring rays of sunlight dimmed in the blinding strike of lightning. The clear blue sky was marred by a scar.

I stop my car and get out as the second wave hits. The burning sand on either side of the road seems to shiver in the presence of the silent bursts. I can only see sand dunes until the horizon. I won’t reach my destination until a few hours later. Surrounded by desert, I have nowhere to go.

Then, the clouds come. But there is no rain. There is no thunder. There is only lightning. Close by, a withered tree is struck. The stench of burning wood courses through my respiratory system.

Even after multiple bolts have fallen, there is no ear-piercing crash of air expanding violently. It’s the seeming calmness of everything that is gnawing me from the inside. Death strikes the ground in complete silence.

I can feel my hair stand as the clouds turn darker. It’s coming for me. I jump into my car and step on it.

But I know I can never escape. The rumble of sand bursting and exploding is less unnerving than the silent killers from above. It assures me that I am not deaf.

We run. But we can only run. We only have so much time to reach our destination. Go for it. Don’t let the lightning storm reach you. Death comes quick and quiet.

Don’t let it catch-

A shriek of pain and lightning and thunder and rain are twisted in one, echoing throughout the desert called life.

a ringing, oh so soft,
yet so fragile, sits in my ear
a ghost of a reminder,
that you were once here

and like an unfinished song,
i keel on the verses of empty,
and fall into restless sleep
upon senseless lyrics and
painful choruses

that i am forced to sing,
my throat yielding to the
puppet strings of life, rending
every note, torn into fractions
of a melody so haunting only
i can hear

the facade of beauty erasing
the colours of melancholy,
i am bound to an unfinished song
that is me