when you hit
that note
my heart shattered

autumn leaves like
windchimes in the
biting winds

dark skies like
mornings held high
to high noon
to full moon

and those eyes
of dark skies and autumn leaves
of windchimes and mornings

i gasp for air
as the wind stops
and the trees fade

when you held that note
to high noon
to full moon

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

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

anticipation shakes me
as my fingers tremble
in the looming darkness
of tomorrow

the shadows grow longer,
and i grow tired. the day
stretches on, and doesn't end
but then it does.

and as night falls, so does
silence, and so does the moonlight
over the shadows, over the
mountains that are ever so tall

my dreams are dark,
near nightmares, no where near
reality, where all the shadows fall
and all the moonlight glimmers

bring to light this fear
make this all now clear

there’s so many of them it’s almost impossible
to tell who’s living and who isn’t because of all the
sweat and stench of fear and deodorant
that masks their heavy breathing and
heavier hearts - burdens that they carry around
as if they were important. if only they knew that
wounds heal and scars fade, maybe, just maybe
they would already be flying

but of course you can see the halos and the horns
and the tails and the wings that flicker like
their souls in their hollow chests, only the slightest hint of their singular intention - to try to fly
but it’s the halos and horns and tails and wings that truly prevent them from flying

they are jealous of the birds that walk above and wonder how they fly - their hollow bones and hollower hearts uplift them to the black skies and
blacker stars. but these people full of blood and
bones and lifelessness are like stagnant stones
infested with dying moss, littering the ground like
ugly splotches on an ugly painting

only some know the way to hover and float above
everyone, instead of taking in they give out,
give out death and anger and hate and frustration,
let it flow like a river, washing down off away
the pain, like a stone caught in the gentle floods of
rage, leaving a trail of love and loss in the depths

these are the people who will rise up and rise
higher than anyone ever because they
know how to let go let off let be and
who don’t need wings to fly because they
know that memories are boulders and grudges are
killers and only when they give their whole
heart and soul then do they take off and



fall, fall when they realise they had asked for
too much, way too much, and realise that flying
has its own burdens, a paradise in hell, a curse
with the shading of a blessing, floating in the air
for all who reach out for to, and realise in the end:

walking was always enough.

I watch as the droplet eases itself
down from the wound, into a strip of paper,
scarlet on crimson. some might call it a stain,
but this is no mistake, I will fold myself
in, like blush on cheek, I will make it look real.

is it pathetic to imitate what we can never achieve?
the night sky gloats in silent mockery. the trail of
her dress drags along my dry eyes, and she burns
a hole for every jewel I cannot reach.

is it a sin to covet a sin? my fingers run along
the grooves of my carved pupils, and I can't
remember anything aside from the warmth
of a star in another orbit.

I fold my three hundred and fifty second paper star.
Does the moon believe that these are her children too?
Or are my paper cuts for naught? One day, I know
the paper will be skin and the star will be a sun.

but until then I will bleed, and until then
I will have to suffice with a constellation of scars
that glow in the dark on my ceiling.

they tell me to put a band-aid over it
but I've long been accustomed to *******
the blood from its source, pain into stomach,
I stomach the pain

byproducts of observation, disgust and fear
meted out like a rush of an open wound
but I pay no mind, I have my own tears to deal with
and I patch it up and sew my hairs into knots
braided into false closure, just to stop the loss

but nothing I do can stop the surge,
in every breath I lose the will
with no knot nor braid, I've neither fought nor prayed,
still the blood keeps flowing, and I just keep swallowing

skin like plaster like plaster to skin,
a growing clot can only be a dam so strong
the iron lungs heave, and I exhale a gale of rust
but I shall not cease moving, no matter how much blood I've lost

Only when the sun puts its head to rest,
do I truly wake. As the last gaze of eyes
that aren't mine shift their focus, my lungs
inflate with relief.

I am released from the tethers of perception,
and I am allowed to be alone with myself. Only
the night knows who I am, and only then
am I who I am.

To be free is to not be seen,
to own is to not be known,
to be is to simply, not be.

As the sun aches awake,
I retreat into the prison of my mind
and I will be who I need to be.

we draw the curtains as if
no one can see us
but the shadows imprinted
onto the fabric thinner than
your lies
tells us the whole story

we shut the doors as if
no one can get in
but really, all it takes
is one soft knock
and the walls come crumbling
down
down
down

we lock the gates as if
no one can climb over
but the seemingly sharp
spines are as blunt
as your cheap words,
cheaper than that
metal gate you bought

we pull the blinds as if
no one can pull them apart
but it’s us that’s blinded
to the purpose
of windows

we think we’re keeping them out
we’re just locking ourselves in

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

how can a minute feel
so, so long?

and how do lifetimes
disappear in front,
right
in
front

of my eyes?

the threads of time are not
ours to keep, nor cut nor pull
but we can do our best to
hold on to whatever string we
have, even if it’s our noose

the sands of destiny are not
ours to feel, nor touch nor soak
but we can do our best to
flip the hourglass over when
the golden liquid nearly falls

the edges of space are not
ours to bend, nor mould nor shape
but we can do our best
to smoothen out the folds
when the corners begin to curl

we cannot control everything
but what we can we must.

the beads of memories
strung onto the lines of time
are ours to keep, cut and pull
and we must collect them
no matter shiny or dull

the water of truth hidden deep
within the rivulets of destiny
is ours to feel, touch and soak,
and find our true fate within
the droplets of realisation

the ink of reality smudged onto
the aged papyrus of space
is ours to bend, mould and shape
and we have all the power
to write our own stories

finding freedom in boundaries is true release

like the scar after a rose

has taken you into its arms

like the glimmer after a star

has shone for you as it dives from the skies

like the echoes after a melody

has wrapped its slender fingers around your mind

like the breeze after a butterfly

dances for you, lives for you


the stains of beauty are but

strokes of the brush on long finished

canvases that breathe and sing,

not along hallways,

but immortalised in the scars

after a rose has taken you into its arms

when you throw your spears
they lodge themselves in the steel poles
and cry and shout and cry

but now you've shed your tears
there's no doors for you to close
don't shout don't knock don't die

the waves roll and crash
and my sandcastle
is gone.

pick up the
shells, sticks
seafoam sickeningly
salty

grain by grain
a new reign sets itself
into the ever-shifting shore

and yet again,
the waves roll and crash
and my sandcastle is gone.

pick up the
shovel, stones
silence so, so
scary

pain by pain
a new dawn, a new day
sets itself into a city of night

and yet again,
the waves roll and crash
and roll,
and crash.

but the day has set,
and the night is still very, so young

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

i wake up with Stagnancy in my bed
another morning, yet the same day
the rays of sun tear into the room,
ripping open pools of white on his face

he pays it no mind, his hands
clutch my Adam's apple like plucking
fruit in an evergreen garden,
where nothing grows so nothing dies

Constancy begs me to stay, pleads me
to never leave, shuts the blinds
so the hordes of bright people and
brighter voices stay outside our
unchanging paradise

they call him bullish names, they
say he's complacency, laziness
say he's "wasting my potential"

but I've found greater peace in him
than I ever have in the multitudes
of mornings and infinite days
that I never want to experience

so I'll wake up with Immutability
and go to bed with Invariableness
I'll give myself to him, let him take
everything, let him be everything

another morning, yet the same day.
I wake up alone again.

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

it was called
the Showstopper
and we went and it came
and we left and it went
every year

fairy lights like
fireflies frozen in cages
with your roar you stole
the souls of the young
your unspoken words
and (un)spilled blood

the rings of fire(flies)
bright in our eyes
blinding in yours
applause raining pitter patter
wind screaming quicker faster

and the smell of fire(flies)
and burning gold
is not new, not unfamiliar
not unfamiliar to the tattoos
you're so proud of

fairy lights like
you frozen in cages
and it came and went
and went and came
every
year

and you were the Stopper of the Shows.

fragility, and
pain, peace, borne in unison
how it breaks me so

finger on your lip
tells me there's more than just one
ring on your fingers

a
mutter
in the empty
corridor echoing
to and fro all the way
louder, faster, stronger
a cry now, a scream a SHRIEK

silence.
and a mouth sewn shut.

yet
again a
shiver, quiver
a rumble deep down
aching river flooding over
quiet streams burst into tremors
a broken voice now NO MORE GLAMOURS

silence.
and a voice long gone.

but
just but
just once more
the shift of air into
the hollow larynx the
beating heart slamming
against the unyielding ribs
the haunting melody fragile
but unbroken ringing like bells
the tearful shudder itching to break
free once free again as it rips out and
away an echo no more a song I will sing
into the skies a chorus of UNENDING HOPE

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.

How odd is it that we draw hope
from celestial creations falling to their death?
As we wish upon the shooting star,
it breathes its last breath and shines its last light,
and collapses into extinction, save the fading trail
etched into the night sky.

Yet as we too fall further from the orbit of life
into the space of death, will we too burn.
Then at least we will have drawn another line
in a constellation far too grand for us to see.

And when I have finally returned to cosmic dust,
and begun my journey of falling once again,
then I pray that even in death, I may be
a sliver of descending hope, illuminating
the unknowable skies.

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

crying is weakness
so they say

so now they stain my pillows
instead
sink into paper so fragile
so thin

but I’ve realised something.

tears are pearls
of our very own making
from box hearts boxed up
from the friction of existence
a beauty no poem can ever convey

tears are the answers
we’ve been searching for
the light in the darkness
the hope in the fear
the hope by fear

tears are the essence
of your very soul
whispering, always
the proof of your humanity
the true incarnation of an emotion

remember this.

apathy is true weakness.

the drop rolling down your cheek
holds more strength
than that smile plastered onto your face

in a cosmically laughable accident,
he is born in disorder, created in discord
sent off in a journey he does not understand
but he is already on his way

he can’t stop spinning, unbalanced, unsteady
but there is a path they tell him to take, and
there is a destination he has to reach, and so
he must join the race

and when he tries to breathe like they ask him to,
he suffocates in his own atmosphere,
and everything that once lived within the wells
and dwelled within the rafters,
they had to leave.

but he knows he will never be as beautiful
as the ones who mark the darkness in their
unending pursuit, he will never be as swift,
he will never be angled right, he is too slow
and too small and too weak and

as he misses his entry into orbit,
he realises he never knew why he was born,
nor why he lived, nor why he was dying, but he
hopes that if they couldn’t notice a dying star,
perhaps they might at least remember its absence

and maybe, just maybe, they’d give him a name.

when your dreams
fall
from the sky and die
don’t blame yourself

when your hopes
bleed
out on the floor in front of you
don’t cry

when the lightbulb
fuses
and everything goes dark
it’s not your fault

It’s theirs.

They are the ones that
tug at your laces
claiming to tie them
when they really are
pulling them out
and pulling you down.

They are the ones that
appear like guardian angels
too good to be true
truly too good
then the shaft of their spear
is already through your heart.

They are the ones that
welcome themselves into
your home
and crush the lights with
their words.

They are the ones that
enter your mirrors
and claim to be you.

Although if you see yourself
then please

switch the lights back on.

it is free within the confines of my mind
i have long forgotten its song, yet somehow
I can still drum the rhythm as it
echoes against the cell bars of my skull

its throat groans - yet still no sound escapes
neither joy nor pain is exempted from
the blockage of stale unmoving air
and lukewarm blood

songs rot in its belly, dead music adorned
rot bellows its song, rough and uncouth
and most of all,

it climbs up the nightingale's mouth,
an air of forced silence
the death of inspiration

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

it's the quiet of dawn
and the silence of dusk
that makes the day.

it's the unheard whispers
of the moon to the sun
that makes the night.

it's the unsung valor
of the invisible heroes,
the flicker of fire in
cold eyes and colder rooms.

and it's the unspoken words,
like whispers from the moon to the sun,
like the muted winds in the morning skies,
like tiny sparks, so alive, so bright,

that give life.

sometimes, all you can
really do is
give them a big smile
and wave them off,
hopefully from your life.

final breath in silence,
a rushed collision of fate
for eternity

like the snow before spring,
i am the last breath of frost in the air,
a bitter goodbye to frozen mornings,
mornings now filled with sunshine and despair

like the flowers in summer,
i am the reflection of aging beauty,
crinkled wrinkles are my cover,
a dried up bloom fulfilling my duty

like the warmth in autumn,
i fall with the leaves, orange,
and blood red, i slumber at the bottom
a fatal rest in a hidden grange

like the tress in winter,
i wilt my wings, nosedive
from the rain, pitter patter,
awaiting the silence to arrive

like the snow before spring,
i collapse once again into the ground,
tired, restless, unable to sing,
the seasons just keep spinning me round

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

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.

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