It’s all our typos fault,
incomplete stanzas are weeping,
blackness into an ocean
full of sparkles,
dots that stamp on
chaotic poems.
I forget the passcode
of our favorite verses
as I'm still there wandering
for some complex curses
to decay the rhythmic lock
of our typewriter.
Hello World! is a code
for hacking into poetic souls,
Out there.

He left.
I’m not ready to cheer myself up again; to bring all the bright phrases to the point of being so intense and real inside my flesh, I prefer to commit to writing deadly, like there’s nothing more interesting than stamping your departed soul with all the Poets’ nihilism.

I wish I could cut my heart in half
to distract the inflammation inside
and ferociously dive
into the inner weeping
for the sake of rebuking sobriety itself
To braggingly behave.
I’m a hopeless woman
who keeps hacking into little things
that powerfully destroy her.

It's okay to fail again.
It's okay to drown insanely, to Inhale the whole fire, and to forget about the water creeping up into my collapsed lungs.
Dearest darling hubby,
You set my fear free for a while,
I'm still yearning for some of your tenderness.
I wish I was lucky enough to keep impressing you for a long period of time. I love you desperately.

I can sense my pain’s sobbing,
Sighing and leaving no trace
Of being passionately damaged.
Gifting itself a bunch of hopes and flowering them ferociously with the abscess’s appearance. No gesture could fill the gap left by being desperately injured.

This pain is intense.
Taking the brightness away,
Creeping up on our melancholy,
Hunting its bleakness and embodying such a ferocious doom inside, we are no longer alive; we are just pretending to be.

Sadness is shivering,
a broken heart is healing,
madness is calming down,
Nothing is the same.
Birds, flowers, and the moon are upstairs,
flowing through my wounds like velvet glares,
Patching the appalling nights,
wandering around and spreading lights.
I’m in love with myself today,
after he came in and sent the fear away.