There are times when writings is useless.
When the similes go on for too long like when the ocean merges with the sky and your eyes cannot the define the boundary between each crystalline blue and it is almost sublime because there is no end or no beginning and that is what I think of you. Infinite

There are times when art is not enough.
Like those times I cannot make the right mixture of the hue of that lovely tint in your eyes and, of course, not matter how many times I trace you in the canvas those lips like rose petals will never move and say "Me too."

There are times when music is lacking.
How you remind me of a melody each and every single time I see you and despite trying to trap the melody in these useless music sheets nothing comes but a few missing music notes that birds and composers have not and will not fathom.

But if I could write you down in paper,
I'd let the words scramble away once more because the free verse of your world intrigues me further more than finite verses on washed out paper.

If I could paint your essence,
Life would be a monochrome film,no more technicolour, no more blushing cheeks. I like you much more in this everlasting landscape where you can dye the world a million colours and still search forevermore

If I could play you in to melody,
The poor birds would be envious and the world would be a quiet place without composers able to eclipse that lovely song of yours. And yet, I love this cacophonous world in which everyone is deaf to you but I who can discern such a faint, dainty tune.

There are those times, you know?
When I know I'm not good enough but if I could, I still would not.

I never cry in front of people anymore.
But when I did it was sonorous and wailing
clinging for support, gasping for more air.
And after the storm had passed and the sea was bright
there was nothing but the quiet and the joy.
I'd drained the worst in to a handkerchief and dumped it
in the bin.

Now, years have passed and life has taught me
one too many tales.
I now know to weep softly, softly in despair
as the scalding water of the shower hides
tears and muffles sounds.
Because those I thought cared lied and went away.

I want to dance to Frank Sinatra's tunes
this cold time of the year.
With our feet bare on the kitchen tiles,
with a handful of each other and our heads
reclining for support on our shoulders.
I want to stay there until the early hours of the next day
with a soft silence and cozy smile;
just us muting the world for this little while.

When we soon run out of music, we'll simply sway
like an anchored boat on a breezy day
and all I'll need will be the steady beat of your heart
because to me you are a mellow melody always
and throughout the disarray of my life.

Just for this night let's sway in each others embrace;
let's dance the frigid winter nights away.

Life's a joke;
death's the punchline.
Now let's all laugh.

I want to love you, I promise,
even more than I do.
But how can I love you even more,
when I already do?
I want to be infinite with you-
but life gives you finite moments
and I enjoy those too.
So tell me,
so kiss me,
so hold me
and I'll return each and every gesture.

Let's hide underneath a starry duvet
just between the darkness
because I promise you the the stars
interwoven into a blanket and give
the moon to you as a plump pillow so
you can rest your dreams in the safety
of the possibilities.

You want me to leave you-
once the moon sets sail and
the sun makes its marked trail
back into the pink sands of the sky at dawn.
You think yourself so small,
not good enough for you and I.
And I can tell you many times
but you can't listen to me if
you keep covering your ears
with your palms.

Let's close our eyes, just here,
where the sun doesn't shine-
hurry! Before the light reaches us.

Let me show you,
what loving you is all about.

I just want to let you know,
you don't go unnoticed;
I see you.

PS. But it'd be great if you could
come a little closer and thus then
I could hold you and tell you
everything is going to be okay.

                                                                    Sincerely,
                                          
                                                                   A friend who truly cares.

And then it hit me;

it had nothing to do with the fact that I tripped over a rock
fell and scraped my knee, crushed orange leaves and marred
them against me-it'd be tricky to get this off in one wash.

I was caught by an overdue epiphany;

it had been chasing me since the beginning of everything but
I promise it was not the reason I jogged each and every season
back and forth-which I suppose also was metaphorically.

Nothing was going to change;

I got up and brushed my raw hands on my ***** pants,
mud stuck to the heel of them and trickles of sweat fell down and
made everything that much colder-windy city.

If I kept waiting;

my breath came is white puffs, rapid and elevated,
the sun broke through the thin barrier of gray clouds and I swore
just a bit at the state of my ripped pants.

For someone to come and alter it;

my legs were burning at the sudden discontinuity of motion and thus
I got up and stretched once more- my knee was bleeding- inhaled deeply
the scent of crushed leaves and began my journey home.

It was me all along;

Children played,undisturbed by the chilly breezes of Autumn,
they fell and laughed merrily as though falling was just a sanguine
thing to do.

And it wasn't easy, I know;

The wind took the tiny tangerine hats off trees, blowing, howling,
the leaves soared at the mercy of nature's cycle-death and rebirth-
and suddenly my excuse of “what's the point? I'll die anyway.”
seemed petty and amusing.

I needed to change to change things.

A child, unafraid of pain, dove unto a pile of gathered leaves,
disappeared in a midst of orange and red after emerging
flushed and jolly, snickering and snorting. I crossed the road
and reached the door.
And after I let water fall and take away the dirt, a stray leaf had
made its way to my hair and I did not throw it away but kept it
as a reminder of the tumble I took to fall to this conclusion.

Autumn fell unto my world, feathers bright like the plumage of
a Phoenix bird in flight.

To my first follower,
for taking the courage to click on the tab.
To my first like,
for taking precious moments reading my design.
To the ones who followed after,
for taking notice of my mind in pixelated patterns.
To all who shall come after,
I won't ignore the precious deed.

Thank you for the ones who stayed
as well as those who could not take any more of this ****.
I know I am depressing, banal and even dull at times but
for each and everyone of you who thinks I am worth a heart;
I could not have asked for a better companion who shares
this lovely craft.

Let's continue awhile longer,
reading and writing
listening and trying
and since this is getting a bit tacky I'll end it here
remind all of you that I appreciate that seemingly simple click.

Last night I dreamt I committed suicide;
and it wasn't beautiful or poetic
it simply was yet another death.
I felt boneless and dizzy as I awoke on the dawn
of yet another day.
The sun shone through cracks in my window but
relief never came of not having that dream real.

Last night I forgot to sleep, I forgot to feel;
and I didn't toss around my bed but laid
as a corpse does in his casket.
I felt numb and yet somehow disappointed
of not having someone to scare away this beast.
This beast that clings to my body like a second skin,
this beast which eats away my sun,
this beast that grows with the ennui of life,
this beast which spits on raw wounds of my flesh.
It keeps me caged,keeps me inside,
belittling me and snickering just when I have managed
to get a foot out the door-
so I step back in and close it firmly shut.

Last night I prayed to anyone who would listen
and it was poignant and pathetic because
I awoke to another bright day of laughter from my peers
and I could do nothing but stare from a faraway place
with white noise stuck in my head.

There is man in the first floor of the building,
we lend him our eyes because he'd got no use for our ears.
He tells life with vivid motions, stories through fingers and expressions;
he's got a joy for life and it's apparent from his actions.
He puts me to shame as I try to convey life with all this intricate words;
I say meretricious, he waves his hand away
I say despondent, he shakes his head in dismay
I say exuberance, but all he has to do is smile.

There's a savant in the first floor of the building.
He's merry and jolly,
reminding everyone with a gentle smile that
sometimes words are not enough, reminding us that
although the pen is mightier than the sword
actions speak louder than words.

I've nothing to offer
but
my simple writing on papers.

It dances in the darkened corners of galaxies,
sleeps amongst collections of brilliant stars.
Sways with the tug and push of merry tides
bringing sweet little shells for someone to find.

Ever patient awaiting its turn in the medleys of planets,
a persistent idea over the linear logic of time.
Its lashes are made of stardust and its aspirations bud with time,
it dreams of the waking world when all is still and silent,
stirs in ebony blankets,
willing the sunlight to dawn and sift to illuminate its opalescent
silhouette.

It skirts the boundaries of a seeking mind,
giving furtive glances of its outline
seducing a victim to fill in the lines.

A tool for an artists' oeuvre.

Once in a while you'd call me regret,
wonder out the door and lose your way outside.
But I'd wait by the window,
all morning and each unbearable night of limbo.
And when dawn broke through the window and
the light illuminated the trail on your skin;
you would appear on the doorstep ashamed and keen
on me.
I think it's now routine but I don't mind the times because
I've mapped love marks on the atlas of your skin knowing
you'll want to come back once you've seen the x marks the spot.

I want to ******* against the wall
until you murmur my name like pleading to a saint.
On your knees begging the devil for release,
gasping, writhing, stripped of all formality-
we'll make the cold moon blush and hide.

I'll teach you sleep is not the only thing to succumb to
at night,
to measure time in breathless sighs and pray to
another God.

I want to have you,
until you forget your name and remember but mine.
Sweating in the night, bodies intertwined.
I'll let you eat from my red apple if you share yours with mine.

I am jealous of your cigarette,
won't you place your lips against mine instead?
Inhale-
Exhale
A dance of rapid breaths.

I'm jealous of your cigarette,
of how delicately you seem to hold it
and yet never let it go until, of course,
it burns your fingers;
but I promise I'll never do such a thing as hurt you.

I am jealous of your cigarette,
of the aftertaste and the time it takes away from you,
of how you confide in the smoke in times of desperation.

I'll be here, your addiction,
you won't need to light me up;
and leave you a better taste.

We're but a collection of monochrome films,
each it's own color.
Pixels on a screen,
giving life its big animated motion picture.

You are the absence of color in our cinema screen;
white.
I am the absorption or combination of all combined;
black.
So why then, when reflected through a prism your light
gives a rainbow?
It must be the light versus a color, without the light there is
no Technicolor.

We're but a composition of a continuous film,
and ensemble of the cinema of life.

There is a blood clot in the center of Imagination Street,
I can feel it.
It blocks the path that follows through Creative Avenue
where cars horn, roar and protest, curse and smother with
a simple look of “Move the **** on!”
And yet no paramedic can remove the jumper that
lays from austere insipid life.
It's a victim of routine they say, jumped from the nearest skyscraper
hoping to touch the sky but fell miserably on to the streets.
There is an aberration stretched over the streets, I can feel it
because it's me.

I am to see to it that I never find you,
dear my stranger.
Because if what Steven Chbosky said was
indeed true,
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
Then, I sure do not believe I deserve you.

I am a cold, bleak and weary melody;
Forced out of guitar strings, alone,
a solitary piece made by a starving man.
My low notes bring down the sturdiest ship,
dragging its corpse to lay down on the sea-floor.

I am a low pitch plea of woeful "help me";
a drowning man swallowing water as his
mouth seeks the air.
My voice is wispy smoke of years of no use,
contaminating the very lungs from which it originates
from.
And sleep, she is a blissful siren.
Bringing me to underwater caverns-
chanting and humming melodies as the pressure
takes me down under and my eyes close in surrender.

I am more dead than my corpse will ever be;
just an empty sea-shell-
no pearl, no life.

I need the money
but I am not a slave to a master.
In this capitalist world were thriving
needs the illusion of paper worth,
were the jungle has segregated itself
between social life or work,
living or spending
where we follow the bell and expect
a lunch break,
where paying for a life I had no say in
is the law
and we are seen as robots to a mechanism.

A working class in which I am but a replaceable
machine gone awry over years of misuse
and
my life is compiled over minimum wage for
paychecks
where times is anything but gold.
A society in which working for retirement is
somehow starting early,
where youth is wasted and rusted by gears of a watch.

Call me a starving artist because-
the art of my life is but the aesthetics of my mind,
because I won't invest my time for the ownership of your profit,
because living is not experiencing the wonders of
a world in where success is equivalent to currency.

Call me human because I am,
free and spending my life but not to mere pennies of your system.

This morning I sat contemplating the wrinkled sheets of
my night of restless slumber-
I thought of the possibility behind contacting you and being
denied or sitting here and believing in the multi-verse theory.

When I was younger I took comfort in the thought of different
worlds which equate to multiple plausible outcomes.
I thought that if it rained here,
out there, another me would enjoy a sunshine bliss.
And so, by that logic, there is a universe in which you answer
positively, negatively,
one which we never met
and another which we are together from the beginning.
If so, does that mean this universe is the one of regret?

I am staring at my undone bed fully aware it won't make itself,
but I can't help and ponder that in another universe things once
broken put themselves together.
However, of action and inaction,
of to be and not to be;
this world demands and answer.
Thus this morning I make my bed quite early and wait for a reaction.

Summer once more,
you dote on him and make excuses on his favour.
Saying “not guilty” when we, the judges, know
how criminally wrong.

Need some time, he argues,
as I, your friend, sigh against the obvious.
But you can't see because he curses you the culprit
while playing victim.

We both know, your eyes tell me,
through the manipulation and the love that's more like “***”
that blinds you, that binds you
he twists you once more around his finger until he gets bored
and moves onto another.

Can't you see?
The boundaries between *** and making love?

Stop begging for scraps of attention, can't you see?
Love is not constant incrimination.

I was going to leave today but Love came
and lightly tapped my door.
As soon as I opened, oblivious to its intent,
it poured and whisked your name in to my place.
It sat contented at the end of my sofa while
I tried to reason with my hot cocoa tightly
clenched within my hands.
It asked for some and I gave my cup away
relenting to the oncoming shadow of the ending
of this day.

I was going to leave today and tightly shut the door
but,
what's the worst that could happen? Pondered Love.
Nothing to lose and nothing to fear-
Hoping for a yes with the possibility of getting “No.”
Live out in regret or knowing crystal clear.

Reminiscing,
like an old lady in the Autumn of life.

I fell in love with the idea of you.
You know,
that unrealistic belief that the moon is made of cheese,
that I can walk above the water,
that people who fall in love live "happily ever after".
Oh you know,
that meeting you was fate, destiny, chance-and
God I want another-
and not simply coincidence mocking and plucking my
heartstrings.
But I was terrified of the hypothesis I formed of you,
of testing the conjecture and getting appalling and
contradicting results.
Thus,
to protect the fictional character of my book,
I clenched my teeth and walked right past you.

Once they've caught you
they'll take off the veil of pleasantry and manners-
to reveal the swine underneath; the wolf if you will.

The light mankind has created although useful
has dulled and perhaps even made them blind
to the immaculate beauty of the night sky
and warm rays of sunshine days.
Now, it's not an argument or a condemnation
it is simply a sigh and an accommodation.

There's a box out back
Where? I don't know,
and yet I've fallen here
in the infinite dark of:
"Lost and (not) Found."

Find me at the edge of the universe
at the last breath of a dying star.
Find me in the whispers of the rain,
in the sleeve of that old sweater you wear;
because I have been with you from the beginning
and when you need solace and remember my name
I will remain there with you until the very end.

Have you felt the caress of rain
like a cautious, caring lover soothing pain away.
Touched the night sky with your gaze
felt it reciprocate with no haste.
Have you ever loved what no other had dared
adored?
Out of fear of the beauty of the unknown.
Sighed along with the thunder of a storm,
being captured in the flash of lightening strike.
Have you felt and failed,
despaired and wailed,
thought and smiled;
Let the clamour of the rain wash away the fears,
the tears?
Take a moment, breathe, remember your sanity
is far more important.
Have you had a moment for yourself today?

Dream of me, if even a little.
A nightmare perhaps
so that I may wake you in the
eve of night-
sweat pouring, throat hoarse
from wailing.
Have a good night sleep, may
the siren's song drown you into
a fitful slumber.
But just remember, my sweet dove,
thoughts of guilt will haunt you
wherever you slip.

don't kiss this devil
it'll burn, it will torment you.
stay with angels' lips.

Take me somewhere nice,
where I can scream and not be heard;
cry and not be seen.

Take me somewhere
I can pour the pain,
spout these nonsense to the drain.

Take me somewhere I can sink,
vanish within the abysmal depths
of never ending sapphire;
where decay is a fable of forsaken
times

Take me somewhere nice,
where Death is but a whisper in
the receding breezes of Time.

I am a walking disorder,
what I touch I break.

Darkness tends to illuminate the meaningful
bits we seem to forget with the constancy of
light which makes us blind from the blaze
of all beauty and imperfection;

but it is only in the solemn moments we
remember what truly matters, thus it casts its
shadow over the things that blinds us and serves
as a memento of the significant when grief engulf us.

She left in the blosoming of sprigs,
in the blooming of my Spring.

When I left her I thought her silly
and misunderstood the dichotomy of
our farewells.
Shame on her for she meant forever.

She left my knitted blanket ripen,
without a last "I love you" as a reminder
on my part.
Both our intentions withered.

And now my Spring has turned barren-
How ironic for time to end a life
at the sproutings of mine.

Farewell, my rosy weather;
may the breeze of the daffodils sway you to a Summer land.

Kiss me moonstruck
in nightly shores of
opalescent cobalt tides.

Because I can't literally run away,
I go for jogs in sun drenched days.
Because tragedy is in my life,
I always turn back around.

I want you, but so much more than
light kisses on sunshine rain and
caresses of sweet caramel.
I want trails of your nails against my back,
bite marks on my collar bone,
mulberry stamps in the expanse of my flesh;
proof of you smeared unto my skin.
I want you to press me against the wall
and whisper sultry words of satin in the
shell of my ear.
I want the fury and the passion of your kiss.
Consume me with the ardency of your urgency,
with the necessity of oxygen drowning man desire-
I want you to breath me in, to drink me like
a fine wine, aged and velvety in the tongue as it
slides down your throat.
I want the danger of adventure as you explore
every crevice of my armor and find the *****
that undoes me.
I want what you can give and so much more.
I'll take whatever you'll give me, but I'll greed
for ever more.

Today is the day I'll dance to my contempt,
toast to the solitude drenched in midnight ocean
and plead with Time for just another hour.
Today I'll suffocate within the swaying sea of bodies
on a dance floor,
become another amongst the crowd and vanish in
the light.
Today I'll fancy the luscious nectar of the flowers,
not under the beaming sun but
under the snickering moon.
I am a daughter of the night,
a martyr of my mind and a
satyr of forbidden pleasure.
Today is the day I'll savor the charades of the dark.

Life is my current lover.
I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands
worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through
creases and cracks in my jaded hands.
Her mood varies through my stages;
at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses
but when love evades her, most often than not,
her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender
places,
and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson
brush against the canvas of my self.
Life is my inconsistent lover,
sometimes doting but most often than not abusive.
So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death.
We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings;
a tryst.
I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades,
grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips.
Death has promised me perpetuity.
But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper,
I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.

I want to paint your body with delicate
brushes of my words.
A scenery in which all is wonder and yet
there is nothing to ponder.
I want to write you in to my love notes,
envelope you in the soft embraces of
cadence of blankets as you caress the
words with the trail of stars that is your
eyes.
Fill the landscape with soft hues of Spring
to show you how much you mean.
I want to write you in to my verses and
expand the time you occupy in my tale.
Let me write you like one of my poems,
a liberating free verse you can fly upon
and expand.

Hello?
Come and pick me up, in your worn down
car , I don't much care about the chipped paint.
Where do you want to go?
Anywhere, take me far away from the confines
of my prison,
let's ride around alien towns at night and settle in the
comfort of leather seats,
let's go visit the Grand Canyon as the tangerine
sun settles in the cradle.
And once your car gives up on us,
let's take a train to the ends of earth.
Please, help me run away from life because
I've just realized it isn't mine.
I'll be there soon.*
Please, don't take too long.

I wish I could alleviate your fears,
that my words were the medicine to your problems.
I wish money was no big deal, because then
you'd be free of having to worry about the bills.
I wish I found a hope for Death, for leaving
and never once more dreaming,
that I could give you-replace the distress buried
like a maggot eating all illusions and hope for
better days- the embers of a promised fire.
I wish I was a better daughter
and though I try my hardest
It is never just enough to eliminate your tears
to the injustice life has shoved upon you.
If anyone deserves all things well,
it is you my caring Mother and for that I resent
this deprecating world.

It's an act,
a magic trick.
Your love, that is.

Dream of nightmares,
close your eyes to darkness.
Surrender to this madness
as you fall in to the void.

Follow me down and I'll promise you now
that whenever and wherever, together we'll be.
Follow my lead and grateful I'll be
of this piece of us, of you and me.
Let's make a bed out in the ocean,
Let's make a mantle out of starlit skies,
Let's give kisses out in the rain,
Let's roar like thunder and whisper like lightning-
Promises, promises of together forever.
Follow me down to a city of gold,
where the sun's always bright-
and dreams last;
Come along, my love, to a wonderland land of us.
Follow me down to this winding road
where our steps are made of planets, and roads
are covered in fairy dust.
Where you and I are together, only us and nothing
more.

Believe me, I am breaking
under the pressure of life
and the static routine of
a schedule.
Believe me, if this time,
because in the ebullition
of my intoxication;
a mind wringing in the brink
of dislocation will surrender
to the edge of a ledge.
Believe me, I beg you,
before my feet carry on
wayward and the neurons
press a red button on my
self's destruction.
Just look at me, for once!
Notice the way red snakes have
scarred my shaking arms,
the way caustic tears scorch my pale
cheeks and wails turn inward;
a shrieking sorrow.
Please, understand me and save
my mind on a ledge.

Express more with the freedom
which simplicity can bring us.

In the glimmer of the winter-
I, missing you,
missing the we,
missing us.
In the frost of the snow-
you, buried deep,
buried and lost,
buried as our past.
In the middle of December-
cold is the wind,
long is the night,
gone is the warmth.
In the end, all is lost, memories fade-
Gone is the day.