you hold me still in the morning,
i can feel the world around us ticking
but we are untouched, unaffected
by the fleeting time around us.

There is a dull ache in the pit of my bossom-
maddening and riveting as the alcohol scalds
my tongue, my throat and settles in my stomach.
Far away,
In the different weather and scent of-
streets, alleways and my bed not quite the same.
Long way from home,
Amidst a place not quite my taste-
missing and kissing in the the corner streets.
Epiphany as the place; that is not quite the same,
reminds me that it is not the missing piece;
Rather, that I am the lonesome traveller.
A stranger, a moribund
In this far away land of sorrow and of memory.
Long way, homesick in the vast expanse of-
memory lane;
A place not quite the same as the one left behind.

Our choice of poison is devotion,
too much: inebriated.
too little: insufficient.
Our choice of diction, susceptible,
an anomaly: dissected in a lab table.
Poked by: forceps wielded by
gloved hands.
There is no mystery to our misery,
because the venom of our loneliness
is a composition of our aesthetics.

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.

Lately I've been wondering about my death,
about how I'd like for the music to cease,
the lights to go off,
the colors to fade,
about how I'd like for the world to end.
I'd like for my demise to be poetic
most like everything and anything I do.
Although I know death by one's own hand
is deeply frowned upon, I don't care.
If I should die I'd like to pull the cord
with these very hands that brought misery and joy.
If I should jump,
I'd liked for these feet to walk me to the edge of the ledge.
If I should close my eyes and abandon my dreams to
the void of darkness,
I'd like to be the one who mutters, “Goodnight.”
For this is my life and to think that anyone else
has a say in what I judge wrong from right
is simply and utterly absurd.
Lately, I find myself entranced by the beaconing
of dark lighthouses.
By the tempest in the sea and the clashing of night
as it unfurls like sensuous smoke upon the shores
of my turbulent conscious.
If I should die,
I'd like to go with a spark and a thunder
as I melt into the world of limbo.
One more rebellious act to let anyone who dare object
that this life is mine and mine alone,
and I decide when I should end.

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

Kiss me moonstruck
in nightly shores of
opalescent cobalt tides.

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.

It couldn't get any worst.
Use to be a shadow in the corner,
a few steps behind me,
never close yet always in my line of sight.

Its darkness mimicking the
movements of my body.
Day or night,
the thing that never sleeps
it weeps in laughter as it creeps
each time closer, closer
slithering its way up my bed
as I clutch the blanket and tightly
shut my eyes in vain.

Tonight it sits by the edge of my bed
staring
staring
waiting in the darkness for me.
My heart is in my ears
a scream between my teeth,
I try to pray but remember I've forgotten,
I've got no more faith.

It's ragged raspy breath echoes in the void
of my alien room
and it just sits there
as my frustration and fright grows
a bit madder and wild each ticking second.

Morning comes
the sun raises from the crust of the earth
I've not slept a wink.
Yet, I've got to follow my day pretending
not to see the beast getting each time closer.

Remember I said it couldn't get worst?
Sorry, I lied.
Its bony,clammy hand has grasp my ankle.
Tonight will be longer,
the frigidness of its ebony, wispy hand seeps slowly
through my skin.
And once more as dawn breaks through my window
I am not relieved because its putrid hand has left
a dark imprint on my skin.

This routine continues,
I am becoming the shadow of its figure.
Its madness is dyeing me of darkness.
Scrubbing beneath the steam of the water won't make
its mark wane.

I understand now.
It is possessing me,
slowly,
bit by bit,
adhering to my body
until all I see is ebony in the mirror
and I know I've got to bleed this beast
out.

So, I take a blade and begin the process
trying to rid and purify my body
of this malign creature.
But they don't understand me!
They won't let me carve out this
madness!
I try and try but they come and stop me.
My mother, the men in white robes,
everyone is against me
letting the beast reclaim my sanity!

I'm confined within these walls,
together with this creature
but they feed me little pills
and I forget why this all began.
Sometimes, I hear my mother and a man
whisper of silly things,
they say the depression gave away to schizophrenia
but they don't really understand
because they have not looked behind
to the shadows lurking on their backs.

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.

Pining for a love that never was,
I listen to the crooning voices of jazz.
Boy, you made me tumble, you made me fall,
I lay at night dreaming of lips that never met.

Pining for you, I'm sad and lonely,
This are the autumn's blues of such life.

The orange leaves outside fall,
my rain in autumn.
The wind howls through the night,
forlorn whispers of your name.

I'm pining for you,
you who made me tumble, who made me fall,
I'm a leave on the winds of autumn,
Boy, I'm howling for you tonight.

Let's make love with the stars,
lay **** on sandy shorelines of
a midnight escape.
Let's be young again, care about nothing.
Dance around the fire of the dreams we burned
of the dreams we shared
of the dreams we believed
of the life we dreamt of.
Sing the night away, burn the pain and the regret
leave the worry at the door and turn towards our silhoutte.

Let's be young again,
build castles from the ashes of those dreams
tell the world we won't care if it ceases to exists
tell ourselves we'll remain constant in the debris
of the collapsing world around us.
Take another gulp of life
and hold the weight of the world inside this
smoke filled lungs.

Let's be us,
just this once more;
Young and breathless
but never hopeless.

Words                   are
              birds
    

           In the                  free lines
                      of the
                                                              sky.

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.

i'm going to write all over my body,
show you the stories upon the heart
inside my sleeve
i love books so much i'll become one,
just for you;
you can turn the pages with the tips of your
fingers and  read between the lines-
just for you, i'll open up my cover without fear
of being torn apart,
you can add your own writings,
i want our stories to interwine.
i'll let you press your lips to the bones inside my spine,
skip the pages, go back and re-read my lines;
you can hold me in your hands
or throw me against the wall.

i know i can be cryptic and maybe i ask too much,
ocassionally i talk in metaphors,
give you hints about the story inside my skin
but i also know you love that most about me;
i make turns and twist the plot just as i please
to appease the hunger you hold when i'm a tease.

i won't let you put me down,
have you entranced and falling deeper,
forget the sleep, the night will be for reading-
you'll crave me like an addict, desperate for
the next line.

come,
let me write on my body,
explore the passages inside me,
i'll keep you guessing, searching for the ending
but i know i won't write you one,
this is the one of you and I;
our one thousand and one nights.

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."

It's like a game of tag,
you haven't been caught
until you've been lightly tapped.

She told me once her heart belonged to me,
and I ever the devoted servant
preserved such trust within
the grasp of my embrace.
She told me many times her love was mine to keep,
and I ever the naive imbecile
took her words as gospel
between the phrases of my prayers.
And know there is no single question
but her words from the past
as she reassures me with a devious smile
the proprietary rights of land to her
pulsing heart.
A surging wave of loathing courses through
the cadence in the back of my mind
when finally I can see within to reason.
A ticking begins to echo.
A heart is a strange thing, I think,
as I cradle the pulsing vessel.
It twitches, trembles and pumps
for the last time in the nest of my palms
and silently the heart that use to beat for me
throbs nevermore.
She was leaving me for another and I
with the prerogative of her permission,
simply took what was mine.
Hands stained with the fading passion of your love,
it shall thud nevermore.

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

On these lonely nights of fruitless sleep,
where my insomnia kicks in and worries slither from the
depths of my pillows,
I empty the bottle of cold, and effervescent oblivion.
I drown in the seas of sensations, vivid, stark and stale
as the tickling and the watering flush down my clogged throat;
flushing secrets I had not dared to voice.
I dwell on my heavy eyelids, waiting for the curtains
to drape over the ghastly blares of reality.
The world is muted, my ears are deaf to words not spoken
and laments suffocated to the howling airs of my torment.
I wait for the storm to cease, for the gears to run but my
weary mind is dulled and perplexed to horrors of past mistakes.
So, skittish and condemned, my heart disdains;
committing the same scenes, reliving atrocious crimes.

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.

She hopes, silently, that he will chase her,
catch her in his embrace and smother her
with feverish kisses.
He wants to glance back, towards the stinging
sun, towards the opposite direction she has stayed in
and beacon her with words of licorice.
She wishes to let her voice drown the antagonistic
opposition to their current disposition and listen
attentively to reciprocated admissions.
But they cannot, will not, because
this is not a fairy tale, this is not a fantasy, this
is the sad reality of both decisions.
And so torn apart between letting go or
catching to,
they walk away towards opposite directions.

I take whatever scraps of affection she throws my way,
most like a dog
Licking greedily at their passing flavour.
I wait patiently the return of my owner,
most like a dog
With the misconception of being loved.
I wave my tail to and fro, high and low,
most like a dog
A greeting or a beating, anything is welcomed.
Wherever she goes, I follow, ever the loyal companion;
it makes sense, I rationalize;
Trough thin and thick, through dim and lit-
right along her side, most like the dog.

We've written you to immortality
among the stars in dark skies
trasncending life and death
despite giving us affliction
towards our one sided affection.

Look at us all write
to the Saints who ignore us
kneeling at the back of their altar
pleading to be heard of.

We don't mind the sadness and longing
you keep us sane, keep us writing.
Musing to our muses,
we adore the inspiration.

Look at us all writing
despite the fact they won't be reading.
Demonstrating our devotion
through our humble emotion.

You're a wizard, I should know.
Capture my thoughts with memory spells,
Enrapture my eyes with the charms of yours, and
quicken my beats with a grin of your lips.
Gravity ceases with a snap of your fingers.
Yes, you're a wizard, I whisper,
because no muggle could possess the magic
hold you mantain in my self.

Tonight the freckled sky winked at me,
well that's what I'd like to think
but really it did to all, because the gown
the Moon wears out seduces and bewitches us.

It flirts around with many, a two-timing lover,
and though I'd like to think of me differently
I can't leave this unhealthy relationship,
thus I pretend she's mine to dream and write about.

At times I despise her,
cunning and frigid waiting for me to glance up
at her.
Always out of reach and yet she tells me she's near.
We fight,
I don't see her in the sky for days,
I suffer,
she hides behind the velvety veil of opal clouds
and all I feel are the droplets of my tears.
However, those times don't matter,
I love her unconditionally even while she goes and
lures in another.

Tonight,
her speckle lashes flutter beneath my fingertips
her twinkling lips like sparkling water
her body is chilly from a night of walking
and that's fine,
I'll warm her with my words and caresses,
because tonight belongs to me and no one other.

I took a blade home and tried it on
my skin as you would to a nice new
shade of lipstick.
It suited my skin and was long lasting.
I'm addicted; so much that I reapply it
every day.
Finally I've found, the perfect shade to
compliment my skin tone.

The careless sentiment of nothing has clogged
the freeway of my neurons,
The descend to numb approaches stealthily
through pores of my flushed skin,
fraughts my lungs, asphyxiating me.
A blanket of solitude thrown by Darkness and
the hope of positive becomes a negative.
The static monitor of heart beats, beats, beats
without a sound of scintillating effervescence.
Concepts of lunacy and discomfort emerge
on the screen of my closed lids, scenes;
Of various sanctuaries and fiends.
It haunts, possesses, me, can't they let me (not) be?
Paralyzed by lethargy,
my body corrodes on the soft boneless bed of
nullity.
Not one will know,
in a few years everyone will forget; that
Once upon a times, I was.

Let me tell you why i cound't love him,
when all he thought of me was idealized
like some fairy in a fairytale ready to
aid him on his quest on his story.
How he loved my dyed hair or how i never
seemed to settle on a color
but not because i was fickle  and adventurous
but because color fades naturally.
Let me tell you how he treated me like some
discovery, a treasure for greedy pirates
and suddenly i wans't even a person,
i was his involuntary manic pixie dream girl;
a level in a game, a mage to give him answers
when i didn't even understood the questions.
How i was somehow supposed to teach him
life and love when its just me being me,
a girl attempting to live her life and every flaw
suddenly glitter covered and gold encrusted;
my anxiety reduced to a quirk and my depression
just so edgy.
Let me tell you that I couldn't love a boy,
-selfcentered and presumptious-
when all he saw in me was a character and not
a partner.

A boy who never even knew me but pretended.

when do we stop playing games with love?
when do we let our cotton candy hearts be
dissolved by a wet, sour tongue
when do we allow ourselves to be vulnerable
without anything in return?
that's there's strenght in fragility and ferocity
in salty tears;
when do we stop lying to ourselves and
settle for a love that doesn't burn our souls?

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.

She'll leave me,
I know.
Say "sorry" and
"so long".

The scars will be lost within the creases and wrinkles,
this sea will have been traveled and never unraveled.
love left its stain,
time wanes and ebbs the fervor of the summers.
Legs now twigs as fragile as the first,
limbs and bones become limp
soon won't be able to even lift my hand
to write to you a reminder of the marvelous passages
I've traveled.
Sentences running on in place of me whom lies in bed asleep.
Soon, in the dawn of a day my words will lose their sense
and I'll ramble about incomprehensible things.
You'll get tired of me.
I'll fade away to me, forget my face and name;
forget the pen and paper.
Too lost without a reason to be afraid.

There is too much I want to say now that I can-
but the words stumble upon each other.
all I can do is but put on a smile as I stare in to the mirror.
There is not a note of sound but for
the silent gesture of its affliction.

I've sat dining with the obscure figure of myself
one too many times.
We sit idly in the absence of sound as the
food grows cold
and my tongue goes numb.
The poison in my cup grows stronger and
my need for it makes my parched throat itch.
I mustn't take from the Devil's dinner table and
yet it is hard to abstain and give myself to
momentary pleasure.
It is a supper that has gone for far too long.
The food has belatedly gone cold and decomposed.
The beautiful illusion of the assortment of red fruits
and meat have rot over the passage of time.
The veil has been lifted and allowed me to see.
It's disgustingly beautiful in its reminder of mortality;
of beauty.

The whole in my chest grows bigger, deeper
as I stare past the deadly offering and in to
my urging shadow.
The flickers of the candles behind me dance
on the wall behind her.
A single, crimson pomegranate has been placed
on the immaculate plate in front of me.
He's arrived.
The host to greet the guest of honor.
Emerging from within the shadows the light cannot
reach.
Him, with a silk ebony robe devoid of all reflection
cascading down his figure
and his waiting for me to take a bite out
of his deadly feast.

He's patient, he's cunning in his silence;
He knows in time that I'll give in to the
hole been caved in to my heart.
The fractured darkness of me beacons Him closer
speaking tenderly as if to not startle our shared reverie
and he comes,
slowly,
taking his time to glance through the craft and art of
his fine dining.
The cold he's brought permeates the room and the
fire flickers furiously about to give way for the
obscurity of his presence.
The reflections of our shadows dance with frenzy on
the wall and I am lost within this world and the other.

A multitude of clocks scream around us.
Stretching his bony hand to me, calmly,
never rushing.
I stare confused and in the basin of his hand
there is a skull
from which protrudes a single red poppy.
Candles begin to burn out behind me.
One by one I can feel the absence of their heat
extinguish,
Just as the hand of the symphony of clocks near
the witching hour.
He remains poised over me, hindering my view of
the shadow of myself at the end of the table.
There are faint murmur underneath the hood of
the robe,
muted by the ticking from the walls.
He's tolerance promises redemption from the
torment of being forsaken.

And the clocks chime,
for a moment everything is a cacophony of echoes.

Their clamor halts.
The hands no longer mark.
Time has come to a stop.

A single candle illuminates the room.
The shadow has merged inside the darkness.
It is lost, yet I know its there.
He brings himself to my level, placing expectantly
the skull and petal beside my plate.
We glance at one another.
After an immeasurable bout of time
I stand from my seat, get the last remaining
candle and sit back down close to him.

He puts his hand around mine
and I gently blow the candle out.

You won't look at me anymore.
It hurts that you refuse to glance my way.
Your warmth, a running tap, it leaks and has
been drained at long last.
There is no future,
today has been lost among the dust and vases
of flowers that forlornly rest and adorn this
empty house.
Everyone offers me apologies as though it
is their fault you've gone.

Now I've got the past to look into.
Daydreams of memories playback
behind the eyelids I can no longer
bring to open.
The bed is long cold and the vacancy
you left cannot be filled and yet I still
lay beside the hole you've carved.
Touch my fingertips to the emptiness
as I trace a specter of a silhouette among
the darkness that the light and shadows
cast over your pillow.  
I wish to sink in to it,
lay my weary head to rest.

You. I dream of you often.
We run in a valley in which stars grow
from the soil,
catch the feathery fluff of petal showers,
flowerbeds are made of sugar,
we swim in ponds of honey
and forever watch the marmalade dawn in
this timeless space of ours.
The night never arrives.
I wake bitterly with tears streaming down,
a waterfall.

Coffee does not taste the same at morning.
My cup sits silently and bleak
it goes cold and untouched.

Every day drags , it's impossible.

More often than not I think of that day,
as I sat in front of you in a crowded room
and you refused to open your eyes and see me.
Even if for one last time.
It was quiet, my mind was tired.
This silly suit I wore now I'll use to go and see you.

Make room for me in your casket,
I'll come and meet you soon.

Once again the inanimate thread of darkness envelopes me,
Brittle and weak, my limbs collapse as I try to run towards the light.
Enthralled by my distorted mind, I descend.
Down and down I fall, like the Alice from a Lunatic Wonderland.
Keen words wound my heart, condemed to live it all.
Solemnly and idly, I stare at the carnage of my wars,
How can no one see me yet?
Through the despair, I remain, seeking for the guidance of the faintest light.
Happiness in fleeting, seeping through my hands; a liquid mess.
My knees are raw, wounded, from the running and the falling.
Yet I choose to stand and walk this lonely path.
With ragged clothes, stinging feet, and blind eyes, I get up,
Feeling my way through this paradox of a maze,
Hoping to finally find my place.

In between stolen kisses
and longing glances,
we've hidden inside the covers
of our borrowed moments.
They say the nights are for lovers
but we're playing with those letters
and their meanings.
Making puns of what is to love
and to make peace with war.
Sharing skin, never staying too long
for a goodnight kiss;
we leave before the heat of our touch
cools down,
this our caricature of a romance.

We're making love with the dark,
sharing dreams with the stars,
its all make believe, playing house,
but who can stop us from daydreaming
inside this room with some numbers.

We lay awake counting sheep until
too soon; the sun is breathing down our necks,
we've drawn the blinds and shut the door
stealing daylights hours to save one last
Goodbye.

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

What do you want?

I was not born in to this world
to fix your mistakes.
I am not your second chance and hope.
I am me;
and me makes mistakes worth the pain
worth the chat and the laughter.

I am not you and
you are not certainly me.

I won't, however, make your mistakes.

I'll read to my child and tell them it's okay
to fall out of line
to fall out of order
to drown in the pragmatic questions
and breathe the pathological questions.

I'll tell them I love them
that they are not me
and I'm not certainly them.
That asking is knowing
and knowing is listening.
That been wrong is a matter of vocalization
and right is just a one route suicide nation.

I'll tell them right
without doing them wrong.
Take your pick
anything goes.

I want me.
Me might be wrong.

won't you listen to my
                  silence?
fill the emptiness inside.

Dark thoughts perch lightly above
scrawny limbs,
while underneath my feet touch
the dismal comfort of phantasmagoric pastures.

and there's a muzzle on my mouth
and a noose around my neck
tightening, gripping
I find morbid comfort in it's baleful
embrace.

The crows don't sing but their feet
sting my twigs
and they stare
and they whisper.

Clocks melt away but the numbers
remain etched in to my skin.
the muted rhythm,
I begin to lose my sanity.

The colors run down my skin
down the drain
someone's poured water
unto my charcoal world.

isolation is now familiar
my heart is upside down.
The dark thoughts perch
in the fragile balance of my mind
will snap
and I'll become part of a past.

I replay you like my favourite song;
over and over
waiting for a change in lyrics
in tune, in tempo-
over and over.
I know all the words,
have grown accustomed and even tired.
Yet, there's no way I could ever hit Stop.

over and over
waiting and waiting
over and over
I begin to mouth the words as you sing them.
I can't be sure whether it is mocking or familiar
but it's something I know.

I replay you like my favourite song;
over and over
high and low
volume does not matter for I already know.

It begins to lose significance
I sleep and wake to your same song;
over and over
lower and lower
And before I notice, it is gone.
The song I knew so well, I can no longer find.

We move to the next song,
to the next listener-
and we commence all over.

I stood at the end of the universe
Waiting for the beginning of time.
Dangling my feet at the abyss where
everything that had shattered came back
together.

I stood at the end of time,
waiting for the beginning of the universe
and a second chance.

this haunted house feels like us;
memories floating around like ghosts,
your shadow in the corner collecting dust
and the words of coversations like creaky doors
at midnight.
i've got the bones of ours hearts inside a
chest but forgot where the skeleton key went.
dared each other to go in, because, somehow
something dangerous and sinister makes the blood
pump faster.
now that we've left each other haunted,
afraid to love someone new once more-
was it worth not being called a coward, you think?

after all, just like you, my ghost will linger too.

Death made promises Life could never hope to keep, forever.

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