Maybe we could have some time off,
Away from the rest of the world.
Just you and me and perhaps
A couple of our vices.
Maybe we could melt into nothingness
For the time being.

Or, perhaps, we could
just sleep in each other's arms
and wake up in the far future.

Only you exist to me now...
But I see that you are preoccupied
With the world you hate...
So I lie here in bed,
for you
I wait.

days and nights and days
all melding into one
a temporary escape lies
at the bottom of a bottle.

in ash-blackened mountains,
white soldiers in crumbling helmets
crowd glass barracks to the brim
as they burn in embers of regret.

awake, arise and stumble;
residual drunken stupor;
rehydrate as hungry stomach grumbles;
flip through blurred snapshots
of the night before.

double, over-exposures
forever lost in your strobe-light mind.
massaging temples, rubbing eyes,
you let slip this futile plight.

Desire is the cause of suffering,
therefore I shall not want;
wanton fantasies plaguing my mind
should be immediately expunged.

Temptation is around every corner:
calling attention, awaiting contemplation.
And I try, so very hard,
but this unbearable longing
is impossible to disregard.

The sound of your name, like poison arrows
from mischievous cupid's quiver,
inflicts such pain as it hits its target:
my heart is crushed under the weight of regret.

But I shall not want, for I am weak.
My heart cannot accept this painful defeat.
I do not have the strength to see this through;
misery is inevitable if I continue to pursue.

They say unrequited love
is the only kind that's true,
but I'm finding it difficult
to let go of you.

It began like any other day,
But I remember because of your smile.
I promised to take you to your favorite place.
My happy little girl,
My cherry-cheeked child.

The rain spattered on your face that morning
While we walked down the cracked, slippery streets.
Singing, whistling by my side
You skipped and hopped with your tiny feet.

I held your hand as we crossed the street
Down the white-striped concrete ground.
The light was green on the other side;
I didn't bother to look around.

I held your hand nice and tight,
I felt your fingers curl inside mine.
We walked on and on to the other side
But my! How the hand is quicker than the eye!

Never saw it coming, nor heard it through the rain.
I swear I never saw it coming, nor heard it as it came.

The next thing I knew,
I could no longer feel your hand in mine.
I turned to look where you've gone
But your familiar figure I could not find.

I held your hand as we crossed the street.
Little did I know that it would be the last time
I'd ever see your sweet, pretty face.
My happy little girl,
My cherry-cheeked child.

Cold sweat, trembling hands,
mind at a loss.
Body craving sleep,
breaths diving deep;
this is the dawning of exhaustion.

Reactions lag as
consciousness crumbles;
all stimuli are delayed.
My pulse is slow and heavy
as blood surges through webs of veins.

My hasty heart wreaks havoc
in the confines of my rib cage.

You, my dear, are hungry;
Impossible to sate.
and I am a martyr;
That makes me your buffet.

that grumble in your stomach
is like music to my ears
for it only means one thing:
you are coming; you are near.

Here, you'll find,
there is no line:
if, and only if,
you decide to be mine.

I offer you my heart,
so devour me, my sweet.
It should be only MY flesh
into which you sink your teeth.

Her eyes are deep pools of cool blue.
Open but empty, staring blankly
Into infinite space.

Her smile - formed by wax-like lips -
Is stiff, emotionless, almost as if concealed.
but her mouth trembles as it traces
the letters of an irrelevant name.

Her scent moves through the crowd
and permeates your consciousness.
It shoves and pushes aside thoughts,
Making its way into your awareness.

A sound slithers into your ear:
A whisper transcending the noise around.
Despite the ruckus of chaotic discourse,
Her endearing voice is the only sound.

The night slowly grows old
Whilst more stories are told.
Histories fail to unfold
as endless lies are bought and sold.

(presumptions of non-existent subtleties
has claimed its fair share of casualties)

More is said, but less is revealed
Meandering timelines of hurt
Kept hidden beneath the scars
of wounds that have seemingly healed.

I welcome it as it fills me to the brim
But it somehow manages to escape
Again, I slowly let it in
But it quickly dissipates.

The line is long and our time is short
It moves clockwise as it makes its return
Loud thuds echo as fists hit chests
After others finish their turn

You are not selfish,
Neither are you unkind
The fault is not yours
If others get left behind.

Hands count down to zero
One by one they go
'Til you're left on your own
As they all lose control.

Good morning, my love.
I didn't mean to stare.
I was just envying
the pillow beneath your head,
and the sheets that envelop you
in their comforting warmth.

While you were off
In surreal realities
That shapeshift into truths
I was waiting here,
Watching your every move.

Good morning, my love.
Know that every waking moment
Is the miracle
That brings you home to me.

You constantly search for
Yet fail to see what is already there.
I thought you knew;
Subtlety is my favorite vice.

I understand your need,
I feel your longing;
You never seem hesitant
To remind me.

Is it so wrong to trust you?
To love you enough to pretend?
I thought you knew;
Martyrdom is one of my many follies.

Just because I do not wince
At every infliction of pain
Doesn't mean I can not feel;
Expression was never my forte.
I do try and, little by little,
I'll prove to you that the "real me"
Is better than the "idea of me" that
You created in your mind.

You, the way you are,
On the other hand,
Are more than enough for me;
I just thought I should let you know.

I am flawed and undeserving, but
Willing to work on myself, on us:
I am yours, you are mine; I love you...
And I will keep letting you know.

Blood drains from my face
and my throat gets dry;
I'm finding myself
A little stupefied.
I gravitate towards you:
You see, I'm mesmerized.
As days go by,
My feelings intensify.

Call me crazy,
and say I'm a fool,
But cliches seem novel
When they're happening to you.

There's no use trying to hide
How you're making me feel inside
'Cause you just had to do it,
You just had to start
Your all-consuming fire
In my flammable heart.

Every now and then
I catch myself smile
At the thought of you and I
Giving it a try.
Soon enough,
Daydreams will ensue.
Once again, I'm trapped
In my thoughts of you.

I roll my window down
And light a cigarette between my lips
The flame crackles and flickers
As it dances with the wind
   Take a deep breath
   And let it all sink in

The rhythm of the asphalt waves
Sends me reeling in my seat
As my pulse keeps pace
With the songs on repeat

Don't know how long this will last
My destination's approaching fast
Turn around and head the other direction
Find a way to suspend this state of elation

Don't call me back, no, not yet
Give me some time to clear my head
Underneath the sea of stars and streetlights
I begin to allow myself to unwind

I am weightless on this road
My mind bends as the miles unfold
This is my refuge, and on I tread
Aware yet unfazed by what lies ahead.

Reflection, contemplation
Caught in the midst
Of self-degradation.
Alone, miserable,
Painfully sober:
Searching for something lost.

Here we are again
Incessant bludgeoning
of the mind and soul
Here it is again
this crushing, paralyzing pain
from which there is no escape

Take in a long deep breath
to clear your heavily-laden mind
But it doesn't seem to work.
It doesn't.
Nevermind.

You continue to think,
to rationalize,
to rot, to decay,
To become something less
of what you were,
Until you taste, once again,
that bittersweet liquid fire.

It burns the throat
and drowns the cacophony of voices
in this temporary relief
You seek refuge.

You hang on to this mirage
this oasis where nothing seems to exist
nothing but the numbness
nothing but the muffled sound
of your cries for sanity.

Each word is her insurance,
Each sentence, her investment
That adds to her ever-growing portfolio
Of failures and successes.
Her yes's and no's, her do's and don'ts
Make you doubt your comprehension
of her hypnotic conversation.

Every syllable that passes her lips
Is well chosen to suit her needs.
Every consonant a contract,
Every vowel a vow
She has every intention to keep.

At night when she lays her head to sleep
To ease her wary mind and weary heart,
She takes note of every promise, every deed,
Knowing every day, the count restarts.

hard-wood rocking-horse
between thighs of porcelain white.
sweat drips, rhythmic oscillation
of bones that ferrociously grind.

salty, soft, sweet-wine lips;
heavy, humid, breath of steam.
closed-eyes search for surrender,  
and signs of admitted defeat.

hymns of pleasure-ridden-falsettos echo;
eruptive moans reverberate in diaphragms;
trapped in throats, restricted groans
fight their way out of closed mouths.

tearing through flesh
arrows find their targets:
bombarded zones left unguarded
are continually pillaged without regret.

hard-wood rocking-horse
still ****** between thighs
of ruined statues of goddesses
made of porcelain, so white.

Today, I am a high school boy:
timid, petrified, unsure.
My heart heaves
with its every beat.

Today, everything seems difficult,
even the simple act of breathing.
Perhaps it is because I don't
have your permission to do so..
and until you say when,
I will hold my breath.

Today, I am uninspired.
You are my muse,
and you are not here,
so I might take the day off
to daydream.

Today, I belong to you,
as I did yesterday
and the day before that.
As far as I can remember,
I've always been yours.

But I am young. Naive.
Too trusting. Too vulnerable.
And so I cling to you...
or at least the idea of you.

Today, like every other day,
I find myself consumed
by my fascination, my obsession
with this tireless pursuit.

there's something deep within me
hidden underneath my daily smile
perhaps a desperate plea
maybe a silent cry
asking for what I need
yearning for absolution
pushing away my pride (if I had any)
begging for salvation

tired of the role I continue to play
bound and broken within myself
afraid of what people might say
if I turn to them for help

how much longer must I fool myself?
you know I'd stop if I could.
crying myself to sleep every night
like every f-cked up teenager would

is it too late for me?
too late for me to be saved
from the thoughts and voices
inside my head
that drive me insane.

I feel it slowly tightening,
As it wraps around my heart:
This feeling; something I
Know all too well.
Whether indirectly, or
In most cases, directly,
I am always the knife
That inflicts the wound.

Perhaps I'll never learn:
I might not be capable;
My mistakes never become lessons
And neither do they lessen.
Being accustomed to the past,
I am unable to move on.
A force of habit can
Be difficult to unlearn.

So I continue to make
Mistake after mistake:
There are times when I don't even
Remember making some them.
Soon, regret follows;
It torments and consumes
Until there is nothing left
Except anger and frustration.

I am wrong, you are right,
Even if that is not the case:
I am willing to forgo logic;
I don’t need logic.
I don’t need to be right.
I need you…
Always.

Which is why I'll try
Again and again
To make amends
For all my wrongs.
Even if my desperate pleas,
My countless apologies
Will always fall
On deaf ears.

My pride is not important,
At least not anymore,
I’ll throw it away
If it will fix things.
But I am not to be trusted;
I'm the knife that digs
And twists in your side…
As you are the one in mine.

remind me again why we stopped writing.
I remember times when it was all we did.
and i know, I'm talking to myself again.

so many things...

we used to never run out of words to describe them.
now, we just watch. look. listen. then forget.
what happened to the days when we observed our world
and allowed it all to sink in?
now we just stare into the middle distance...
and see nothing.


remind me again why we stopped reading.
I remember times when it was all we did.
and I know, I'm still talking to myself.

so many things...

we used to never close books until we've finished them.
now we just watch. look. listen.
but nothing registers in our heads.
what happened to the days when we liked challenging
our perspective by vicariously living through literature.
now we are just passive...
lacking initiative.


if this is what it means to grow up...

...then I will forever regret that I did.