Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
the dead bird Mar 2019
Officially,
the calendar now marks
that it's been over a year
since I've last had your taste.
I should be proud
of myself
- and I am -
but more so, I am
surrounded by frustration.

I cannot write code like I used to.
Neither can I
find the words to write poetry
like I used to.
With you,
my creativity and passion
came effortlessly:
like turning on a tap
from which the essence
flowed,
whenever I took
my next hit.

Now, it's been
over a year from you;
and the passion from which
you robbed me of
is starting to come back.

I refuse to let
my memories of you
taint
that which I love.

My subdued passion
for programming,
video games,
and literature
shall not be dull forever.

With every new moon
that passes,
the fog in the mirror
continues to fade,
as my reflection
becomes clear.

And with it,
I feel (more than anything)
the ambition
that which you stole from me
ever-so-slowly return.

I so desperately
searched for my soul
while in your grasp.
Clouded by your embrace,
I lost myself,
and saw only the image you painted
in the mirror.

In time I will find myself again.
Fully.

One year clean
is something to celebrate.
been clean from speed a year and haven't wrote anything because it's hard for me to come up with anything of remote quality without the drug. at least that's what it feels like on my end. ah well, one year clean celebration poem.
the dead bird Dec 2017
I wake
from dreams of you
like ocean waves
that crash
upon the shore

forgetting
a second
before I remember
you're
no longer mine

I don't want
to be

awake

maybe,
if I
keep my eyes shut
these waves will swallow me again,
drowning me
in memories of you

but memories
become regrets -
and my mind is a hurricane
with rain like
a storm of thoughts

thoughts like

how
this could have
been avoided
if I didn't let my emotions
play me
like a puppet

how now
our days together
will be replaced
with somebody else
and the sun will set
all the same

no longer
a person
in your life
but a story
you tell

I'm
trying to say,
I’m sorry and
you're right
it’s my fault
I was wrong

I'll be here
when you want me
i didn't mean what i said when i was drunk and i'm sorry i acted the way i did towards you
  Dec 2017 the dead bird
Pea
i want to bleed out all the sadness
until my ****** runs out of color
and becomes clear again

i want to scrub myself like a bathroom floor
hard and rough
until all the dirt comes off
so maybe, even just for a few days,
yeah maybe i could shine

or i shouldn't shower
wait for some weeks
won't even ****
i don't want my bathroom get *****
if i have to **** i will **** on my hands
and carefully put it in the trash bin
for my landlady's turkey to eat

how i wish i could just throw away
all these dishes
and not be found out

i want the time to stop so i can rest awhile
and not just procrastinate
i want to really rest
like an unpopular mountain, like an unknown lake
i want it to be very still and silent i can hear my own blood rushing

but what if i have diarrhea
and can't **** so neatly like i always did
what if it's been a week and it won't stop
and it won't even get me skinny

i'm so homesick i order a hainanese rice
i'm so homesick i don't want to not sleep even though it's the finals week
i'm so homesick i want to drop out of school
i'm so homesick everything becomes empty and hurts

i've been collecting empty beer cans because i don't want my landlady to tell my mother that i drink

i want to dry myself in the sun but
i can't
even get out of bed to turn
on the light
don't open the window and take a nap
it's the rainy season
the dead bird Nov 2017
Clouds like smoke fill the sky,
Pearl white ash becomes grime.
Sleep beckons me with its embrace,
Dreaming to strangle me
Under blankets of black.

Time devours feeling,
But death consumes everything.
I am the dirt underneath your nails,
Leave me to rot.
I want to decay with you.

If you know the words, sing along:
Indifferent hands control us all.
Chaos, destruction, escape -
As it begins,
So it will end.
the dead bird Jul 2017
I make jokes about how I starve myself because I am starving myself

if I didn't make it look
this good,
someone might think
there's something wrong
this doesn't count
the dead bird Jul 2017
My desire:

When you danced your way
into my life,
you brought with you
a light;
one which illuminated
the scene around it.

A world -
which was previously
burdened
by imperative darkness -
now exposed to my sight.

Your magnificence
consequently
revealed
the beauty in my own world:
one which I had forgotten,
one which I had
closed the doors upon -
deeming happiness
impossible to find.

I suppose,
what I'm trying to say
is:
you are the light of my life.
But somehow,
those words don't serve justice.

None of my words
serve
justice
to how I feel for you.

Those
nights,
the
music,
mood,
dancing -

are what
I imagine
my heaven
would be.

We could be anywhere -
I could have
nothing
to my name
except black lipstick
and a tenacious heart -
whenever
I'm with you,
I know it's the only place
I need to be.

I wish I could tell you
how you take me
out of this world -
but habitually,
I find it
difficult
to communicate
the music of my heart.

Perhaps,
it's because
alongside
my poor choice of words
and
jumbling of sentences;

whenever
I look into your eyes
the only thought
I can be sure of,
is that
you have the most beautiful face
I have ever seen.

And when you smile -
forget anything
I had on my mind -
your smile
is the kind you read about;
one that makes people
want to do right,
one that
melts away worry;
one
that makes people
fall in love.
a little too intense but ya digggg
the dead bird Jun 2017
the sun rises
above me:

a display of vibrance;
colors red,
pink,
and orange
sink into the sky,
pouring into it
a new day

my world
changes before me,
from one of darkness
into a world
spilling with light

a performance --
a transformation --
fleeting, yet
always
a humbling experience;
one as wondrous
as it is
consistent


the sun rises
above me,

and

honestly?
I feel irritated
that it had to come up
at all


I think if heaven is real,
then undoubtedly,
mine
would be our night
if it never had to end.

or,
it could be
any night.
honestly,
it's anywhere with you.


fruitless?

maybe,
if it were lust
calling me to you

it's like,
I could care less
about the fruit -
I just wanna be with the tree
they grow from,
maaan
Next page