I’m sorry I couldn’t forget,
but you’re my first memory

I’m sorry you left,
it’s brutal how you
were able to forget
as I kept remembering,
bleeding,
and remembering still

I beg of you to forget me,
so I can forget me too

Let me keep my life,
and you keep yours

Love
is the glowing flame,
and you melt
as it approaches

Listen,
be careful
with that flame,
or it’ll burn you
when that love
starts to sting

They’ll decide to leave you,
and you’ll remain with nothing,
but the fading ashes of that love  

You’ll lose the passing-by warmth
that once visited your frigid heart

So light up a cigarette,
and put out the ongoing fire
inside your chest with smoke

The thing about
a sunflower and I

Is the sunflower would
wither if the sun stopped
kissing her every morning

And just like the sunflower
needs the sun to flourish,

I need you near me
for I bloom by your kisses

And just like the sunflower
worships the morning sun,

I worship your
cold almond eyes

The rain is pouring,
an orchid is drowning,
and you are still sleeping

The only motherly thing I knew
was the coldness of my blade;
gently washing away the
sadness of my burdened heart

The sweat of an orange
upon her upper lip,
melts into her skin

This mouth hungers
This heart yearns

They both burn
from their
ardent desire for her

I know that I am the thorns,
and you are the ever blooming rose

So why am I
the one bleeding?

Darling one,
I only ask that you
dance in my blood,
and drink it as if wine

Bloom for me

My fingers used to
always smell of her,
her scent would linger
on my clothes for days

Now that she has left,
my fingers reek of cigarettes,
and my clothes remain unwashed

All I want is for my skin to
absorb her scent once again

But this is not a poem,
and she has changed her perfume

I heard you call my name in a dream
Did you need me, my love?

I stayed up all night
desperately crying your name  
Only to carve it into a poem

Won’t you come to me?
Lie to me my dear darling one,
but please do not leave me
in the darkness hungry for you

I beg of you,
my dear,
my light,
my first
and last poem

On a bleak midnight,
do come to me with
your ardent desires

I will give you my broken heart
to break again if you ask of me

Or at least light my last cigarette,
and set me free

There used to be butterflies
living inside my chest,

but they turned into bats
when it got dark

The bats fed on my blood,
and my chest was their cave

There used to be orchids
blooming,
flourishing,
above my ears and to my short hair

But now I am dead,
the weeping orchid bled

As it withered upon my grave,
and emitted the scent of death and I

Its decayed petals dropped,
like blood from cut veins

The corpse flower,
scentless bloom of death belongs

Who dares **** a child
by burning their yellow?

It shivers and weeps,
and in oblivion it sleeps

This morning I stared at my
veins, and I realized they’re as
blue as an ocean during sunrise

And I’ve been drowning in
myself since my first breath

For how long must I
breathe underwater?

Am I still alive if my soul
feels like it's sinking
endlessly
into the abyss?

If the sky turns pink
when the spring breeze
touches her silky skin

If the filed of lavender sighs
when it yearns for her scent

If the sunflowers
worship her raven hair
like the sun

If the moon weeps with
longing over her absence  

If a thorny flower
hurts liker her

I am the sunflower that
grows in your garden,
and worships you like the sun

I beg of you,
do not go when
the comfortless sky
sinks into its rainy sadness

Winter is yet to come,
and I wish to be near you

My heart is grief,
my skin is blood,
my voice is silence,
my soul is loneliness,
and my promise is broken

The rain knows
only how to fall heavily,
and still remains beautiful

But I know only the
loneliness of December

I’m a light switch!

You see,
when I‘m switched on
everything turns bright,

and when I’m switched off,
I become one with the darkness

I could be
too bright at times,
or a an utterly dark self

It’s hard to recognize me
when it‘a dark, I’m unseen

But I can’t recognize myself
when it‘s bright, I’m blinded

All I need is the a
trigger to turn
a bright room
into a graveyard

So please be more
careful with me

I am a light switch

She held a heart
tangled by sunflowers,
and a soul dipped in honey

Her voice is
like a soft prayer,
able to convert
an atheist to a priest

Her yellow gaze is the
meaning of happiness  

Her laugh could turn
a cloudy bleak morning
into a sunny melodic haven

I swear on sunflowers
and your eyes
For they’re the only two lovesome
things my eyes have seen and fell for

There are certain things
I cannot explain such as

This suffocating flesh  
This howling knife
This harmful yearning   
This hungry heart

Christopher is utterly wrapped
within the cocoon of his own mind.

One can vividly see him
as he struggles with
understanding what
others think, feel, and believe.

Therefore, his self-identity,
his idea of himself,
is practically the same as his
sense of the outside world.

2.
Unlike everyone else,
Christopher does not seem to care
about being identified by other people.

He prefers to spend his time by his lonesome,
it somehow keeps him more connected with
reality which is something he struggles with.

3.
Christopher is quite an observer,
he views the world
in a distinct, but a unique way.

4.
Christopher never uttered the word father,
for it was heavy on his tongue,
like heavy rain on a bleak midnight.  

His mother loved him, or
ruined him and called it love.
He cannot tell the difference
between these two things.

So whenever he loved someone,
he’d unintentionally break their heart,
and utterly ruin any chance of love.

5.
Christopher beloved was
in the shape of a knife,
so he used her to write this story.
The gushing blood was his ink,
and the tears were his last silent screams

If you wish to grow these
sunflowers within my blue walls

Know that I am a house
the sun never visits, but I have:

Vacant rooms
with burning lovers

Floors
with footprints of dead florists

Albums
with nostalgic photographs of her

A single bed
on my scorching roof

Stairs
that creak to the rhythm of my growing pain

Doors
with engraved haikus

Mirrors
that reflect her image in front of my blue walls

No, this is not a
poem about her

But I know that deep
within my aching heart,
I will do anything
she asks of me

I will break all
my vows for her  

I will break all my limbs
for her to mold like clay

You’ve brought me into this world,
and you’re the reason I want to leave it

You were supposed to mend
my wounds when I got hurt
not be the reason behind them

You were supposed to protect
me from any danger,
but you were the danger itself

Your piercing eyes and
cruel hands still haunt me,
and I cannot find any peace

I needed you to tell me
I’m safe when I was scared,
but nothing is more
scarier than you, mother

She’s under my skin
like a bruise that’s
unwilling to heal

Her touch
left me trembling

Her gaze
pierced my bones

Her love
scarred my soul

I left,
when my heart
ached to be hers

This morning,
I’ve shed the heaviest tear
after twenty-one years
of deadly silence

If you still wish to seek me for
another poem,
another momentary desire,
another ***** tear to lick,
another night to melt,
or for a little death

I will be waiting,
burning,
yearning,
for your small hands

Until dawn,
a cigarette ash
flew into her right eye

The cigarette remained alight
despite the flood of tears
streaming down her cheeks  

With such a hell
blazing inside her,
she put out fire with smoke

Solitude was her
only consolation,
and all she longed for

There is not a soul
that she yearns for,
but for hers to burn out

The unspoken words
grew in my veins till
they intoxicated my mind

A deadly psyche planted inside
a breathing corpse
that’s perpetually dying

Lover,
I still fear the heavy
silence of the night

Will you lull me
to a long sleep?

Mother
was the first
to steal
my innocence

Death
will be my last
silent cry
to regain
my purity

To be kissed
by your eyes

To be touched
by your voice

To be held
by your lips

To be tangled
by your hair

She forced me to pray for a god
that never answered my prayers

When I told her that I wish to die,
she told me to recite Al-Ikhlāṣ

In her own eyes,
I was a sinner who didn’t worship
the same imaginary friend as hers

An imaginary friend that let her
steal my innocence instead of saving me
from her cruel hands and piercing eyes

How can I worship a god that
didn’t listen to my desperate cries
when I was abused,
abandoned, and bruised

My favorite color used to be yellow,
it was my sun,
it kept me warm and happy

But as I grew older crimson
became my favorite color

A slow death,
crimson drips from my wrists
as I turn cold and pale

I remembered the lines
of her shadow, and wept

Every line was an ardent poem,
and I worshiped the poetry of her

I am sorry for leaving,
your gentle touch was
hurting me, and your
gaze ate at my heart

Since you took
your last breath

The food tasted
like the bruises on your face
like the dry blood down your nose
like death

When I stood next to
your still body,
your corpse,
you

You were quiet,
I searched for you in your eyes,
but they were swollen shut

I tried to touch your face,
but the coldness of
your skin burned mine

My heart is grieving,
my skin is burning,
my eyes are bleeding,
and you are still dead

All my years, I’ve been preparing to die,
and now they’re forcing me to stay alive
Claiming they can heal my wounded soul
by shocking my brain causing more trauma

How do you go back
from being buried?
How do you find peace
when you know what’s awaiting you?
How do you love
when your heart has stopped?
How do you remember
when you’ve lost your mind?
How do you cry
when you don’t have tears?
How do you overcome your past
if it’s still your present?
What do people do with their lives
if their whole being didn’t yearn for its doom?

How do I start?
Where do I begin?

This is the first day of my life
where I’m not suicidal, and
I don’t know what there is to do
when death was my only salvation

I don’t know this new version of me;
the one who doesn’t find it impossible
to stay for another day,
another endless night

I’m scared of shifting back;
I’m scared of being buried
by my own deadly psych,
I’m scared of dying again

Things are more lighter now
The elephant in the room is no
longer perched upon my chest,
and my wrists are no longer
bleeding, only the scars remain

What if I get hungry again, and can’t
find anything to feed on but my own blood?
What if I woke up in a casket again?

I can’t help but wonder
for how long is this going to last?
How long am I going to last?
I hope this lasts,
I hope I last

I can hope like others do!
I’m hoping again
which is a sign of life!

Am I deluding myself?
Am I better or worse?

I need someone to squeeze my hand
just so I know that this is real
It’s dangerous to get stuck in
a state where nothing feels real
No matter how deep
you went to draw blood,
you still don’t feel like you’re here

In my head I’ve already
killed myself, long ago,
and now my corpse is
somehow trying to breathe, again?

This goes against logic
This goes against my own head,
my head is going against
its own suicidal thoughts

Am I going to look back at this,
and not believe that one day
One day I felt alive enough to breathe,
and not wish I wasn't

The feeling
of a hot blade
on my wrist

How gentle is
its sharpness
How soothing is
the stinging pain

Sometimes that’s the
only way I could
remind myself; that
this body of mine,
or at least parts of it
still want to heal

My tears are
saltier than the ocean’s

My heart is
heavier than Sisyphus’ rock

My secrets
that I buried beneath my
skin has turned into scars

My body is
but a graveyard

In the midst of her loneliness,
she sings a song of agony,
but no one is around to hear it

Her voice fades away in the cold air;
as she sinks slowly into the darkness
that surrounds her anguished heart

He spoke in silence
that’s where his fluency
flows out the most  

The lone wolf
longingly howled
at the blood moon,
his cries were
like loud sirens

His inner demons
howled for his blood
During nighttime when
he’s buried in the arms
of his beloved insomnia

He’s met with the alpha
and saw his own eyes
reflected in the other betas,
but his eye color
didn’t match with theirs

The abandoned wolf has met
with the alpha whom he shares
the same blood and eyes with,

but the wolf is a second choice in this poem,
he will never truly belong

The lone wolf
happens to be a girl,
but she never lived like one

You see,
she’s the main reason
why she has no pack
or a place to call home

For how much longer
do I have to wash my hands?  
                      sleep in the burning house?              
                      carry this heavy heart?
                      weep?
                      bleed?
                      ask for bandages?
                      hide my scars?
                      see my therapist?
                      lose touch?
                      force a smile?
                      see my reflection?
                      try to fix the brokenness?
                      adjust to new meds?
                      wish I was dead?
                      wash my hair?
                      trim my nails?
                      write these lines?
                      avoid my birthday?
                      fight the urges?
                      endure myself?
                      cling to this life?

I cannot utter what
is bothering my soul

Perhaps it is the fire
of my own mind  

The same fire that
kept me warm was
the one to burn me

Or perhaps it is the
unbearable weight of
my sleepless eyelids

I am repaying my
wounded soul a visit

A distant voice tells me
“I am no longer welcome here”

Orchids,
bird wings,
moonlight,
deep sleep,
and your small hands

Lover,
I fear the sleep of death
where I dream,
but do not see your face

Lover,
I have not seen you
for two years

Lover!
I fear I am
already dead

An eyelash stuck
on my left cheek,
she gently removes it
and tells me to make a wish

Her fingers smell like
orange peel and the sun

Her mouth tastes like
citrus and rose water

When she left I peeled an orange,
and wiped away the salty tears
with my citrus fingers

And with every eyelash
that fell on my wet cheek,
I whispered a wish
for her to come back

I wear a sweater no
matter the weather

It keeps me warm
and hides my shame

Sometimes I forget
what my arms look like,
but every time I try to look

I see only the scars that has
slowly healed but never faded,
and I am reminded of my pain

And so I wear a sweater no
matter how hot the weather