The Haze I Chose

Coughing hard,
palms flailing,
grasping at a wall that won’t hold me.
My lungs burn with the lie
I swore I wouldn’t tell again.
Not to them—
but to me.
I said I was done.
That I’d stop chasing silence
in the smoke.
But silence was sweeter
than the echo of your name.

I turn to my side,
curled like the child I used to be
before I knew how sharp love could feel
when it leaves.

I wanted to drown it all—
the hope,
the dreams,
the memories I hate that I still replay.
Every time I screamed,
“You’re so mean,”
and every time I didn’t say it out loud.
Every time I let you win,
pretending it was okay
to be invisible
in your arms.

I set the clock
before I forget the day,
before I lose the minutes
that once held meaning.
My phone buzzes.
I try to reply.
My thumbs miss the words,
and even my autocorrect knows
I’m not making sense tonight.
Messages opened.
None sent.
Just more unread chaos.

My roommate’s voice cuts through the fog,
a soft,
“Are you okay?”
I lift a hand,
wave her away.
That’s all I have to give.

And then—
panic.
It crashes like a wave I didn’t brace for.
Heart racing,
thoughts spiraling.
I feel like time has shattered
and left me in slow-motion shards.
Until—
it doesn’t hurt.

Suddenly,
it’s gone.
The ache,
the scream,
the version of me that begged to stay clean.
Vanished
in a single, glowing ember.

That first inhale warned me—
told me it wasn’t worth it,
told me this isn’t how you heal.
But she was drowned out
by the next wave,
a softer voice
that promised peace
at any cost.
She took my hand
and led me far,
far away
from the girl who used to care.

My mind,
now unburdened,
floats above
the ruins of what you left behind.
No fear.
No grief.
Just space.
A quiet room to feel… nothing.

And that’s what I wanted, right?

To never again remember
how it felt to be in your arms
and still feel so alone.
To never again wake up
wondering what I did wrong.
**** doesn’t fix it.
I know.
But for now—
it blurs the frame
where your face used to live.

I gave you everything.
So what’s left to protect?

I scribble thoughts
in half-sentences
and broken rhymes,
hoping morning-me
will find something honest
in the mess.
Some version of me
worth keeping.

I pull the blanket close,
tuck my knees tight,
as if I could disappear into cotton and warmth.
The ceiling fades.
I’m watching stars now.
They twinkle just enough
to hold me.
One shoots,
and I pretend it’s for me.
A wish I can’t say out loud.

And then—
I drift.

Will I wake
and see the sky
or just the lie I told myself
as I faded?

Either way,
I won’t see you.

Not tonight.

Constellations on her face
I trace,
a sea of stars illuminate up above
with all their grace.

A glowing pearl her accessory;
the moon,
casting its beauty, glowing softly
upon the earth’s face.

An ombre of blue and black;
her aura
a serene atmosphere,
a silent lullaby for this place.

And me,
her admirer,
wrapped in her blanket of tranquillity
feeling safe in this warm embrace.

The fall wasn’t pretty in the eyes of falling leaves.
The moon, undressed, unprepared. The night awaits.
You paint me red.
It’s okay.
Who cares if Canvas likes the brush anyway?
The door of trust was open for years.
In the ashes of my home, I will sleep.
The rain falls on open wounds,
So vicious, so cruelly undefendable.
And
The devil you know became alone,
So much
She wears a cross to burn her chest.
The weight of winter on spring.
I need to know,
How do flowers bloom in dry, hopeless, cold woods?
The writer lost herself in the obsession of pain,
Wrapped around the words she could not tell.
One, twelve, seventeen, twenty-one.
Another night, the next spring, she tries,
She tries to stay.

If I were to go away
Would you wish I’d stayed?
It doesn’t matter, anyway
I’d come back, anyday

Ramakrishna Mission
spirituality destination
Go there
Meditate
Be close to God
Feel uplifted
Sing out loud
Reach the
vicinity of God
come back
with a piece of peace
in your heart

The Poems I Wasn’t Meant to Read

I found the page tucked in a book,
Its fold too neat, like care it took.
A poem, simple—sharp and cold,
A story inked but never told.

“I never loved him,” the first line read,
And something in me quietly bled.
Not anger, not a bitter tone—
Just a truth that stood there, all alone.

No fire, no fight—just frozen air,
A silence shaped like no one there.
Not a trace of me inside the frame,
Not even shadow tied to name.

Elsewhere, a hidden file—another note,
One more poem that she wrote.
A man unknown, his presence far,
Drawn in lines too bold, too clear.

A laugh, a touch, a night of stars,
A place where nothing broke or scarred.
“So much between us left unsaid,”
That final line just rang and bled.

And it was then I felt the sting—
Not just of him, but everything.
The weight of all we never voiced,
Of moments passed, of silent choice.

The dreams we named but never chased,
The goals that time and fear erased.
The plans we whispered half-awake,
Too fragile for the light to take.

The things we needed, never asked,
Desires buried, faces masked.
The nights we held but didn’t feel,
The love we wanted to be real.

And maybe that’s the cruelest cut—
Not lies, not lust, not breaking trust—
But words we held and never freed,
And poems I was never meant to read.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.