your hands
tracing my faults

knowing
each
and
every
single
piece
of me



(i never knew someone could be as gentle.)

you've always believed in two things religiously:
1) if you want something, you have to pull your hair back, grit your teeth, and work for it.
2) stopping from improving is regressing.

tonight, i realise that it was never about winning.
never about getting that medal or that spot on the stage.
it was silly of me to think that you just wanted my blood on your hands.
starving for recognition from your blood family, you were in a completely different competition than i was.

we carried corpses on our bruised shoulders.
they pushed against our broken backs; our swollen knees trying to keep our bodies upright.
you once told me i had a face that was good for punching,
and, oh god, i'd have had let you if it meant your hands on my skin.

in the end, what's left was this:
a single note in a cacophony of screams.

you are dead.
you are dead.
you are dead.

maybe if i keep repeating it to myself, i'd start believing it.

and yet it's far too late for impulsive declarations of love.
too late for so many things.

(but some days, i like thinking of you, thinking of me.)

choke me*, you gasp in the blinding heat of your embrace
his movements falter but return with more vigour, as if such a thing was possible
you guide his hands to your neck as if guiding a child lost in his path;
and yes, maybe you both are still children
trying to find ways to survive in each other
his nails dig into your pulse, into your airways
and never have you been more intimate
he is inside you,
wholly,
completely
within the cages of your ribs
and your lungs try to gasp for air
but it really doesn't change anything much
(you've been breathless around him for quite awhile, after all)
you still seek for his lips,
his tongue in your mouth;
you want to **** everything from him
into you
until you both become too entangled
and neither of you could be distinguished from the other

a foreign flag hanging overhead.
deaths of many soldiers.
darkness looming on a seemingly sunny day.
freedom—close enough to touch, but not to taste.

closing her eyes,
an old, weary grandmother sighs.

and blows the candles.

she hums,
gracefully weaving,
effortlessly sewing.

scarlet hair cascades up to her back.
her lazy, brown eyes--sharp.
she's wearing a crimson dress
with horrible frills
and stuffy fabric.

she dances across the room,
and sings sinfully.

she inserts the red thread of fate
into the eye of the needle.
she knots it,
and sews.

she laughs,
as she hears shrieks.
a beautiful instrumental to her humming!

("What wonderful instruments you are.")

she mournfully shakes her head,
seeing looks of disdain and horror
directed at her.

her girls needed to look their best after all--
she even made the effort to help them too.
how ungrateful!

(sew their mouths shut.
she does just that.)

she bursts into a gleeful chorus.

(before their consciousness faded away,
they curse the inescapable thread
that caught them
and entangled them with the countess.)

pure, white walls
stare back
at the figure
trying to stand up
on their own two feet.

said person staggers
and breathes
into the deafening silence.

the tiny footsteps
   of the little, black ants
reverberate
   with a thunderous sound
throughout the room
   of sheer determination.

God, God,
if you will,
please tell me
of the things
i cannot understand.

what does
the melancholy
in my heart
mean?

what does
the wrath
pulsing in my veins
mean?

this strangely peaceful,
nostalgic feeling...
what does this mean?

you look below
and see the ****** mess
that was your friend.

the fifty-meter distance from the ground
teases you.

and lures you down.

it's six in the morning,
and the birds aren't singing.
the clouds are rumbling,
and the winds are roaring.
this quite old
and creaky house
somehow manages to muffle
the noises—
with the help
of my cozy, blue blanket,
a warm cup of black coffee,
and you,
Mom.

the thoughts
running through
my head
i cannot
debug.

(is it time to install
an antivirus?
or to continue to
be stubborn
and
let it
consume me?)

your expression is
blank
as you stare at him
crying
and crying
and crying

it's a pitiful sight
but you can't tear your eyes
away from him
repeating that same
mantra over and over
again

you can't understand
what's happening around you
everything's in a daze
but you do know that
he's crying
over her

you laugh as you
see him kiss that girl
on the bed

"That's disgusting—
it's like you're kissing a dead body."

(that girl
mirrored your entire face
except her eyes
were closed)

time has passed
and he looks sharper
all formally dressed

the look on his face
however
does not
suit him

he repeats that mantra
he kept on saying
to that girl

you smile sadly

"I won't give up—I believe you'll live."

his hands
were cold
for such a warm
person

("Let go, love. It's been four years.")

that continuous boisterous beeping
from the machine
stopped and
stood still

his face
broke you

and you had thought that
that girl who he loved
sure was lucky

(and then you faded into the dark abyss)

there it goes,
  a sliver of hope
      fading away
    once again
into the lonely dusk

  my thoughts,
are muddled up,
     cornering me
at my own made-up
       precipice

look down,
   the waves splash wildly,
rocks firmly standing

    look up,
the romantic shades
  of violets and blues

look inside,
   and there's nothing.

barefoot
on grass
palms raised
up high
closed eyes

breathe

(because the world isn't as terrible as you think it is.)

huddled in a blank corner
with my knees
as my best friend
i drown
and d
           r
                    o
                            w
           ­                             n
a                                 ­                d
                         n        
                                           r      
d                                                        o
     ­           w


                                n

i splash
my plain white canvas
with shades of
my favorite colors—
blue, red and yellow

but
i guess i got
too excited
that i
did not
notice that
the colors
were mixing
and had created
an ugly gray

(too little,
too late.)

there was a pair of twins
one of them wore a happy smile on the outside
on the inside however
she would smirk and frown and laugh all over
the other one was gloomy and dark
but he had empathy deep, deep in his heart

she would get all the toys
play with them
until she gets bored,
breaks them
and gives them
to her other twin

all he had ever wanted
was warm company

how silly,
he thinks



(for she was life,
and he was death)

but i will never be silent.

S H O U T
   your heart out.

release
       all of your
unhealthily bottled-up
                  anger.

   scream out
your frustrations,
       slash the atmosphere
with your words.

and we will be here to take them all in.

all of you,
watch us!
as we, united,
stand
under the blinding lights
of pride
and glory.

we will reach our rightful victory!

imagine—
   flying, flying
  dancing with the wind
       singing to the lights
         and
    feeling absolutely
exhilarated.


only to be stripped of your wings—

and forced to crawl on the ground.


(and society will make you learn its ways until you eventually get slaughtered.)

you
who danced your way through my heart
the fervor you showed me
will stay, ne'er sere

you
who sang your way into my thoughts
the hope you gave to me
tainted my black, black heart

and you
who drifted away from me
as if you had the audacity to be the wind

*you took my breath away with you

she was a fierce girl:
her wild, red hair stood out among the rest
her hazel eyes sparkled despite the angsts.

she worked hard, refusing to sell herself,
even if his deadline was nearing.

(she promised him.)

her hope and naivety were smashed into pieces
as she slowly ran out of time.

(his time.)

without his knowledge,
she degraded herself.

("As long as it's for you, this pain doesn't hurt me.")

her health deteriorated
as his became better.

curled up in a corner, naked and bare,
she counted the money she earned.

and smiled.



he was a plain boy:
his brown hair wouldn't stay flat
his blue eyes, dull.

he thought of others before of himself
and that's why she fell in love.

(it was the same for him too.)

he collapsed one day,
pain spreading on his chest.

(he knew that that was it.)

he tried denying her support,
but her earnest eyes refused to let him.

("Laughing with you by my side—I'll be fine with just this.")

he slowly became better,
and he planned all sorts of trips for the both of them.

they'd go have a romantic dinner by the beach in summer,
they'd spend new year's cuddled up together, hot chocolate warming them up.

after his surgery, he searched for her—his heart, filled with gratitude
he never found her again.


the scar on his chest would never fade.

love is in the little things.

the way a couple would hold hands and smile softly—not minding the snow gently falling around them nor the cold harshly reminding them of their time limit—because it was enough for them, wasn't it? the warmth between the molecular spaces of their fingers entwined together.

the way he would wake up first and press a chaste kiss on her forehead. the way she would open her eyes and giggle after he leaves the room.

the way their eyes would sparkle when they catch the other looking at them.

the way their hands would subtly brush by each other and slowly intertwining as one, finger by finger.

the way he'd leave the horoscope page of the newspaper spread open on their coffee table with their signs both encircled in red. the way she'd leave a small bit of poetry right where he left the newspaper, letting him see through a little piece of her.

the way she'd lean her head on her shoulder as they both gazed at the stars. (even though they know that their own personal star was right beside them.)

the way he'd put his head on his lap as the other worked through their balances on the floor of their tiny apartment.

they way they'd carry the other to their bedroom, seeing as their significant other fell asleep on the couch (probably waiting for them to come home).

love may be a coup de foudre—a wild hurricane with passionate storms.

but love is also the earth—solid, steady,
home.

something
as gentle as
the sky above
was staring at me.

i look.

and i see you.

heading towards me
as if dancing to an unheard tune

i see you.

with eyes as beautiful as
the rainbow
(even more)

i see you.

you
who left with me no choice
but to fall

i see you.

(passing by me
and waving at
someone from behind




you don't see me
at all.)

screaming, screaming
she pounds ******* the bars
crying, crying
she has no voice

she glances down
and sees her hands
that are doused with blood and,
she can never bring back
everything that they took

clenching her fists
and shutting her eyes,
she continues to scream.

summer cicadas.
laughter from children.
crows and their tragic melodies.
sick feelings of deja vu.
a scream
or two.
a corpse found.

S i l e n c e .

summer cicadas.
laughter from children.
when will this loop just
.stop.

consume us,
oh, pools of darkness around.
your bottomless ponds
look back at us,
don't they?

let us climb up your nest,
and sew your threads.
your golden crown
will never waver,
your highness.

use us,
destroy us,
make us your puppets, materials, playthings,
anything.

we are yours.

as some people have said,
everyone wants to be the flower,
but someone has to fill the role of its vase.
and it's all ridiculous,
because why be either
when you can be
yourself?

why are you so enchanted by the light?
why do you keep on sticking to bright streetlamps
when strolling
through cold, quiet streets
bare of any living being?

(with their fingers crossed behind their backs
and knives hidden in their smiles)
the creatures mischievously sneaking around in the dark
are given the benefit
of spotting you right away

they easily observe you
(and see through your hesitant footsteps and shivering arms)
from a safe distance
and wait
for the chance to pounce

what is it
that makes you so
terrified
of the darkness?

is it because of the stories your mother told you
when you were a wee, little thing?
when you could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth?
when all you could believe in were your mother's words?

"Remember this: always walk under the streetlights, so the monsters don't chase you. They're terribly frightened by the light."

child,
do not be afraid
of slipping in the darkness.
do not be afraid
of what kind of unknown being lurks inside.
do not be afraid
of breathing the same air as your predators.

why not blend with them
as they search through their surroundings
all terribly confused
as to where their prey was
as you observe
(and see through their hesitant eyes and shivering backs)
from the shadows
and wait
for the chance to pounce?

/ after all,
creatures of the dark
rarely expect the attack
coming from their own side,
don't they? /

your moans stamped themselves on my skin,
but your laughter ripped my ribs apart and kissed this broken heart

i wish
tears
could wash
away
memories.

(then maybe i can finally sleep.)

and you helplessly look at him, your eyes following every curve of his face;
the curls of his dark hair, wetly plastered on his forehead, his flush high on his cheeks, his grin and his warm, warm eyes, looking down on you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen and wouldn't dare look away as if every second he lived shouldn't be wasted not staring at you
and so, chest undeniably tightening under the force of his smile and the way his glasses are messily porched on his nose, you think to yourself, god, good god, this man. i love this man so much i could die.

shut eyes,
clenched fists,
tense body.

angry thoughts
running through my head.

i breathe.

and release.

wide eyes,
open palms,
running through a field.

barefooted,
i inhale
and shout
and laugh
and

*i am free.

darkness
  has swallowed
        the key
   to the room
     of my mind.

our first meeting was

a summer drizzle
a cool breeze
a huge forest,

and you
sitting on
that tree,
laughing.

i hate writing
i hate the whole process of having to destroy and to rebuild myself
i hate the way some words just won't flow right; the ideas are there, the heart and the soul, but not the words, god, not the words
i hate the way my muse keeps me up on completely inconvenient times, three in the morning, or two in the afternoon
i hate the way i have to bleed across the page to make something i can barely call good
god, i ******* hate writing

may 13th, 9:22 pm
it's so silly to think that you used to be so warm underneath me and now you're underneath the ground six feet in and no one to love or kiss your broken fingers

may 16th, 8:41 pm
i wish you didn't have to leave me
i wish you could've killed me yourself
your heart's too soft for that though and i love you all the more for it
that's still not stopping me from missing you still

may 27th, 12:34 am
i loved you
i still do
******* for leaving and not telling me about it
how could you have done that
you caught me unaware, you *******
i miss you

jul 6th, 11:32 pm
my chest hurts
i don't think it's my ribs this time
it feels deeper

jul 18, 4:03 pm
i wish you and i had been a little stronger
i wish i had a chance to see your greying hair
to kiss your wrinkled eyelids
to wrap myself around you
'til death do us part

jul 20, 2:47 am
death came a little early for you, darling
you were my dream

jul 23, 6:08 pm
you still are.

if i were made out of iron,
then you are my flame--
melted my barriers and,
molded me
to who i am
today.

don't treat them like they're rocks:
they can stand strong, but they need support too.

don't treat them like that forgotten garbage bag near your backyard:
they do not reek, and they are beautiful, indisposable.

NO! don't treat them like fragile flowers either, but rather:
treat them like humans who have been hurt, who dislike pain as much as the next person, and who need and want respect.

galaxies
  in your eyes,
constellations
  on your cheeks,
the sun
  on your lips
oh,
  how you put the universe to shame!

gray.

black.

white.

his friends are gray.
his family is black.
the sky is white.

he feels like he's going insane,
running and pushing through the crowds
because why were the colors escaping him?

does he have to live through this boring, mundane and colorless earth?

he pants,
trying to catch his breath.
his surroundings, full of grays and blacks.

("Why is everything so black and white and gray and black and gray and white?")

he puts a smile on his face instead,
gathers around his friends.

he thinks he sees yellow.
but his sight keeps on betraying him.

he tries living in a banal, monochromatic world.

but.

he picks up a razor,
not heeding the warning:
Curiosity killed the cat.

(at least red was so much more beautiful than black and white and gray and black and gray and white.)

the crisp burnt wind
cuts through your parched lungs as
filthy sweat runs down your back
you gasp and you moan and you scratch and you groan—
you relish the rough touches of her hands
on your neck
you breathe
you breathe
you breathe

it's always been like this, you think.
she whispers in the dead of the night,
like the devious, bold Lilith,
and you blindly follow.
without fail, like a fool,
you walk her footsteps,
feeling like you're running on air.
you know what's happening,
what she's doing--
yet you still do as she wishes.

outside your window,
the branches of the trees you see
look like skeletal hands waving at you,
laughing at your idiocy.

a sudden warmth
causes you to arch your back
like a lover in heat,
your tongue peeks out from your lips
and the breeze catches on the sweat on your brow,
cruelly teasing you.

drifting through the atmosphere,
she lets you come close
but stops as your muscles tighten.
her breath ghosts over your painfully tense chest—
you reach for her,
but she disappears
as if she was born from a fire extinguished,
silenced,
by the wind.

dawn breaks,
and the circle is still unbroken.

you both sprung from the greens,
and now you have been wrapped in the color of rust.

gravity is obssessed
with pulling everyone down.

may it be to hurt others
by letting them fall in and out of love.

or to see them never get up again.

hey, can you
          hear the whispers of love
    from above?

his eyes glare at the paper, forcing it to budge.
nothing changes as it blinks back, seemingly mocking him.

he wants to escape the reality.

("What reality...? This is reality, so shut up!")

he sneers at the result he got and scrolls through the rankings.

he turns blue.

neither good, nor bad.

average.

("I ain't just average, shut your **** trap!")

he sees his friends above him,
seemingly laughing at him.

("What a bunch of idiots.")

his nose twitches,
and he becomes green.

he looks back.

and sees red.

and fades to black.