She romanticize the orchestra of her muffled cries, caught her canvases
bruised with purple and red,
Her bare chest was beautifully wounded by a serrated cage, arranging her disorganized open heart.

Her heart is malleable from tragic delights, she ripped herself open, willing to give it whole.

Will you take it all and leave it as it is?
Does it oblige you to wrap your arms around me like a tightening noose?

And as she draw marks of red stains and carve on her skin, her limbs were perched perfectly, as you adore it with a painful stare.

And her hands were pure certainty, remained untouched.

Parts of his existence:

A vessel; is a magic that flows through its veins— the color of my cheeks and the color of his madness

A certainty; all flesh and bone, sutured and bruised; we can be made of cracks, somehow.

and my heart, he had it all as black holes grew in my chest (as if the vacancies could be filled by his existence)

for me, he is insatiable
as I was always heartless.

I'd wish to know, if we're only an idea of tall tales that meet the skeletons in both our closets and thus, it solely goes romanticizing my tarnished land.

In fury, my escapism brought me home away from home and there he was, he's the familiarity I'd wish, I never know.

So dear, he's already 'a home',
I'd live and die at times he's all I have and so this borrowed chance, as to what I afeared of, my love is building; a labyrinth, I'd never wish to escape.

There I was, staring from afar,
is it just the night scene that makes my periphery hazy? Or we're on a geomorphological process of meeting an another celestial body; you were standing there, wondrously daydream- like, as that time came unbeknownst to me.

There is a strange familiarity on you
that changes my animosities— a paradigm shift, and all the long way leads to you.

I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
smoke and mirrors;
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."

Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, beautifully withered
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.

A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, it will never be the same.

"Perhaps, we are the people who met each other at a time warp, that's why we are still existing in this millennium."

It's like my heartbeat has been cursed by twenty lifetimes; I would trade all my days, even if it turns from epoch to eon, I will always come back to you.

She have been collecting butterflies, there are few in a frame in her house— the dead ones are displayed as a remnant of how beautiful they are and some of the living ones are in a glass jar.

she watch those fluttering wings, she is really fond of its translucency and prism-like butterflies.

There is a different one that makes her fall in love with. She keeps it with her, she wonders if there is any magic to this one special butterfly that she didn't want to end up in frame.

"I wanted to keep you but not in a selfish way" she muttered.

She opened the jar and watch the butterfly as it spread its wings gracefully.

It wasn't a lingering feeling
but a shot in the dark;
love letter once written
in the middle of spring,
until these words left frozen.

I'd been a vessel;
I don't want you
to bear the feeling
of emptiness.

Here we are again, in my darkest night,
I’ve never escaped
I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not  reach me.

Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness?
you said how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is,
they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal,
but now, they are a rare light in the sky.

I adore things that aren’t mine
and so you are,
I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.

You can be there and begone or just begone
(your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.

"What thing did hurt you the most?" He asked.
"drowning" I answered.

He look at me as if he scrutinized each word to say.

"you can simply swim against the currents" he said.

I know he can do everything and there's one girl who couldn't even bear to touch the waters.

"You know how much grievance the ocean had bestowed whenever I attach someone in every story I know about it; she kept on drowning, anticipated on how deep the ocean is, every time his eyes fall in crescent"

There is one thing that you cannot replace in this world; the man and the sea,
A magical life runs in his veins, interconnected on the depths of its history.

The sea is a giver, it is a lullaby creeping on the shore. He is the sirens of the storm
If he could only reach me,
I would bear the anchor beneath the waves.

His eyes are sinking ships as the stars crashed on the sky; he is the embodiment  of a lost piece of your dreams,
the heart is as deep as the sea.

The time wouldn't keep us
but my words will linger deep in the sea.

It's always you, whom I miss
It reminds me of the perfect blue
on purple sky,
I attach him on a beguiling lullaby retracting the memories of the sea
where the strings like constellations
connect us; You can never be apart from the ocean.