I was born from a storm
destructed from flesh to bone
beautifully perched in a cloak
in arbitrary, it was a dysmorphic view.

"How have I morphed into this?"

And all the skeletons in my closet seem like a myth hanging around in a locket, I gave you a thing where I put my little heart into it. I've gained in my drastic, obnoxious change.

This love has morphed differently within me, heaven struck, caught up by the heights of my devotion, laced with enchantment. I speak your name with longing, as if my words were haunting interludes, in the cacophony of souls whispering a multitude of wishes to a body that once lived — an old figure of myself.

From heaven and hell
or simply I could tell
a labyrinth where I fell
and begged in a
cathedral that I've built
to woe my insurmountable grief
to forfend my undying love. and thus, my love grew as my abyss.

My love has been slipping beyond my grasp, as if it's the faintest light in a lone island I reach in between the gaps of my fingers. In this mere happenstance, you are my greatest expedition that would be written in pages; A conquest that no one could ever have, I was a ticking bomb waiting for the fall of promises that were long drowned at the sea I called "you", a silent yet vengeful endless depth, I named it as my territory, a catastrophic dream, in an afternoon storm.

I grew into you like vines, delicately covering a brutalist form with a love I only know. My heart is submerged in a little ocean, its depth grew in me as I carried the weight upon my soul. The waves painted me blue, reminding me of all my sad lullabies.

Your name is a possession and embodies all that you are (it's the only way to keep you.) If I got the chance to love you, maybe I'd be much more than a supernova, devouring its life until the very end, traversing the boundless space, and it would leave traces in a thousand years; my love for you would still resonate, like the haunting interludes played by a piano in the epilogue of a song.

I always knew about the ocean's calling, deep in my heart. It keeps me wandering to find what I yearn for — could it testify the animosity of being insatiable?

I wait on the shore like a lighthouse guiding your way back to me, as if I hold faith in it, like it is a perseverance that grew in my chest. I am certain to the florescence of my flowers and to its withering as I know the  durations of its life and death is when I could meet you again. And though, the inconstant desolateness of the ocean continues to wait.

I was a dead body, decaying in decades of wreckage, buried in my tarnished land. Shape shifting into a muse that acquires its sunday best to stand tall, relentlessly.

And yet life is much wiser than to all of my whims, molding my heart as a vessel of my misadventures, and veins that bears my broken dreams. I still dance on a hard wood floor, memorizing the creaks on it; memorizing the fear of falling.

My skin and bone grows in unfamiliar love, shaped into a misery, it is morphed on my own garden of heaven and abyss, relinquished its life in romanticism and death.