When tears turn black
When breaths turn to gasps
When talking turns to silence
When cries turn to sobs
When i love you turns to I hate you
When your heart breaks into two
When the room turns dark
When there's nothing you can do anymore
When your completely broken
When all you can say is sorry
When nothing seems to work
When your falling apart
When you think everything is over
I'll be there
To help you
To comfort you
To tell you that i love you
To hug you as hard as I can
To be your friend forever and always

In the shadow of indecision
she concedes her past
compare her present
And contemplates her future

Who is this child
Staring blankly back at her
Through a mirror of dreams
Yearning to be free

Her innocence deprived
Shipwrecked ideals
Trampled to the ground
Her broken heart revealed

Can she find her way
In the dark complex maze
Through the pain and hurt
Through the condemning blaze

Where has she gone
This little child
Lost for too long
Her essence exiled

To swim with the river in June...

I still remember
the coldest night I remember.
Poker,
whiskey, and snow.
Willowy hair of smoke and icy breath,
the fingers of early Winter
creeping up my thighs and inside of me--
freezing my innards, a corpse.

But a flower,
the bravest of winter,
braver than I,
who can only glimpse beauty,
but never come so close to it.
To penetrate such stillness would surely finish me.
Abiit ad  maiores.
She has left well.

Fond of scribbling words
Especially when I'm down
A way of letting it go
A way of easing me down.

Now scanning a notebook
Full of unreadable writings
Like it's some kind of stenograph
Which I only can understand.

Some say that I have the gift
And some say that I'm brave enough
To tackle about my life,
To write about my pains.

But I can't see it that way
'Cause all the words in my mind
All the ideas I'm writing down
Isn't enough to express what's inside.

I'm dying to write all of it
To lessen my burdens
But I hardly find the words
And not all of it could be shared.

As ideas struck my mind
And I'm starting to write it down
It's where the complication start
As the words wrestle to form a phrase.

I can't make it rhyme all the time
But it doesn't matter
As long as it's lyrical
A free verse poem will do.

I follow no rule in writing
'Cause the best way to write for me
And the only way I know,
Is to write from the heart...


Krystal Marcelo
04/28/16

*But originally written 04/16/16

Confusion parading through my mind.
Word had been always of elders.
I can easily be gone for entirely.
It's nolonger possible to stay,
Where poverty is the order of myself.
I hope one dawn,
It shall be over,
And come back home.

The night sky athe which I stare
The inky darkness lights lay bare.
That night sky that such beauty,
That same sky lit by the Sun's solemn duty

And reflected in the moons white lustor
Through that void of darkness I muster,
My stance on the plateau of courage.
It is upon this vast plateau of courage

I must face the ever awakening days that mercilessly cause damage
To my mind where my sanity will rummage and sift,
Where hope will take hold
Of all the pieces that lay broken and cold

I look up at the night sky...
The edge where life become a lie.
The beautiful sky I watch from here
While I stare you all come near,
And before I know it the Light shines.

Before I look down I watch the lines,
The lines of my life as they dissappear.
All the sadness and happiness from behind.
As you all stand there and smile
I wish I could stay a while.

But I know this is the end.
I watch the time we've spent blend,
And before that inky black does take me
I take your hands so I may see

The love for which my life did not lie
And finally, after so long. I cry.
I cry for all the things that could've been,
And for all the things I'd do again.

I cry because this is the end of me,
And I cant bear the sight you see.
Through all my success and strife
This is how all must end who have life.

My bathroom reeks of cigarettes,
My sink is filled with wine,
My kitchen table, a stack of bills
And overdue book fines.
This isolation is my poison,
This quiet is my hell.
I thrive on dreams of suicide
And other habits I can't tell.
The life of an artist, you see,
Is a life of sacrifice.
And though we did not choose this fate,
We still must pay the price.
People think we simply see
Hidden beauty in the world.
But we also see the demons at night
Seducing young boys and girls.
They're tempted by money and other things
The world tries to force in our minds.
And all the artist can do is sit, watch
And hope they come out alive.
For an artist already knows how it is
To live in a world where you choke
On poison and blood and *** and wine
And in the end, they still come out broke.
Yet we still live with a foolish hope
That one day when we're dead and gone,
Perhaps our art and perhaps our words
Will somehow carry on.
We believe once we're immortal
Everything will somehow be alright.
And I plan to be there someday--
If I can make it through the night.