Blow out the last smoke
Your heel on the cigarette,
Crush it; take a swig
Squeezing lemons on pearly white teeth
One more for brokenness, another for the road;
Lights. Lights. Lights.
–how is a place so blindingly bright
remain so dark, so void, out of life?

We traded this life from another
And traded those from another, too.
Gypsies. Indies. Crazies. Hipsters.
All of them, labels.
We (You) are far better.

There’s something ugly in whispers.
Oh but not those from you.
Not from you.
The line between escape and reality
Is just a line, really.
Come over. Here?
Come closer. There?
Yes, please.

We are nothing but fitting hands, loose shirts,
summer evening sweats, blisters
chain smokes, vivid lights,
My eyes never leaving the sight of your smile.

Come closer. More. Nearer.
Be in my blood. Cover my skin.
Run through the inhale and exhale of my lungs.
This never ending thing going?
God****, it’s enough.

I see lighter skin under your short sleeves; and your cut off jeans, fraying at the seams.

There's a trail of sweat from your temple to your neck; but your eyes dance without regrets.

It was all sun, sun, sun and rain. It was all dance, dance, dance and no pain.

Time is with us. No, time is us. We are never ending. We are infinitely flying;

You are holding my hand; you are pulling me, and

We are falling apart, but with all of our hearts.

Memory dreams. Multiverse.
Tell me we exist
in a parallel universe.

Fast forward to
a few years later and
you'll suddenly hear
he's getting married.

The emotions you've been
suppressing in
your almost-hollow chest
will all resurface
and you will want
to do something you know
you should've done before.

But you won't do it.
You will cry it out, instead.
He might invite you.
And you will take that
perfect opportunity
to flee.

Just like what you have done
rewind to a few years before
and have been doing
since.

You've been picking
even-numbered petals
from flowers all these time
because you thought
the odds won't be against you.

When nature shows you a sign,
it is most likely to be
a. True b. False
Whatever it is,
Do not pretend you're blind.
Take another look.
Read between the lines.

A dozen wildflowers
is still an even number.
He only means to tell you:
this won't last forever.

Decayed and dead after a week.
Cryptic love is cryptic.
Like is not love, haven't you heard?
Haven't you looked at the flowers?

When the sun has set
and your eyes are tired,
the empty space in your chest,
in your mind, in your bed.
Hollow that was once filled,
his love was beguiled.

Dear Sir,

Should I go make myself visible--too visible in your eyes? I could pour over my brother's notes and raise my hand to every question you have just to have your eyes at me.

Was that too desperate? Should I play dumb and ask you for extra lessons outside of class? I could stand quiet corner coffee shops, away from prying eyes. I'll even discard the uniform. And you can get to wear that awful tie. That's what they call a "Win-Win Scenario" in Sales, right?

I could strike every corny joke in the block, make pick-up lines, even sing off key to make you see that I'm not such a student-y student.

I could be your friend! I could be your best student. I could be your favorite--I'll try extra harder! I could be your girl. I could be your coffee buddy, your official class manager/monitor, the very person you assign extra notes to be passed on. I'll volunteer on every project you have your hands into---

I want to be yours. In every possible single way. We could hustle and bustle in shadows of people who couldn't understand; I'll get you more weird looking ties for the weekend.  I could type your exams in exchange for extra tutoring; we'll hold each others hands until this winter melts to spring.

Because I swear, when your eyes met mine; when your lips told me "I'll see you again, next time."; I knew I needed you. It's time to make you need me, too.

The cold festive wind blew;
Laughters, hollers of "Merry Christmas!"
Came along with the breeze.
Children, with their little toy drums
Bang, bang, banging away;
Choruses of "Gloria In Excelsis Deo";
Pine trees, Snow flakes, deformed Snowmen;

Houses are lined with
Blink, blink, blinking
Colorful lights and wreaths;
Somwhere among them,
in some living room,
"All I Want For Christmas" is on loop;
Cookies are laid for Santa Claus;
Presents are stacked
Under the Christmas tree--
With garlands and *****
And--

The Christmas lights
In a room in the middle of a second storey house,
Were shining as brightly as they could,
Being wrapped around the neck
Of a teenager misunderstood,
Hanging lifeless on the ceiling
With a note pinned that read,
"Happy Christmas from the dead."