cruel, and yet dainty to the touch
shattering, sparkling -- these wondrous things of yesterday
caressing the aching -- breaking parts of me
words and pictures
faces and dreams
i wish to bring it all back
to feel the weight of what was the world then draping over me
pristinely etched on with what was -- memories
when even the phrase "i miss you" held no bounds
it is much lighter in my chest compared to when i hold these
with my very own eyes, i see the rotten flesh of mine die
deader than dead
upon gazing on a walking mirror — a material-less self
i wish i did not speak nor spoke in a different way
lest not think this day
when people are horrible — horribly
just like me
just like me
lately, i have been illiterate.
hasty is this mouth that has beheld bad composures upon being looked upon at all
for i am not a flower to gaze at, nor a star to wonder
i do not see myself at all
since all i am is all that worries this precious soul
and i blind myself with me
here it is again, the same old topic, the same old story, the same old rant
about a word i will not mention for it is already too bland
on the tip of my tongue — i wish it would be gone
its meaning sure is, i wish it never did
loneliness is key
to be filled with pertinent happiness, at least only to fill
we are containers
containers with holes
containers with moles
i hate this obliterating gaze
that kills the curiosity in others
if only i could take it off like shades,
maybe then i could make a good mother
nobody has ever regarded me as the person i would like to be
young and sweet and graceful in all sides
maybe this is why
if it is within my circle of salt,
i guess i will stay
but to look out the window
to see what it’s like outside
that in which — all together, is another story
take away this garbage bag of a heart
take away these knives to the throat
i am not an angel nor a dove
i would want the best from above
but not from me
i don't know who i am; supposed to be -- if only you were to love me -- only when i am the perfect replication of your mind's child.
your sharp, unforgiving words do not reduce who i am,
though all the more i feel unloved.
instead, i have reduced myself to a four-year-old child hoping, wishing, pleading to be loved even a bit -- by you.
by what i thought were sincere hugs & kisses,
*good morning & goodnight.
Hello, goodbye. Whenever you want.
Love or die, that's all the options I've got.
A window is where I look through to
see what you do.
Daily, weekly, yearly, fondly do you do these busy things you do.
You come home late, say hello
Talk about your day, talk about your highs and lows.
And do I have to say?
Nothing. For I am your figment.
You ask me if I still do,
I say yes, holding forever in my heart.
But what impact does that hold to a busybody like you?
But without this past, you are hardly home.
In fact this is not your home anymore.
You only comeback when you can,
just because of pity
just because of regret
just so maybe you can still fix the little ebbing in my heart
to fix the reason why there still might be a ghost of me left somewhere.
And this I am,
You very special figment.
You say you still do,
in the most vague ways.
But I obviously don't stand a chance
to her ways that amaze.
She's real, I'm not.
I am forever your figment.
"Don't cry. Please."
I wouldn't cry if I could.
I would die to my selfish sulk if I could.
I would care to not want if I could.
"If only I could," she replied.
Good night, nothing will change.
Good night, forever be the same
Good night, never-ending good night.
Why do I even?
Why do I sigh?
Why do I keep this on, lie for lie?
"Good night," she said.
Nothing will change.
Forever will stay the same.
The never-ending good nights,
and the want to say more.
there is so much going on inside of me
I do not understand it
I wish I was like you
who wouldn't care at all if I subsided
if my trinkets be forgotten,
"That's okay," because life is like that.
"That's okay," that you repeat what you say and then not mean it.
"That's okay," that we squander time like the future won't care to see.
"That's okay," I know our love will die anyway, because life is like that.
Life is like that.
I wish I was as passive as you are.
"I wish you were real."
She kept crying every night for days and for every restless, sleepless moment you could ever count. It felt like an eternity before this ever had to end.
She never knew that one day
she would wake up and realize that she's had it with all these damp cheeks, dried up tears, clogged nostrils, and sniffling pains.
She never knew that she would throw the very thing that meant the universe to her into the black hole, into the oblivion.