was not ready
for lovers
who found it
easy
to walk
in
and
out
of its life.

Do you know
what it means
to lose heart
when you
have
so
much
of it?
You’re loving
faster than
you’re losing
love,
and
some nights
even breathing
becomes unbearable.

Is it the falling rain
as it creates a clear sheet,
a cool blanket upon the earth?
Or is it in
the ripples
that form,
and disappear,
along the water’s surface?
Is it the taste
of burnt coal
and ashes
in
your
lungs
as you watch
the past
go up in smoke?
Could it be
along the nighttime streets
as you wander
in search for
where you belong?
Have you found it
under the light
of an
iridescent moon;
in silent reflection
as you reminisce
of Halcyon days?
Is it in
the aftertaste
of their fingers
intertwined
with yours,
or perhaps
in the whispers of
I
Love
You
residing in
the distant past.

Sweetie.
let's cover ourselves in blankets
and good stories
so
we
can
enjoy
it.

goes my ever unsteady heart.

It does not take a pile of torn-up forget-me-nots
for me to falter,
just a name;
Your name.

You are my solemn unmaking,
the end where I begin,
you possess the irrevocable capacity to have written me in reverse.

**** it.

She is wonderfully unique,
an ensemble
of rhythms;
a hint of jazz
mixed with alternative music,
with just the right amount
of punk rock
and metal.”

Another sun sets in the horizon,
but our day is just beginning.
We were on a road that led to nowhere.
But it didn’t matter,
because we couldn’t see the end.
And I thought to myself
that it would be alright
if we postponed all our worries for tomorrow.
Like how you went out through the window
while your parents were asleep, since we had places to be.
Along the way
you started complaining that you were hungry,
and we were running out of gas,
while the only thing I could think about
was how perfectly your hand fit in mine.

~*D.C.

I will tear the skies
and rip Eterion asunder,
and still you will whisper sweetly,
"It is not enough."

I will set the oceans aflame
and close the gates to Elysium,
and as you tread among
the ruins and the ashes
You shake your head
ever
so
slightly.

"It is still not enough."

~*D.C.

In my mind's eye
I see
the vast expanse
of the abyss
as it looms
ever closer
into conscious reality.
Something dark,
ancient,
and sentient,
awaits in
disturbed slumber
to bring about
chaos
to the world.
Its tendrils
reach out
to envelop the sky
darker and darker still
until all that remains is
its very presence.
And when
the hour is at hand
the darkness fades
into the earth
and sleeps

*until the harrowing cycle begins anew.

When I was young
(or at least younger than I am today)
I had a dream that I was Spider-man.

I looked different though; a suit of mercurial qualities and blue that
-when hit by moonlight-
glowed ever white.

It was night,
yet the city was screaming,
and as I swung over a police station
I found Rhino wreaking chaos.

He saw me;
the challenge was clear.
As I landed on the pavement
he was already midcharge,
but
I
did
not
evade.

Instead,
I ran faster
than him,
and the force of the punch I threw
sent
him
flying;
I was going so fast
that every movement I made to strike
left after-images,
and Rhino just couldn't keep up.

*Poor Rhino.

The faintest hint of you
and I have songs,
and poems,
and words
brimming
from
my very thoughts,
and my mouth,
and my hands.
By all means
I breathe you in
as the air
that fills my lungs.

When your gaze found me,
remember that you
-for that short infinity-
held the entirety of my being
and
let
it
go
in a heartbeat.

~*D.C.

If I were to describe how moving on feels,
I’d liken it to a rehabilitation center
that broke me down
until I wasn’t even sure what to believe in anymore.
It made me doubt my passion,
and turned it against me,
until all that’s left was deep seated bitterness,
and the feeling of utter betrayal.
After a while, I thought I was cured.
But then, the withdrawal kicked in,
and I found myself consumed
by an intense longing.
I can’t recall how many times
I’ve been told to go back,
but each visit was always as miserable as the last.
And now I don’t feel like going back anymore,
since the medication doesn’t work at all.

I’ll admit,
the reckless abandon by which I write
is my very own guilty pleasure.
Perhaps someday you’ll take the time
to pass by this haven that I’ve made,
away from prying eyes.
The fickle words that reach me
often leave this boy wanting for not
but to embrace the darkness with anticipation.
Maybe you’re reading this right now.
Or it’s just me again hoping that these words
will come across and miraculously set things right.
To find that a soul so fragile
still ventures out into the world in search for the light
while emitting its own soft glow.
There’s no one quite like you.

You’re a masterpiece in the making.

She was born in the wrong place,
He was born in the wrong time.
She grew up in a sad place,
He grew up in a sad time.
She learned to love in a dark place,
He learned to love in a dark time.
The two meet, and for once
They felt they found something right.
Yet she was born in the wrong place,
And he was born in the wrong time.

Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.

Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.

Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.

Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.

Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
an­cient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.

Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.

Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.

Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.

~**D.C.

I’m not sure where to go,
but I sure do have a lot to do.
If only my voice didn’t crack whenever I sang.
If only my fingers were steady when I hold a guitar.
If only my feet were coordinated as I start to drum.
If only my ears never missed a cue during a performance.
If only my hands wouldn’t stop as I wrote a song.
There’s so much I want to do,
and I’m just a normal dreamer like everyone else.
It takes both heart and mind to make good music.
You have to sing from your heart,
and you have to keep who’s listening in mind.

~*D.C.

His consciousness moved,
his body did not.
He was bound
to the ground.
A fallen angel
stood amidst
the tempestuous
flames,
yet he did not burn.
The younger brother
was unstable,
malleable;
he must be put
to the test.
Thus,
the angel
fashioned
a blade
of immense strength
that wielded
the powers
of his hell,
upon its hilt
inscribed
-in seraphic
tongue-
Convicta.
Use it
he said.
Use it as
a vessel
of your
hate.
At once,
His soul
clung to
the demonic
weapon,
his body
was left behind.
You cannot leave,
the angel said,
unless he is
brought
to this side.
And Abel knew
what must be done,
and began the
journey out
of the inferno.

~*D.C.

Cursed,
he was;
forced to roam
these lands
until the
last of days.
A divine sigil
rests upon
his brow;
an invitation
to imminent
destruction.
T'was he
who slew
his brother,
and by doing so,
had dug
two graves.
But
his brother
was not lost,
no.
For eons
he slumbered
in the pit;
his revenge
fueling the
raging infernos
that surround him.
Until one day,
he stirred.
And upon his
unholy
resurrection
he recalled
a name,
and his fury
grew all the more.

~*D.C.

You are not weak.
The very fact that you are reading
these lines right now
is proof that you have
survived
until
this
very moment.
There will be scars,
and pain,
and heartache,
but believe me
when I tell you
that you were born
for better days.
True happiness
isn’t born of luxury.
It exists in us all,
and everything
around us.
There are people
who hate the Sun
when they feel its
warmth upon the ground,
yet if they set
their eyes to the sky
would some witness
the canvas of a world
that it’s helping
you to see.
There are those
who spend
their whole lives
screaming at
the universe
to notice their existence,
but this world is already
fine as it is,
and it is the chaos
within ourselves
that hinders us
from noticing.
Find
what makes
your insides sing,
and what sets
your soul on fire.
For you are
a living
celestial body,
and the key
to the universe’s
treasures
was already
within you
from the beginning.

~*D.C.

You are
a work of art;
there is music
in your footsteps,
and melodies
in your voice.
This once
insipid world
is now
full
of colors.
Did you lend a
hand with that?
Did you paint
the skies cerulean,
the curtains green,
the windows red?
In my sorrow
you put a finger
to these lips
as if to say
‘Let us not talk
about sad things’,
then you and I
would speak
about
the goodness
in everything.
Did you lend a
hand with that?
Did you teach
these lips
to express
the miracles
of life,
laughter,
and love?
You had a
gentleness
about those
around you
like you knew
everyone
was fighting
their own battles,
everyone was worth it.
Compassion should
be given where it
is needed.
Did you lend a
hand with that?
Did you show
me when to
give somebody
a shoulder to cry on,
a hand to hold,
a kiss g'night?
Darling,
how I miss you so.
Everything has changed
-even you and I-
but perhaps
you are
all of the
loveliness
that I have written
-and will ever write about-
from the very beginning.
And I
just
couldn’t
grasp you
clearly.
How I
hear,
see,
think,
and feel
are all
different now.
Did you lend
a hand with that?

~*D.C.

because look at them
gallivanting about
the avenues
and boulevards of your skin
as if you are not
the very accumulation of stardust
after countless supernovas
marked the end of old stars
making way for new ones,
as if your eyes
held not a single secret of the universe
even when it's so painfully obvious
with
just
one
glance
that that is not the case.

Here's to them
when they tell You
or make you feel
as if you're not worth a single coin.

*Because you're worth more
than all the treasure in the world.

and here I found myself
in complete radio silence.
You're the soft humming static,
the deafening silence
as soon as I close my car door.
There's a certain kind of peace here,
though what I have is emptiness;
what I have is nothing.
You're the cigarette in my fingers at 3 am,
if only I hadn't quit.
You're the portrait that I'd create in awe,
if only I knew how to draw.
You're every song and piece of poetry
that these hands will ever compose for months,
and even years,
and by the stars, sweetie,
do I know how to write.