It has taken a few weeks
to perfect your recipe
A few more to taste it. The sadness on you
has become your scent,
lingering on your sheets,
just like you. And its the same everyday, routine, until you’ve become a stereotype. You spend the whole day
watching phone calls
rise and fall like empires
or forgotten cities. Like this, you want to be left alone
To wonder why you’re alone. And so you seem to think
about everything, yet nothing at all. And you like how it feels
how the darkness is flirtatious. So you go another night,
just another night. Manuel

will all spill alike
One seeping into the other
A symphony of chaos and darkness_ An order from prophecy; of disorder
and a raised structure of destruction
For the skies will be as earth_ Dusty and dead
The earth, just as dead
That everything in between
Would be buried
That everyone in between
Would be buried alive
in blood, fear and fumes

Would it make any difference if for our love, we died? Punishment
upon us_the sinful but loved. The pride of our desire, the fervour of
our abridged lust, all banished to solitude. Now, only curiosity stands
between us, our naked souls. We, executed for who we are, outcasts
worthy only of each other. Separated and with all elements spawned
against us. Time pulling on our faces and chests and ***** as we fade in
wait. Laws over our heads till we die. We died right from the start. We only grow
now in death. Till we die again, to meet again, to live again, for in my
book the black sheep make the finest wool.

You have tried to find love. You have searched in the most
utile of places, thirsting for a sip. You have asked your
lover what lies between her thighs
maybe you could find
some love there. She’d say rosé… she always does; the
older it is, the drier it gets. And now, you have drunk so
much rosé
practically all day, or every other Thursday
night till you have grown weary of its taste. But you
have heard that love lasts forever_ a lingering heartthrob , not a recurring hiccup from too much wine_Yes, you have
heard tales of a fairy tailing princesses until true love is
found. Yet, you remain here-loveless, loveless
and
loveless again. Maybe if you looked for love less, just
maybe you would find it, maybe it would find you. Maybe…eventually

It’s 15 minutes before I die.
I’ve been here before?
Déjà vu? Routine? Hobby?
Uneasily, I am waiting for my groom.
Loneliness has walked me down the aisle
which is my kitchen, a job well done.
And yes, I have been waiting
all day in my bathrobe
sipping wine; the one called washing dishes
-miserably preparing the witnesses.
How I want to be remembered?
How I want to be forgotten?
They’re all the same to me.
-Men. Always running late.
I’ll wait a little longer, as I’ve always.

Deep in the darkness of my soul
A darkness not even I can behold
Somewhere far beneath my eyes
A spec of light you can barely see lies
You reached out to it but to your greatest surprise
The light within is moved farther despite your tries
Nothing can save me from myself you thought
But even at that, with persistence you sought
Digging through my clusters of damage
Clusters I think not to manage
Risking the many things we that we share
The very thoughts of losing a friend, you seemed not to fear
You dug for my own good "rescue the light before it's long gone"
"For if the light leaves, this can't be undone"
Worried not by the outcome
Giving it your all "still I'll overcome"
Getting closer to the end of the darkness's frontiers
Darkness cannot help but give up "I'll surrender the light" it volunteers
Finally the search and pursue mission is over
In a cage the light is handed over
Retrieved the little light in me
Brought out the light and set it free
"The light is out" darkness begins to cry
"For when light is out how shall we pass by?"
Wiping all the darkness my light broke out
"Finally he is broken" you begin to shout


The old me is gone now, no turning back
My insides no longer painted in black
Darkness is gone, locked away in a cage
So now I can finally turn a new page

I am writing as though there were thorns in my sleeve

let me paint you a picture with my tongue instead
A marketplace in heaven, a retail store for souls
flowers of lashes open and flutter at me all day
and it is flattering to be human. Being human-
my sheets tease me of it when I lay alone.
Alone is where I am at some point, so the taste
of white noise will keep stinging.
A dark owl falls in my laps and to the ground
but as a mother would, I nudge her on to fly.
This is becoming routine. All of it, circling
over and over again, a messy time loop.
A ceiling fan with no circuits. A life.
This is where I am at some point,
alone in paradise.

Is it cliché to say that I dream of you
or that I stay up in bed thinking of you?
Indeed an apple falls far from a tree
and into a basket, somewhere overseas.
My Adam’s apple breaking over the phone
and chutzpah china slamming on the floor
leaves few words to remember you by.
My blinds will never carry a scent
yours, too much of a burden to bear.
A wooden bed with walls and moist soil
the only smell I pine for now
the only thing I can pray for now.