It's those moments when I see you in bed,
with messy hair and sleepy eyes,
covered in sheets, cosying up in your soft pillows.

It's those mirror selfies,
seeing you so smile so shyly,
goofing off adorably.

It's the random photos of you that you send,
letting me know if you're bored, stressed,
brightening my day up

It's those moments when you just dress up
asking me which looks better,
urging me to dress up too

It's those time that we post couple outfits in IG
Getting creative with our stories
teasing each other with who did better

It's those moments when we FaceTime
while we work
while we cook and
simply when we do random stuff like art.

Are the times and moments I love sharing with you.

There are no true monsters
only people,
people that made
killers and thieves,
by showing them their shortcomings
instead of their capacity to be good.

I wish to hear you sing again

I wish there was a rhythm
to describe the way you shine
in the midst of the engulfing darkness

I wish to hear the sound of your presence
a talented melody,
with a hidden harmony of fear.

I wish I had the comforting musicality of your voice
so that I could convey the arpeggio
that I hear in every breath you take
a shaky reminder that you’re with me

I wish that I could play the piano
in the same way you coloured my world so beautifully-
melancholy and repetition
In every stroke and every measure,
In a language that you introduced me to,
In sad smiles and tired hands.

My thoughts in scribbles,
I reach out to heaven
praying your name.

As the deafening silence
engulfed me at the very ground I stood,
My legion of demons stood with me,
and prayed to wish you are safe.
The light within me became angels that wish you happiness.

It’s been seven months,
and I have stood before the door of death,
cursing the heavens for I thought that
I could not bear life without her.

I wallowed in the pit of despair,
with every fragment of my being filled
with rage and sorrow,
I longed for the heaven I felt in her comfort.

I now realised that I was wrong.
I now know that I cannot love her into loving me and that to grieve her loss hurts me less
than to stay in this damnation of despair.

As the dawn breaks,
I can finally lift my pen once more
to write a new future
with a peaceful heart.

I could build my empire,
rule the world,
conquer every quest.
But what’s the use?
Why?
What is it for?

It is odd for a soul like mine
to exist in such an era as the present.
A soul who dwells in both past and future,
and seeks for a time that does not exist.

It's a dark and empty night
nothingness filling the air
emptiness killing my light

it's heavy and suffocating
this nothingness weighing
down my heart that's barely beating

and once again, oblivion
caged in an empty castle of obsidian
longing for hope in my castle that's labyrinthian  

i now conclude that this solitude isn't peace
this still silence isn't calm
this is

Pandemonium

The hedgehog’s dilemma
Or the so called, lover’s paradox
states that despite goodwill, human intimacy cannot occur
without substantial mutual harm.

Naturally humans are scared of getting hurt,
That they build walls
and defend themselves with pikes.
By the same logic,
hedgehogs curl up
defending themselves
with their spikes.

And this is where love plays its part.
You must go through their defences,
letting that barrier they made gently down,
and endure the battle wounds that awaits
as you too open yourself up
To be vulnerable for the people you love.

Poems and photographs are so much alike.
When I realised that a poem was
a mere record of what I felt,
an emotion captured so well,
much like how a photograph captured the moment.

It feels like I've been endlessly cutting my wrist,
'cause of my negligence to tend to my wounds.
The very wounds that bleed these words and agony.

Now as my pride gives me immortality,
this brokeness is my eternal damnation,
an endless torture,
a neverending attempt for suicide
with no death.

The devil kept writing of the word of god
negating it
twisting it
finding his way out of the condemnation
of the deity's words.

Bit by bit the pitch-black ink
of his heavy dark pen,
glowed red with his wrath.

He felt alone.
He felt sorrow.
He felt fear.
All the while he was being engulfed by rage.

He just wanted to be held
to be accepted
to feel safe
to be loved.

His pride prevented him to think
that he might not be enough
that he does not deserve such kindness,
but deep inside
his dark and lonely soul,
he wishes for the woman he dearly loves.

I got addicted to the sound of your voice,
little did I know that I’ve be subconsciously recording our little talks.
Little talks that I listen to late at night,
it lulls me to sleep
and comforts me in my darkest hours.
As I play the records like vinyl,
I am able to sleep peacefully
as though you’re still with me.
For your voice is too soft and calming,
it brings me peace amidst the chaos that swallows me whole.

with a bit of alcohol messing with my mind,
love flutters in this heart of mine.
at the other side of the phone's screen,
is someone I wish to be mine.

Her chaos is a serenade.
Drawing me even closer
Making me fall a little deeper
A masterpiece only some appreciate
A melody only some admire.
She says it’s messy
but I still pay attention
to every position
of every single note
in every single line.

I like to think that I’m a king on a throne,
managing my kingdom of activities and projects.

Sometimes I’m a knight,
fighting ferociously against a dragon,
named paper work.

At times, I’m a ninja
slyly evading questions for recitation,
sneaking in a few minutes of sleep.

At the end of the day,
I kept my land at peace,
I have slain the dragon
And I have accomplished my mission.

I’m a terrible teacher,
or perhaps it’s a mismatch of student

I watch over from a distance,
seeing them heal and grow with proudness
in my eyes,
seeing them realise on their own
the things I failed to teach them
the messages I failed to get through
and the wisdom I failed to share.

But what happens then if a poet broke?
Words lose meaning,
Pages end up burning,
Once so beautiful rhythms are now deafening.

The devil on main street
had his flower-shop in the corner.
He sold roses,
red ones,
white ones,
and even black ones.
He soon fell in love
with one of his buyers,
a lovely brunette
with stardust eyes.
In one point of time
She fell in love too.
They acted like couples
and did well with the shop.
Months goes by
she fell out of love,
the florist feels despair
the roses wilted soon after.
The white roses became red
with the devils blood,
The red ones became black
with his soul.
He left for hell,
xeriscaping gardens
for the young girl’s view.
a garden of everlasting roses
a garden of dreams
a garden of love
emerged from the darkest corners of hell
for the young girl
taught the devil love.

The devil himself danced around,
spreading chaos and ruin with a smile,
but he fell in love,
and he knew destruction was bound.
Still he took the chance,
a chance to make her smile,
but his claws were too sharp
and wounded the girl,
So he did everything he could
to make up for it.
He cut his horns giving up everything he stood for,
ripped his wings ridding him of his demonic power,
softened his claws till his hands were as soft as a child’s
And he learned kindness, bit by bit as she taught him.
But none of it mattered,
he’s still the devil in her eyes,
A demon she cannot trust.

The nightingale’s song,
is a melody of love and longing,
however the notes plead a sign or warning.

The loving nightingale sings before mating,
and just the same when a storm is coming.

After the violent and raging storm,
the sun shines ever so warm.

The gentle bird then preens his small wings
searching for his lost lover, hoping she’ll hear him sing.

It’s been a year,
the once magnificent dragon flame
still keeps me warm at night
it still burns in the embers of my soul.

It’s been a year,
there remains a gentle flame
that warms my heart
in the coldness of the night

It’s been a year,
But let me love you
once again
with all my might

I write to thee
a letter, a prose.
Of feeling and thought,
conveniently conveyed
by words on paper.

“Tu me manques”
You are missing from me.
You have become an essential part of me
an irreplaceable fragment of my being.
I am terrified to admit that
I long for your presence,
your comfort,
your empathy,
your being.
However, my burning desire
to be the person that makes you happy
to be the person that makes you feel loved
to be the person that keeps you safe is fading
but know that always, I’ll care.
And so whatever that I will be rebuilding
is due to the fact that I care
and I recognise your worth.
And that you’re a person not worth losing.

I wish to explore
Venice with you,
the floating city.

I wish us to ride afloat
the canals of memories
making some of our own.

I wish to walk with you
at night at the La Serenissima
Walking by churches and bridges alike.

I simply wish to be with you again
to go on adventures with my greatest adventure
to explore the queen of the adriatic with my queen.

Getting up with a sigh,
Reminiscent of the pain and joy
of what used to be,
Wandering to where
my next step should be

This is hard for me
I mean writing all these
All these things I’m too afraid to say
All these emotions you out to play

Happiness and sorrow
Hope and despair
And all the little things

But the point of all this is
I don’t care how hard things can be
as long as I can show you how much you mean to me
And that I love you