Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Apr 6 · 49
Purple.
gd Apr 6
If pain was a colour, I feel like it would be purple.
At the crossroads between the sadness of blue,
And the rage of red.
Bruised. Confused.
A consequence secondary to the impact.
Not intended to pierce skin, but lasting long enough to feel it.

How can love be the only thing able to create and destroy;
Mimicking the divine, yet making you lose faith in it altogether?


My eyes are coloured red.
Cheeks flushed with despair.
Salty tears splatter my sweater.
Nails chipped.
Sun down.
Clouded and silenced.

Disoriented from the recoil of a loaded gun pulled too soon.
Every melody sounds flat, but the ringing in my ears remain sharp.


I can only hear the faint hum of my heartbeat,
Attempting to carry on.
Barely blinking. Eyelids half shut.
Egg shells have turned into shards of glass on every floor I walk on. Disconnected. Discombobulated.
Disorganized. Disappointed.

A bleeding heart turned purple.
What would it take to feel whole again?


gd
{I feel purple today}
Mar 8 · 34
The Last Supper.
gd Mar 8
I work black
from head to toe.
Snapped through two hair ties
trying to keep my mind and my heart together.

But it was no use.
Useless,
because this godforsaken place was love-less
and cruel.

They say honesty without tact is just cruelty.
But honesty can slice your soul
just to spare your life at the very last second, too.
Every breath feels like the last.

Hanging onto the very last thread of normalcy.
When the clock reaches the final hour,
I pray for sweet mercy.
I pray for peace and peace of mind.

But I am left in pieces, nonetheless.

gd
Aug 2021 · 60
Second stage.
gd Aug 2021
There is no song in the whole wide world that would be able to capture this sadness. I hear notes in my head, but they all fall flat. Dissonance dominates my peripheral and the ringing leaves me bruised. And confused. It takes my breath away whilst suffocating me.

There is only hurt. There is only pain. There is only anger here - deep rage.

A place to call home has burned down from these flames. And I am watching the last few embers flickering from a distance. A homage to one heart split in two. And there is no amount of glue that can salvage these ashes. Hell, there is not even love to latch onto.

There is only hurt. There is only pain. There is no peace here.

gd
{"you made me hate this city"}
Feb 2021 · 63
No rest.
gd Feb 2021
What if my trauma wins?

What if the doubts swallow me whole
because this is all I have ever known?
The darkness all around,
not even the slightest sound,
but my heart beats like ocean waves
leaving me to tire,
begging me to drown.

They’ve made my chest feel heavy for hours,
for days,
for weeks,
sleep reeks of tears suppressed,
sheets a mess,
a failure at best—
no rest.

No rest ever
not even within the cushions of my mind.
They whisper my happiest thoughts
only to douse them in day old wine,
lighting the matches,
tearing the seams,
my faded dreams
sprawled all over the hardwood floor.

What if my trauma laughs?
Because I dared to challenge it
within the cages it built,
filling my mouth
with all the words I never had the guts to spill,
onto pages dripping with
nothing
but guilt.

When will my trauma leave?
When all is said?
When all is done?
When life is lost?
Just tell me when
and where to run
because I am tired of fighting a war
my anxious mind signed me up for.

gd
{it's been a while}
Nov 2017 · 420
Remind me.
gd Nov 2017
Where has our love gone?

Possibly under the sea
across the ocean
in another country
under different city lights
in between the cracks
of all the side streets
I've trudged along
without you by my side?

I think I lost its warmth
under the chill of another
winter's night
without your embrace,
or I might have dropped it
twelve feet below
while climbing all the mountains
ahead of me.

Or maybe
it slid off my wrist
while I was caught
mesmerized
by the sunrises
and sunsets
I've never been able to
witness with you.

Somehow
somewhere
it's slipped through my fingers
falling victim to familiarity
failing terribly at sincerity
forgetting every piece of validity
leaving both of us with
nothing but pity

Because we are ourselves
more than we are each others
and I have memorized
the ocean floor
and the city lights
and the aimless fights
more than I can remember
what our love looked like.

gd
Nov 2017 · 499
Baggage.
gd Nov 2017
I have been collecting plane tickets
without even realizing that
they've been collecting dust
in the corners of my room.

But how ironic it is,
presenting itself in plain sight,
watching the matter of time
build up around all these memories

Memories as fleeting
and as temporary
as the pile of dust
clinging to its own past

I just find it so difficult to wrestle
with the beating of my heart
because it creates a song
that leaves me in awe

Paralyzed,
frozen in place,
forcing me to listen
and wanting me to stay

And foreshadowed nostalgia
always seems to run its fingers
down my spine
at the most inconvenient times

Because I still haven't found home

Or maybe I have -
Maybe the bright lights
and the city traffic
have always been calling my name

And I always find my fists clenched
every time the sun sets for the moon,
stealing the day and
distinguishing the light

I am just so tired of saying goodbye.
I'm tired of sleeping the night
knowing that I'll be
gone in the morning

I'm tired of the car rides
and the plane lines,
and the endless paper tickets
that remind me

I'm somewhere else than where I should be

Always on a path less travelled by -
but little did I know
I'd have to do it alone
on some barren road that always feels cold.

gd
{I'm still adjusting}
May 2017 · 789
Justice.
gd May 2017
If you can't take the heat
don't start the fire.

gd
Apr 2017 · 928
Fire & Ice.
gd Apr 2017
How can the static that kept us together
feel so much like fire?
And why do its embers
make me feel so cold inside?

Your hands used to feel like home
but now they just feel like ice
pushing me farther down into the depths of the ocean
forcing my heart to sink down into my stomach.

And I should have seen it coming,
I should have seen right through you
the minute you walked into the room
and lit up the whole **** night.

So I shouldn’t be so surprised to find myself in darkness.
Blinded by your lies, unable to see,
feeling like I am fighting against gravity,
searching for my last thread of sanity.

We had the world in the palm of our hands,
and you sold it away for a bottle of wine
and another line
you were willing to cross.

So I’m in the mood for burning down some bridges.

I might just scatter the embers around the centre,
just to watch every single memory
burn from the inside out.
And everything you ever had will turn to ash.

Because that is how I feel
ever since you poured kerosene over my heart
and had the audacity to smile while you stepped all over it
and let the flames consume me.

You left me suffocating
in all the rubble.
You left me lost
in the forest fire you left behind.

So I am in the mood for burning down some bridges
because you left ours in ruins
and left me crawling through the debris
for all the remains you promised were worth saving.

I trusted you, and you set me on fire.

gd
{for S}
Sep 2016 · 1.4k
Nomad
gd Sep 2016
Sometimes I find myself searching
and searching
for pieces of myself that
I've never really wanted in the first place.

And I'll keep that pamphlet,
and I'll cherish that trinket,
and I'll store that bus ticket
just for safe keeping.

And I'll sleep for hours
to see if I can find
what I've lost
in my subconscious

but over
and over again
I find things I never wanted
in the first place

and I'll throw them into the sea
only to swim back to shore,
too late and too far gone
to realize I'm going to have to jump back in.

And maybe I'm talking in circles
and maybe I never really belonged
anywhere
other than where I sleep for the night

Or wherever I decided to
set foot to scavenge
for any remains of myself
that I took for granted.

Maybe a nomad
only finds peace
at the edge of losing everything.
Or maybe they never find peace at all.

gd
Aug 2016 · 601
Dust & Debris
gd Aug 2016
He does not seem happy anymore.

The glimmer in his eyes are fading like an aging star
and I can't help but wonder how on earth
a sparkler that extravagant could
fizz out of
existence
so quickly.

It seems just like yesterday
when I could not even think of a way
to erase that smile of his,
and now
I cannot even imagine how
to hull it back into my possession.

I would reel it in from the depths of every ocean
and keep it locked shut in Pandora's box
so his grin could never leave.
But it already seems as if his smirk
has fallen way too deep for me to catch
unless I sink down along with it.

It already seems as if the glitter
radiating from his heart has been dusted off
by his own doubts
and I haven't even the heart left
to tell him how big my own doubts are either.

I just want effortless back.
I want his soul to light up the sky
like the fireworks I felt whenever we kissed.
But now, the embers are just dying in my palms
and they're burning a hole
right through every layer of my skin.

But I cannot back down
because I promised forever,
I vowed always,
until my hand has been eaten away completely,
I swore I would not let go.

I said I would remain holding on
to that little red string
that brought you to me in the first place,
with that glimmer in your eyes
and that smile that could sink my heart
in a single heartbeat
and that blazing fiery passion
that swallowed me whole
amidst all the chaos and burned bridges.

But I'd be lying if I said
that every little golden star,
created from the sparks spilling out of our fingertips,
wasn't suffocating, buried under all this
dust and debris.

gd
{I don't know what it'll take to make us whole again}
Jun 2016 · 755
Masterpiece.
gd Jun 2016
How did we shatter our innocence?

Tripping over the laces we tied together,
building homes solely out of old memories,
finding comfort in our worst pieces of skin
and calling it love at 3am
crying about insecurities and infidelities.

Darling, how can it still be called love
when the fires are burning down our sanctuaries, and our sanities?
How can it still be called love
when our foundations no longer mimic the Great Wall of China,
or stand indestructible like the concrete Pyramids of Egypt?

We are paper thin
and just as fragile
as the tiny paper houses
we used to make out of playing cards.

Our hands no longer fit
like perfect puzzle pieces -
they mimic sheets of sandpaper instead,
scratching out every ounce of sincerity
we once engraved into each other's palms.

Our footsteps fall separate octaves away,
out of sync and out of touch,
in this **** grand scheme
somehow labelled a masterpiece.

We were once flawless.
But now we've just made flaws
out of every single thing we used to fall for.
Now, we're just flawed.

gd
{my biggest fear is losing you over your fear of losing me}
Mar 2016 · 441
Waiting.
gd Mar 2016
I promise I will amount to something.
I've just lost pieces of myself
falling over rocky roads and
stumbling down fields of insecurities;
I've drowned under seas
of suppressed momentum
and constantly cower from my priorities.
But I promise I will amount to something,
I've just lost too much of myself in the process
that I haven't enough to show you
yet.

gd
{I am at war with myself}
Mar 2016 · 409
Solitude.
gd Mar 2016
My life is at ease.
Unstoppable, but still at ease;
similar to tidal waves,
unable to stand still
yet calm in its constant wavering.

For once,
I feel so unattached
from my surroundings
so much so that I no longer depend
on crutched souls similar to myself.

I no longer cower
at the thought of solitude
or cringe at the sight of corners
or frown at the feel of nothing
except for my own hand to hold.

I am okay.
I am not great.
I am not disastrous.
I am just okay.
And I am okay with that.

gd
{I'm sorry I've not answered you}
Mar 2016 · 389
Word vomit.
gd Mar 2016
I don't even know where to begin:
it's as if the moment I laid my pen
to scratch on the surface of these
papers my mind decided to  g o
blank, vanishing like a magic trick
and leaving me speechless and dis-
appointed because I have so much
to say - I have so many  w o r d s  I
swallowed  d o w n  when I should
have just let them  f l o w  o u t , like
word *****, that fills every inch of
this room that I have been quarantined
in. I should have let it fill the silence
and drown my thoughts out because
I have stayed much too long inside
my  m i n d  and it has not done my
emotions any  j u s t i c e . I have stayed
much too long within my  p r i v a c y
that I have no sense of direction publicly.
But on an entirely different note, I have
chosen to write today. I have chosen to
pick up this pen and make a mark, even
if it is barely legible.
{I still cannot string them into sentences}
gd Jan 2016
Do you remember
when we carved our names into that old wooden desk
and you kissed me while I scraped at the surface
as if we were going to last like the promise I engraved into that table.

A shame we didn't.
And even more of a disappointment it was to not see it coming
and yet you latched onto every single neuron in my mind,
engraving your own initials with the same blue pen.

Numb as a needle,
I can still feel the letters scaring over.
They'll stay there forever,
even though you didn't.

gd
{dated: 05-05-2015}
Aug 2015 · 530
Lemonade.
gd Aug 2015
There's something so peaceful
about being intertwined within
the arms of the person you love.

There's an effortless simplicity
that I can't quite put a finger on,
but it leaves me breathless and
in total awe, trapped beneath all
the emotions laced between all
our endeavours.

Just as staring in silence,
no movements
—just this unexplainable static that vibrates between our fingers—
captivates the inner part of my soul.

Because I don't know how
to determine the trademarks
of a soulmate, but if it's anything like this
—if its passion races through your mind like rapids,
if the multitude of love circulates cosmos throughout the universe of your mind,
if it is destined to leave you with nothing less than utmost fascination,
if it numbs your heart but fuels the life within your spirit—
it has to be real.

I am at peace in the noisiest states,
and I am connected by this promise
I make to you.

gd
{we locked our love with concrete in between all the brick walls}
Aug 2015 · 539
Fine.
gd Aug 2015
It has been six months exactly
since you turned around and
never looked back and as a
tribute I, unknowingly, deleted
every single trace of you.

Every piece of your features
appeared on the screen before
me, and then vanished in an
instance as if none of those things
happened in the first place.

I'll find photos of myself in a lot
of places I used to go, and every
single one looks as if I was caught
by some secret photographer
hiding behind a camera but never
being able to stand in front of it.

You became a ghost, mimicking
the sentiments you no longer had.

Yet here I am, six months later, a
little stronger whilst a little bitter
for the better. My heart feels whole,
enclosed by some unsettling smoke,
but no longer swallowed by an
unforgiving blaze.

And for the first time in a long time,
I can confess that
I am
fine.

gd
Jul 2015 · 1.2k
Liar, liar!
gd Jul 2015
I would be lying if I said
it didn't bother me that you were smiling
because of someone else's sunlight.

I would be lying if I said
that my heart never pulls apart
whenever I catch you in places I thought you wouldn't be.

And I would be lying if I said
I was over you choosing fear
over me.

See, the thing is, I thought I would never see you again.
I thought the second you walked out my door
would be the last time I'd see your eyes.

Yet, yesterday ironically, ours locked like two metal puzzle pieces
and the clashing of steel left ringing in my ears
and sparks flying out of my sanity.

I don't know what it is about you.
There's this sort of unexplainable heat
on the rims of your gaze that leaves a sort of branding.

And every single time your aura enters the room, I feel like the walls
are closing in on my mind, bring me down dark narrow paths
whose light you blew out whilst dousing the flames of my heart.

And maybe it's the thought of you
becoming everything I would've wanted you to be
that leaves me biting my tongue full of envy.

Because I would be lying if I told you
I was proud that all it took was the elimination of me
to make you happy.

gd
{a year ago was so different}
Jul 2015 · 518
Play of Promises.
gd Jul 2015
I.
You were supposed to last. And I think this very statement is the reason for the sudden pangs of pain in my heart.

II.
I am a ticking time bomb, and even the thought of your name—the slow rhythmic articulation from that first letter to the last—is causing an eerie, yet familiar, squeeze on my heart. And I'm pinching myself in every single place that you touched as an attempt to make myself aware that you're never going to touch those place again. But I'm tired, Love. I'm tired of having to pinch myself every single day just as a reminder that your were real. Were. And for the past couple weeks, I thought I had it all together, soaring over the mourning only for it to come knocking at my door with every memory you managed to leave me breathless with.

III.
But don't be fooled by time. Time doesn't heal anything. If anything, it is only a master of torture: playing around with your efforts at forgetting, then flaunts all the promises you ever made in front of your face just so it can film your features when it shreds it to pieces. Time does nothing for you. And at this point, I'm afraid it's using up every muscle and nerve in my body not to pick up the phone and tell you I'm willing to settle.

IV.
You were the best thing for me; that just doesn't leave! It doesn't walk out the door or tells you you're gonna find someone great. It doesn't break up with you as you're on the ground in tears. It doesn't kiss you with sincerity and then never even looks back.  It doesn't shatter your heart, your poor glass heart with a boulder and then make you watch as the shards are ground to grains. It doesn't leave you, not like that. And it for sure doesn't linger. It doesn't stick around because it shouldn't have to.

V.
It doesn't ask to be in your life even after it cuts the wound. Because it's supposed to last. You were supposed to last.

gd
{dated: March 9, 2015 | for B}
Jun 2015 · 593
Scars.
gd Jun 2015
Sometimes you meet people that you grow to love.
And then other times, you cross paths with some
that just click with your senses;
heighten your emotions so high everything else seems to disappear.

But beware of those who just snap into place
for they will inject their venom
into the depths of your heart
and leave skid marks on the surface.

They will plaster your atriums with Picasso murals
and sheet music from Bach
only to cover the walls with kerosene
and burn it to the ground for the sole soul-wrenching sake of "art".

And that's okay, you will live on.

But there will still be scars at the entrance sites from every drop of poison.
There will still be scars from the train tracks he carved
from the bat of his eyes and the pucker of his lips.
There will still be scars from the blaze

because when fire burns it does so
passionately
carelessly
wonderfully with furiosity  

And you will find pieces of clay under different piles of ash;
You will find treble clefs and fermatas
hidden under every ember that was left to die.
You will still find beauty in the destruction.

And maybe it's still okay to admire the ruins,
even just for a little while.

gd
{"if someone makes you feel, let them"}
May 2015 · 510
That's for sure.
gd May 2015
I'm trying to mine for gold under all this rock
solid ornaments of disarrayed desires. And I
am having trouble coming to terms with how
I've been flipped upside down one hundred &
eighty degrees without a single warning; not
a single foreshadow from my past personas.

And I cannot even piece this puzzle without
finding a couple lost causes stuffed under beds
and old covers that hid everything else I could
never really come to terms with, face-to-face,
unable to find the solid grace. And I can already
imagine him trying to impress you—flirting with
ease. And you fall for it every single time, love,
because your heart is caught on the inside of your
sleeves.

gd
{ended up where I didn't expect to; ended up where I was meant to}
May 2015 · 1.1k
Ironic.
gd May 2015
You turned
me into ash;
I turned you
into poetry.

gd
Apr 2015 · 643
Karma.
gd Apr 2015
Please let me
find a silver
lining under
all this rust
because I've
scraped my
skin one too
many times
across concrete
slabs of undesired
endeavours and I am
getting quite tired patching
up scabs I know will just scar in the end.

gd
Apr 2015 · 456
Third.
gd Apr 2015
If I'm being honest,
it takes everything in
me not to look back into
your eyes for the sole purpose
that if I lingered a little too long
I might just combust under all the
gravity and consuming stardust of
those piercing orbs. And I can feel
your gaze on the nape of my
neck and it's still branding
burn marks into my skin
but better that than
into my irises.

The weight of your stare could break down walls,
darling, and it'll turn me to stone so I'll
just keep counting to three before
looking away. I'll just keep
counting to three before
you melt me entirely.

gd
Apr 2015 · 547
Wildfire.
gd Apr 2015
I think I've met my match.
I've already lit the flame and
caught myself playing with its embers.
Now I know why they all said to stay away
because its call is mesmerizing,
almost hypnotizing.

It's got a radiant smile
and soft eyes
that are so smooth you'd never think
they could pierce your heart
until the blade is already three inches in
cutting off another piece of your sanity.

And you think that maybe if you just sit still
the fire will just burn
until it burns out
but the warmth is almost too tempting.
Sparks are flying and instigating
the ringing in your ears.

It's almost deafening
but its hum soothes the lining of your soul
and as much as you know there's still time to run,
the blaze is far too strong,
far too touching,
far too alluring.

And it's got all the potential to turn you into ash,
to crush the remnants of yourself
into feathers of debris.
But it's still has that radiant smile
and those stupid soft eyes
that resist any attempt of peeling your gaze away.

I've met my match.
I've already lit the flame.
I'm playing with fire.

And nothing will ever be the same.

gd
{uh oh}
Apr 2015 · 444
My sour haiku about you.
gd Apr 2015
all their eyes on me
resurrecting memories
bitter as can be

gd
{no one understands}
Apr 2015 · 662
Smirnoff.
gd Apr 2015
The first one hurts the longest.
The second one hurts the hardest.
And the third one doesn't hurt at all.

He's your fifth 4am ***** shot
your beer pong binger
your 6am hook up,
numbing every nerve in your entire body

and it feels the best but ends up the worst at 5am
when he's holding your hair over the toilet
and singing you to sleep
when he's lacing his fingers through your hair

and your waist
and your hands
and through the tiny fractured crevices
between your injured heart.

The third is the tallest climb
the longest fall
the most honest hour
the pounding hangover and

the beaten emotions you never even knew you kept pent up
until he's slipping his tongue through your mouth
and you're pulling his bottom lip to pull him closer
to let him take whatever is even left of you.

The third is your weakness
because he will catch your heart when it's still on your sleeve,
tattered and stained from the ***** you threw up
as easily as the words that got him to hold you like he used to.

The third will whisper
the third will listen
the third will taste like the butterflies you thought you poisoned.

But the third is definitely a charm.

gd
{the third is intoxicating}
{I make bad decisions, but I am not a bad person}
Apr 2015 · 441
Ju.
gd Apr 2015
Ju.
I know you are
trying to forget
me but please
don't
because I won't.

gd
Apr 2015 · 492
Humming-boy.
gd Apr 2015
I miss your beating heart making music in my ears.
They used to sing lullabies
that would always leave me drowsy in desires,
and I wonder if you still hum as often as you used to.

Because that was the mood shift,
the tell tale sign that you were happy.
A soft rift here, another octave there;
I miss that sound because it always filled the silence with serenity.

Recently however, silence has been all I've been used to.
And the only beating heart I'm hearing is my own,
running like I've been running miles.
But in actuality

I've only been sitting still, staring at ceilings
wondering if I could turn back time
I wouldn't have had to watch you turn around
and never look back.

My hands always shake just thinking about you
and I can't help but wonder if maybe
it's because your fingers are no longer intertwined
to keep them still.

I miss the warmth and the pure comfort.
I'm wearing layers and fake smiles
and I can't even think about tomorrow
without wondering how things would be different

if you were here today.

gd
{I hope you're happy}
Mar 2015 · 482
Hopeless romantics.
gd Mar 2015
We were both a little too hopeless and a little too romantic
to truly understand just how on earth we could possibly
love each other right; a couple worn out kids with
worn out hearts sewn to the inside of their left
sleeves because the only thing that felt right
was doing everything completely
wrong.

gd
{maybe I'm still caught up on what ifs}
Mar 2015 · 379
Broken shards.
gd Mar 2015
It's been a long month
since you walked o u t
my door with nothing
but the remnants of my
h   /   e   /   a   /   r    /  t

I can still *  taste  * you at
the back of my throat and
I am still having  {trouble}
swallowing your absence.
But isn't that the most ironic
thing, love?

The reason I cannot breathe
is because you're not there
to take my breath  ~  away.

gd
{I'm still picking up pieces}
Mar 2015 · 1.2k
Tadhana.
gd Mar 2015
everytime

i close my eyes
i see your face; in the
pitchblack darkness, the outline
of your soft features arise without
a single imperfection, yet
what a dangerous
twisted game this mind
creates because when i close my
eyes, i see you smiling and a
sin it is when i almost
smile back.

gd
Mar 2015 · 2.7k
Pisces.
gd Mar 2015
I miss you the most in
the middle of the night
when the  o n l y  thing
that is able to consume
me is the memory of
your lip stains on my
chest and the darkness
surrounding ; the only
thing that is keeping us
con-nec-ted seems to be
the stars, darling. And
they're close to burning
out.

gd
{I look for you in the stars, because I'm hoping you wish on them too}
Mar 2015 · 599
Love is blind.
gd Mar 2015
My greatest love turned everything he touched to gold.
From the stars in the sky to the glimmer in his eyes,
everything seemed gilded by his fingertips.

A power so strong it could penetrate skin and
bone all the way to the cusp of my heart.
And for once in my life, death couldn't
whisper past the aurous shield
around my heart & my blood
felt replaced by fairy dust.

All it took were his lips on mine to make me feel like wildfire.
I was a burning bush of all his desires and endeavours.
And my flames consumed him
as much as it consumed me.

The warmth I managed to radiate from the effortless hum of his voice
hypnotized every nerve ending in my body and
he got so caught up in this masterpiece
that he ended up lost in my eyes
the same way I got lost in his.

Sooner or later, we were both running blind
trying to find the finish line
towards stability.

We jumped through hoops and burned down bridges,
sacrificing our sanities for the approval of each other.
Yet in the end, the finish line promised nothing
but broken promises.

Piece by piece we cut away
at the golden kingdom
we created,
cut away
at ourselves,
hoping a little karma
could win us something constant.

With no avail, we came out shattered, almost unrecognizable.
My greatest love sold his soul so I could have mine,
oblivious to the fact that I had done the same.

gd
{maybe there is such a thing as "too late"}
Mar 2015 · 675
Satin parachute.
gd Mar 2015
I.
I still get flashbacks.
Like that time we explored a forest at a whim
and found out we had a thing for bridges.

And I think it was because we were both awestruck
with how easily we were connected by two apposing worlds,
so we made our way to the middle of the arc to claim it as ours.
And you used to hold me from behind with satin hands;
a soft satin parachute
that was ready to catch me if I ever fell.

And every single time I did, you were there.
You cupped my big cheeks,
the ones you always made fun of,
and kissed me for the first time in the middle of green and bush
like we were the first humans on earth,
destined to be the last.

II.
But now I'm staring out the window of my car
and I'm freezing inside and out.
The earth is no longer green;
it's white,
plain Jane
and frozen.

It's surface is glistening against the moon
and I'm witnessing more sleepless nights
than I did when your presence was still part of my life.
The sheets of snow look like sheets of cotton,
so close to satin.
So close.

But I promise you, Love,
they could never replicate your touch.


It's covering the soil we used to explore on,
as well as my leftover slivers of sanity
I've barley managed to scavenge.
And I can almost guarantee,
if I fall,
nothing will be there to catch me.

I still get flashbacks, mostly of our bridge.
But it's just a memory now
because all the green and bush and trees
that once surrounded us have gone silent,
all the trees have forgotten who we are,
all the trees have turned to ash.

gd
{the stars still spell out your name}
Mar 2015 · 468
Over-ignited.
gd Mar 2015
Just the thought of you
makes my insides feel like someone is playing chords
on my veins and they're strumming intensely
to all the pieces of stanzas I've failed to make into songs.

And this very scenario happens thrice a day
for good luck . . .
but it seems I've just fallen out of luck
because you're nothing but gone;

disappeared into the air
like smoke
that were once embers
of a blazing fire.

And now you're just ash,
over-ignited,
and I feel like throwing up
at the sound of your name

because the pesky little butterflies
are festering in my stomach
since the electricity running through your fingers
was the only thing that could ignite them.

They're just fluttering there,
rotting,
growing old and restricted
within the lining of my digestive tract

because I can't seem to digest the very memories of your voice
oryoureyesoryoursmileoryourstupidlaugh
without wanting to cut myself open
just to let the creatures inside me free.

I just want to be free.

But now I'm trapped
under some bittersweet limestone sentiments
that are leaving my mind
just as crippled as my heart.

I was soaring, you know.
You had me flying without wings,
and now I can't even look up
from the carpet you left me crying on.

gd
{your birthday is tomorrow}
Feb 2015 · 507
Fabricated.
gd Feb 2015
I smell you in the weirdest places
like the inside of my grey scarf
that I never even wore around you.

It symbolizes the colour
of my internal monologue
and no matter how many times I
s c r a t c h
at the areas your scent has sewn itself into,
it just doesn't work.

You stay there,
under the creases.
You've left me creased.

gd
Jan 2015 · 695
Asphalt.
gd Jan 2015
I pictured myself walking along a path
of black asphalt that cracked every
time I thought of you, & before
I knew it, I was stuck on this
island of crumbled rocks
& sediments that also
defined the
unwavering mess
of our own sentiments.

gd
{found this in one of my old journals; crazy how it feels like you're meeting a new person for the first time}
Jan 2015 · 389
twenty fourteen.
gd Jan 2015
See,
what I'm trying to piece together
is a puzzle you knew all along—
you're probably not the missing piece,
but I'm almost positive you caught
sight of the image I was aiming to
create and you shared with me a
little bit of what I was missing,
nonetheless.

And I think it's incredibly amusing that
when a new flame burns out, bringing
everything with it to ash, the universe
does you a favour and lights an old
candle to get rid of the scent.

gd
Dec 2014 · 492
Crazy.
gd Dec 2014
They were crazy about each other
and that was the problem.
Everything was meant to be laced
with flames and extravagant passion.

Below the blistering winds of winter
were these lovers wearing nothing but their hearts
and sooner or later they were bound to get burned and scarred,
bruised and confused about the madness they drowned in.

But in that moment,
nothing held truer than his hand in hers
and his eyes full of sincerity
and sweet clarity.  

And I swore they could've burst into flames
if they weren't fused together by their fingers,
as if some magnetic ripple navigated the
thump thump thump

throughout their nerves—
so loud and so prominent it demanded to be heard.
And I heard it, behind the sheaths of snow,
under the overpass and between the bundled bystanders.

They were crazy about each other.

gd
Nov 2014 · 453
Long locks.
gd Nov 2014
Looking back,
I ruined myself
in l i t t l e ways
(by the locks of my
hair the swing
in my step the
stress in my smile)
all for the sake
of trying to get
rid of you but
I just got rid of
myself instead.

gd
{my hair has gotten long and it's been a direct metaphor for how long I've loved you, but I've been meaning to cut it off}
Nov 2014 · 440
Gone girl.
gd Nov 2014
I think I've gotten accustomed to this acquired taste of anxiety.
I've got shivers travelling through my fingers
and if you look close enough it's sputtering out sparks
that could probably ignite some sort of ruthless wildfire.

Maybe it's because I've gotten so used to
these constant thoughts of how even the brightest
glimmers of gold tend to give way
and become dull at the slightest sign of ignorance.

Or maybe it's because I've gotten so used to
watching the seasons change
as quickly as those who've already left my life
and never looked back.

It's this constant badgering reminder of how life never waits for anyone
and there you are five months later wondering
how it could have gotten this cold
when you were just wearing a flimsy skirt the day before.

And I have no idea why my heart is pounding
to the rhythm of a drum I've never even heard
or why I'm already nostalgic for things I haven't even lost yet
because I can't seem to grasp onto anything without it

tearing apart
or disintegrating
or disappearing
without a last final glimpse of recognition.

I've gotten so used to holding in my goodbyes
and waiting
and waiting
and waiting until it's just
....
gone.
....

gone
like sunlight
only after five hours past noon.
gone
like that last bite of sanity
I've already digested three years ago.
gone
like that time I gave myself away
to a boy who only knew how to take.
gone
like the slightest bit of innocence I wasted
trying to hold onto something
and someone I made up so long ago.
gone
like my heart
at the slightest thought of you
changing your mind.

Please don't change your mind.

gd
{I don't want you gone yet}
Nov 2014 · 649
( J ) uniper.
gd Nov 2014
I met this guy in
white Ralph Lauren
and right then and there
I knew we couldn't be friends.

We clicked like a puzzle;
literally every piece seemed to interlock
and I couldn't keep my eyes away
as if this burning desire lay between us
across some paperweight bridge of tension
and affection

and please, I just want to cross it
and I want to throw my hands up
and scream to the mountains
and just yell ***** it! at the top of my lungs
and plunge into whatever void his presence has planned for me

because I can't seem to
shake him off of my mind,
so I know this is already bad.

I can feel it chattering and creating a
foundation under my epidermis
scattering my nerves in places
I did not think were possible
and there sits a bed-sized
crater just for him. And I
know it's bad, I know
it.
And I shouldn't
even care and I
shouldn't let it
happen but
here I am
o  n  c  e
again.

gd
{this could very well be the best and worst decision I've ever made}
Oct 2014 · 714
1st.
gd Oct 2014
I.
I've got piles of poems lying at the back of my mind
and they all whisper your name
and try to get me to cave
into the moons of your eyes
when you smile a little too hard and
they reach up until the sides of your irises.

But my heart always beats a little too much
and a little too late when I think about you.
It's singing love songs and causing chaos
ahead,
and above,
and all around this **** place.

And maybe, just maybe,
I'm in for much more than I expected
because I'm getting caught up
in potpourri promises
and hope—
stupid hope.

I've got so much on my mind,
and the majority has engraved
w o r r y
into the lining of my temporal lobe
because I cannot seem to shake out your voice
and your smile

and hands
and how they held mine with such clarity
and sincerity
and it's your laugh when you throw your head backwards in exasperation
and when you look at me with those eyes—
those crazy brown eyes.

II.
But I can't tell if I'm losing my mind again
or just throwing it around like a soccer ball
to feel something.

I just don't want you to wake up one day,
with fire in your eyes
and flames at your fingertips

trying to resist the steam rising from your ears
and your smile will fade into the smoke
and your eyes won't mirror my awe

because in that moment I might just burn to ash
at the sight of you changing your mind,
darling.

I might just disintegrate
at the thought of you turning around
and never looking back.

gd
Oct 2014 · 458
Golden.
gd Oct 2014
You've got my heart as flat as stone,
skipping over water and trying
not to sink under the
weight of your
gaze.

God, darling,
I feel like a whirlwind around you,
trying to grasp onto some sort of stability
until I realize it's just always been you—

like the feeling of a swing at the peak of the climb
where for a split second you know you're safe,
expecting the drop, eager for the fall and
smiling at the realization of its simplicity.

You told me yesterday that it was
i  m  p  o  s  s  i  b  l  e

to truly touch someone to
the extent of their atomic make up
because it would lead to combustion—
a tragic explosion of sorts, but I swear that's
how it feels when you collide your lips against mine.

The atomic make up of our particles
come in contact far too  c  l  o  s  e ,
far too comfortable that it triggers

every
single
nerve
ending


of my body
creating a string
of static electricity
leading to my heart,
reviving and elevating
to a whole new level of
combustion.

You're golden darling.

gd
{I don't want to admit it, but you're different}
Oct 2014 · 561
The tree that never lived.
gd Oct 2014
I'm finding it harder
and harder to express my
emotions and that's what scares me
the most: that when I'm buried six feet under
—lifeless and still—I will just become a product,
the dirt and the dust of the rest of this mediocre coexistence.
The emotions I have yet to form into sculptures and arrays of
picturesque light-scapes will have disintegrated with me under
the weight of the dying roots of every tree that was meant
to grow but never had the chance to. And in that
moment, wherever I may reside, I will realize
I have become the metaphor for the
tree that never lived—
filled with life but
restricted from the
ever present sun
light behind the
rest of  a  l  l  the
other towering
oaks from down
the path. It will
not suffice; this
lack of emotion
will never suffice
for me. Yet if I am
meant to live, why
do I already feel dead?

gd
{I'm finding myself question my anxiousness to its core, and whether or not it's all worth something in the end}
Oct 2014 · 831
Latched.
gd Oct 2014
There's something knocking at the back of my mind
and it sounds like pebbles hitting the nerves if my temporal lobe.

It's tapping in morse code and I can almost hear it
singing all those songs I was meant to forget.
They're slower though—acoustic and remixed
to the dying beat of all our memories.

If I focus on it long enough
I could probably pinpoint where it's coming from,
but I know I'm just choosing not to.
If I focus on it hard enough,
I could probably repaint its rainbow splatters on a canvas,
but I'm just choosing not to.

If I focus on it long enough,
I might just hear your voice again—
coated sweet nothings in nothing but syrup,
but I'm just choosing not to because

you never chose me, darling.

Even until now, we flinch at the sight of each other
rather than letting the light consume us like all the times before.

And maybe I'm just mad at the stars for not giving me some sort of sign
or godforsaken comet to warn me from falling for you the first time,
or the second,
or over and over again

Because it's not fair that you've still got my head spinning
when I cut every single piece of red thread that tied us together.
It's not fair that you've got me second guessing my present
because of the ashes and rotting debris of the past.

There's something knocking at the back of my mind.
It's tapping in morse code
about all the questions you left hanging in mid-air.
The thumping is getting louder and I can't—

I can't make it stop.

gd
It's not fair because I can't stop it.
I don't know if I want to.
It's all I have left of you.
gd Sep 2014
They say scent
is the closest thing to memory,
so it makes sense that I'm caving
under whiffs of the past,
trying to stand without breaking into*
p  i  e  c  e s.

See,
you're fire—totally alive and
wrapped in spearmint.
But he's Korres, totally impressed,
sugar-coated with guava and
***** peach.


gd
Aug 2014 · 994
Marathon.
gd Aug 2014
Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst type of pessimist.
At heart I'm an optimist, looking past the highest mountains,
trying to reach the sky with the tips of my fingers and
catch the clouds at the base of my palms.

However, in head,
I'm the biggest pessimist
finding the dark spots on the sunniest days,
herding death between the cracks in the concrete.

And the head is like the heart's big sister,
telling her to take a step back and make sure of her actions,
bossing her around, burning out her spark,
leaving the dead of the night with nothing but doubt.

But you've got my lips coated in sugar and
my intentions wrapped in flames.
You've got my heart scrapping its knees and
my head spinning

Because who would've thought
it'd finally meet its match,
unable to hold something down
with two hands and keep it in place.

But both of them are undoubtedly worried,
darling.
They're running for the hills and
finding a place to set camp where you'd never find.

Empty handed and confused, they're still searching and
the only thing going through their thoughts remains to be

"there's still time to run
          there's still time to run
                  there's still time
                            just move your feet,
                                       don't look back
                                                 and run
                                                         as fast as you can."


gd
{you're making my stomach twist into butterfly knots, and it's oh so bittersweet}
Aug 2014 · 802
Roman candle.
gd Aug 2014
"It's
better
to burn out
than fade
away."

But whoever has
said  t h a t  has
obviously never
tasted a sparkler
at its  p  e  a  k ,
piercing the tip of
your tongue and
bursting the insides
of your  g  u  m  s ,
causing canker sores
to spot every single
inch he's ever tasted.

It may be better to burn out, but trust me,
a fourth degree burn is much more lethal
than a bunch of paper cuts.

gd
{you reminded me of a firework: beautifully dark, tragically deadly}
Next page