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

White walls, blank looks,
scattered papers and messy thoughts -
that is what my life consists of right now.
And birds are probably chirping outside
in the spring sun and people are gathering
together in song and in meal and in love.

But I find no interest.
I look forward at the white walls
that have turned beige and the blank looks
that have transformed into sleepy stares,
and I cannot pinpoint the one thing
that is getting me by.

I live to....
what?
To sleep all day to escape the noise and
stay up all night to waste time with silence.
The one thing I despised became
the only thing that kept its promise.

There are papers on the floor and
old clothes on my back and
I can't seem to blink without trying.
For the life of me,
I want to feel alive again;
I want to see the bird chirping and the sun set.

I want to taste the breeze hitting
my cheeks flushing them red,
and for life to kiss my lips as if
they were wishing me goodnight.
But instead, I see white walls
and blank looks.

Scattered thoughts are being binged
on scattered sheets of paper
in hopes of getting rid of the voices in my head.
They do not forget to make you remember.
And the whispers are getting louder:
"Close your eyes for a bit darling, even if you want them shut forever."

gd

You no longer cause hurricanes in my heart
like you used to with the bat of your eyes,
and I've realized I've grown tired
of the way you walk in short strides.

I'm tired of the lingering vowels in the way you speak,
and the distant silence you keep between us on purpose.
I can't fathom how I fell for your
selfish words and pungent scent.

I was so lost in love
(such a foul, sickening word indeed)
to even realize you would lead me
down the path of quite the opposite.

Your actions were misconstrued because your eyes
wandered where I could never dare to look -
past the deadly wood, into another realm where you
built a marble fence around, blocking me off entirely.

How much time I wasted trying to knock that wall over
when it could have been used for my own self-worth.
All the time I spent trying to make you happy,
whilst you did nothing but cause me sadness.

Such noble attributes of a prince
to leave his kingdom in the midst of a war,
leaving his lover to sort through the clutter,
and pay the price for being a "bother".

gd

Every once in awhile I'll stop time in my head
to linger a little too much in between
every single word I never want to say out loud -
never have the courage to say anyways.

And I get stuck on our bridge,
the one I've burned and rebuilt twelve times over,
just to stay there a little while longer than I should
just to see if you'll come out smiling on the other end.

But with no avail,
I wind up just sitting there alone again
watching the leaves turn from green to orange,
from a fiery red to black ice.

I've watched water glimmering in the luminous sun
turn to overcast mist covered in a sheet of white snow.
I've seen the birds sing with life
only to watch them retreat south once again.

And all the while, I watch all around me
choosing to witness change firsthand
instead of wandering back to
wondering how you are.

Because that leaves my tongue toxic
with words I have no right to say;
ideas I have no right to think about;
emotions I should not even feel.

              But please don't be fooled, I always wonder if you feel the same.

gd

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

Don't look so sad, darling. I know it's tough right now
to think there is nothing worth living for. I know life
can be cruel when you turn your attention away for
even a moment. And I know how much you try and
how hard you work, but there are still some things
you need to realize.

              Maybe a year from now, a month from now, a week from now -
              even tomorrow, you'll find someone who will love the way you
              scrunch up your nose for no reason. Someone who will laugh at
              all your lame jokes; someone who will understand why your
              clothes need to match and your books need to be straight. They
              will notice the way you make patterns with your fingertips and
              how you breathe for good luck. Someone who realizes you only
              like your cucumbers with cream cheese or how you don't like
              peppers. At all. They will smirk about how you smile to yourself
              when no one looks, and how you gasp at TV characters like they
              were your best friends. Even how you like to hum when you're
              bored. And scream your heart out in crowded concerts just to feel
              like part of the noise, because they will know just how much you
              hate the silence. They will bring you sunshine on rainy days since
              that's when you will need it the most. They will realize why you
              never read a book if you've already watched the movie, and give
              you the time you need alone just with your words. Someone who
              will feel the cringing when you hear metal on chalkboards and be
              able to smell your favourite mid-August breeze. They will watch
              you dangerously dance with your fingers as much as your feet
              and sway to the rhythm even without any music around. Maybe
              they will know when you want sushi and how you like it raw,
              when you want pizza - with extra cheese and barbecue sauce on
              top - or how you like no onions on your double bacon cheese
              burger cravings at midnight on a Tuesday. Someone who will love
              you for your big mouth and your little mistakes; someone who
              would bring down a comet when you get tired of stars; someone
              who will be there before, during and after the morning hangover.
              And who will still love you the most when life gets cruel.

But first, darling,
learn to love yourself just as much.

gd

How foolish of me to take a harmless quiz
to truly understand if I "got over" you yet.
Little did they know I walked across (and "got over")
the bridge we created a long while ago,
but I still remain on the other side
guarding it from unwanted visitors.

I "got over" the persistent reminders
that you would never say you loved me,
as well as the overwhelming whispers
that you would never walk me home anymore.
I "got over" your name falling to the bottom of my contact list,
and the fact that you never smiled when I was around.

I "got over" a lot of things, my dear,
yet I still took that test just to make sure
I "got over" your scent
and your touch and your taste.
And all it confirmed was:
not quite yet, but you're almost there.

I always knew quizzes were complete ******* because
boy, were they wrong.

- g.d.

Is this how a first love is supposed to be?
Indestructible and Irrevocable? Hanging
over your head even 10 months after and
counting cautiously? Carrying this dark
heavy cloud beyond the border of sanity?
Pacing and passing by all your positivity,
creating colossal chromatic colours of blacks
and greys up and down the edges of your
spine?

Following you? Never ever leaving you?
Watching over you in that devil-on-your-
shoulder-conscience kind of way? Restricting
and retreating the surface of your sentiments
until they've all been turned to ash and embers
of doubts and lost longings?

Preparing you for disappointment, always & forever?
Like that first time you locked lips and left the key at
the bottom of the ocean? Like that last time you laced
ligaments between the sheets of some paperweight
comforter?

Under all that dust and debris, does it bury deeper
in the cracks between your heart—or solely in the
space where it's supposed to be? Does it feed on
your sorrows and make homes out of the abandoned
buildings of your bones? It does, doesn't it? This is
how a first love is supposed to be? That even when
a second walks your way, you can't help but flinch?

gd

I wonder if the stars gossip about the moon and sun,
            about whether or not they truly love each other or
                                                        absolute­ly hate each other's guts.*

i.
Because I bet they whisper about the way the sun disappears from sight the moment the moon says hello, or how the moon turns everything to darkness because of this constant disappointment. They probably laugh about the way the sun never finds a way to meet the moon halfway, or how its pride angers its core and causes heat waves to barrage the surface below.

I wonder if the stars ever really know anything. That maybe they have it completely wrong; that the sun and moon are opposite sides of the same spectrum that can never manage to meet in the middle.

ii.
Maybe they do love each other. Maybe the sun runs away from the cratered-creation because it's silhouette makes it shy, and the moon turns everything to darkness because it knows it must wait another lonely cycle just to get another chance - another glimpse. Maybe the sun radiates warmth in hopes it might be strong enough to reach the moon on the other side; strong enough to make them feel a little bit closer than they actually are.

I wonder if the stars speak about the moon and sun
     as if they were fated to burn out - or probably the latter,
                         which entails a miracle that might just last forever.

gd

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

There was always something weighing me down
much more prominently than gravity. It sat on my shoulders
as if it were a king finally gracing his throne, and pushed downwards
on my temples in some attempt of keeping me grounded.

But I began to believe in this burden -
looked towards it as guidance, when all along
I had been walking down a path of blotchy grass and stone
that shouldn't have been trudged along in the first place.

I looked for the answers underneath the soil
and tried to piece my puzzles with left over morning dew,
but the soil just fell through my fingers
and the dew had disappeared before brunch.

The weight was my blanket, my sturdy bridge, my fireplace
- it was protective, sempiternal and warm -
but it was also transparent, rigid, and uncomfortable
- safe, but entirely manifested hesitance -

All this time, I believed that the weight was right;
the burden was compressing me to be simpler and lighter.
But today, I chose the path leading to a faulty tightrope across the way
and I ended up flying instead of falling; free rather than frivolous.

gd

Lately, it's been so hard to stay awake,

and       I'm just looking for signs
              to get me through these gloomy days
              I think about summer sunsets
              I think about us
              I think about how we were never
              really an "us" in the first place
              I think about disconnection (yours and mine)
              I think about the late nights I find comfort in
              I think about the early mornings
              that always start with dizzy thoughts
              I think about why it's been so hard to stay awake,
              when I have so much more to live for than this

gd

My biggest flaw always seems to be
holding onto things too tightly
so much so that when I finally gain
the strength to let them go, they only
end up sitting battered and broken in
the palms of my hands
                                            stuck to the fibres
                                            of my fingertips.

gd

i.
The pavement glistened at 10:43pm like a shiny new car. And contrary to popular belief, the asphalt was a painter, stroking a green carpet that stretched across the whole street like a pathway to promises. I couldn't help but stare at it; become mesmerized by its colours that danced along with the traffic lights. They fell in sync as if they were falling in love, like two lovers because when one changed, the other followed: from green to yellow to red, the darkness of the night couldn't withstand the strength of the blinding light. The pavement sang along changing itself to mimic the colours above—a love so strong it kept its promises no matter the change, no matter the weather.

ii.
Then I thought about how that must feel—to feel invinsible with someone... but I realized I had known. So long ago, though, I had almost forgotten. But when the memory hits, it hits hard; all the colours of the wind touching your cheeks in hues and shades of greens and yellows and reds and blues. Blue, like the ocean: constantly in flux yet unable to let go of the particles that were knit between them.

iii.
I felt numb watching the wet asphalt, and found myself hoping to feel like before somehow, or in any way close to it. But if I was being honest I would just admit that I'm scared. I'm scared I will never feel that way ever again, not even brave enough to let the wind colour my cheeks. And I've really gotten over everything that's happened between us, really, but what I'm trying to say is I'm lonely and the streets look filled with life when they're actually just empty. And I do not want to become that metaphor—a metaphor for broken promises or a statistic towards bad judgement.

iv.
I want to love. But I'm scared that I've forgotten how because in the process of losing you, I threw away a lot of things including some of my dignity. I just want to know how it feels to have someone's fingers intertwined with yours so tightly that no words would be needed to know they'd never let go. I want to know how it feels to look at someone and hope they'll be the first and last thing you see from then on. I want to remember how it feels to have your heart drop down to your stomach continuously until you can't even breathe.

gd

Let me tell you something about falling in lust before falling in love:
They say the first cut cuts the deepest,
the first kiss lasts the longest and
the first goodbye will always be the hardest.

But only now do I realize we were never really in love,
but rather in great—crazy great—unmistakeable lust.

Lust: hands in your hair, and yours travelling downwards
leaving a trail of fire in your path as it runs down my spine
and seeps through my skin to poison my heart.

By the end of it all my heart sat frozen in place,
unable to beat to anyone except you,
leaving it feeling cold and still
like the bottom of the ocean.

But if I was ice, Love, you were nothing but flames,
engulfing and suffocating.
Lust, sweet lust,
like a never-ending dream, so real but so temporary.

And when the sun is hidden by the clouds
and when the rain starts to pour
and when the wind picks up to the rhythm of our paces in sync
and so intertwined, well, there's nothing left but a catastrophe—
a sweet ephemeral tragedy.

See, Love, we may have been great
and crazy and frozen and burned
but rain washes that all away,
not even nice enough to leave any evidence behind.

The first lust doesn't cut . . . it stabs,
and it has just forced me to spill new blood on old pieces of paper.

gd

It's weird.
Some days I will have complete periods of strength
that reach till the ends of my nails and the tips of my split ends,
then some days I am drained completely from head to toe.

As if I am the rigid metal that carries lightning currents
downwards into the earthy ground -
emotionless exterior but interior chaos.
And if I was a storm I would be the circumference:

Hectic and reckless causing havoc in my path
when all I ever long for is to reach the eye of my own destruction;
to touch the absolute stillness of its centre;
the becoming and acceptance of the right here and right now.

But I am never here; I am everywhere all the time.

I am the rain that falls even when the sun
is shining on the bare skin on your backs.
I am the gasp after shock and the light ringing
in your ears hidden behind the invisible vibrato in the air.

I am the strength and the weakness;
I am the hurricane all together,
attaching myself to imaginary homes
I made out of the rubble of temporary emotions.

And maybe that is why
I cannot seem to hold onto anything long enough.
Or when the storm reaches its peak, maybe that is why
I cannot seem to let go quickly enough either.

gd

Just another
drink they
whisper and
they think
                                  "what a waste of innocence, when                      
                                    you can gain some confidence."                        
Just a little sip,
sweet taste and
blood red lips -     
                                    another for the road even                                  
                          ­          after everything they've told,                          
you'll just stumble
for a boy who might
just leave you cold.

gd

I haven't even been writing for myself anymore.
Does that still make me a writer,
or an entertainer?

The most painful rejection
always seems to come from someone
who already told you they'd never leave your side.

You say
he made you feel like never before,
but so did alcohol honey.

I found myself humming again to the beat of nothing
and the birds are singing with me,
trying to control the pitch and find the harmony.

Recently, I've been on the outskirts looking through the
broken glass of other people's homes trying to make
sense of the dust that settles at the core but never
around the corners and it comes to my attention
that people do not thrive off of happiness,
but rather pain. At their most vulnerable
they are the most loving; but at their
least, they can be so careless, so
blind, so naïve.

gd

After all this time, I could still
make out the slow movements of your mouth
through ****** speakers and static-filled telephone waves.
I could feel your tongue touching your lips an extra second more
whenever you talked; even the tiredness in your articulation
still reminded me of chocolate waterfalls.
After all this time, I still found comfort in your muffled tones.

It took all the courage I had (I hope you know)
to press those ten little digits I was so sure I had forgotten,
even as my heartbeat pumped through my ears like the drum solo
of my favourite song; loud enough for you to hear I was so sure.
Yet, my buried thoughts still crept around the grooves on my mind,
fighting against my senses to resist the urge
of revealing everything I really meant between the lines.
It went a little something like this:

Hi . . . uh, I know this is so out of the blue
I wish it wasn't this hard to say hello
I don't know, I just thought I'd see how you were doing
because I still care *******
How's everything?
I hope you'd say you'd missed me (too)
It's been a long time
It didn't have to turn out this way
Oh, how was . . .
I don't really care, I just need more time; more excuses to hear your voice
Well, it was really nice talking to you
please say this won't be our last good-
Bye.

- g.d.

"The more you hate, the more you love."

Her eyes widened in my direction as if she knew it would stitch itself like a knife into my temporal lobe, which in turn caused my memories to be severed into oozing mush coming out like stuttered words and physical reactions.

So
my memories pooled all around my eyes causing them to shut closed in an instant while I envisioned the first time our teeth clashed from our first kiss and just the thought felt as if someone struck a blow to my stomach because I took a sharp breath in and yelled stop! to no one in particular except my own desires.

So
I remembered when I asked you why you'd been so cold and you couldn't even make a sound to assure me you were even alive and I followed that question with if you had hated me that much, so much so that I wasn't even worth an explanation and I was relieved when you said no but now I'm starting to realize that maybe you never really loved me at all.

gd