I.
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch trains
passing by, dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands
leaking, shaking delirium up to your chin.

Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
but you know you talk like firecrackers
so flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore
truths popping between parentheses.

My delusion has your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue...

II.
You say,
“It’s fiction we live in. You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms and I’m tired,
staring up at your screen.

You're addicted to this diction. My voice is lost,
screaming these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."

III.
Your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue's not numb.
Drink deep, darling. Let's inoculate.

IV.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

It's this clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?

V.
So they say, one day
Or, one day, they say,
we’ll find ghosts sewed to the seams
of Fringe Wolf bones picked clean
who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
that sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like this dance was only ever for me
and my feet always fall off beat
Like I beat off any discreet romancing
To pretend that this dancing was
Anything more than masturbatory.
I guess I do dance the way I drink:
Heavy handed and troglodytic
And a little listless, but I always fight it.
So while you walk away, I’m drowning drunk in cinderblock boots; Toe-tapping a slurred S.O.S. like some song you kept whispering.
You keep whispers like keepsakes.
You speak so soft but
Baby, your voice sticks with me
like sickness.

VI.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

Alright, it's fiction that we live in
It's intended for men like me, bottled, up-ended,
but at best I just seeped through your teeth.

VII.
I stitched script to my chest like a scarlet letter vest that attests there's no Soul here worth Saving but ******* come save me anyway.
Your voice sticks
to my ghost-sewn, sea-floor bound foot steps like sickness.
Tread lightly, my love. Let's inoculate.

VIII.
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
Because I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to dance with disastrous fate,
and I'm finding my rhythm so wake silent
or sleep long, my love. Let's inoculate.

Heartbreak and loneliness,
poetry and sad music,
depression and hopelessness.
That's what I'm good at. Experienced in.
I've always planned for day it didn't work out.
I thought of the songs I'd listen to,
the lyrics that would take over my statuses,
the sad, sad words that would fill my journals.
I would cry at the quotes from movies
about love and loss.
I wouldn't speak to anyone else,
I wouldn't start anything new for quite some time,
because,
well,
I wasn't going to get over you.
I wouldn't be ready to move on for such a long time.
There would be an era in my life devoted to you
and the hole in my heart
and the playlists about you
and the darkness in the middle of the night
and tears pouring down my face
and screaming in frustration why I couldn't keep you.
All I've envisioned for the past year
and three months
and two weeks,
was the horrible, awful time I was going to have
when you left me.
But I never planned for the day that you would stay.

Six surprisingly short months were the only moments of her life that mattered to her- that ever existed in her memory, that she would never erase, or could, even if she begged herself to. They were rather the moments that defined her life and made her realise what living really meant. Oscar Wilde once said, ‘Most people exist, but they do not live’, and to admit that she understood it was an in-between thing, because she understood the concept of it, but did not walk in the concept of the phrase until Iskandar came along. And made her walk for those six defining months that changed her entire biological being.
Iskandar had the cards in his hands but he was shaken by his demons- the self indulging thoughts that crept up to him incessantly ever since his heart was broken by the one person he trusted not to, and he tried to pick himself up but never could because he had these walls built in his head to shield himself from anymore granules of pain. But she saw that those walls were in fact not the usual walls that consisted of bricks, they were mirrors that reflected images of his past and his innermost thoughts- and she saw that through him, yet did not ever tell. He admitted to her that he felt unworthy of ever being truly loved by anyone, given his completely monstrous past, and he told her to run away from him while she still could because she was not binded to him at all, but she stayed. She was deeply fascinated and intrigued by his past, and oddly enough, found them beautiful as it became the reason why she was pulled in.
And they wondered what she saw in him, because those who had seen her, thought of her as being extremely easy on the eyes, but the ones that knew her, inside and out, thought she was beautiful. They did not understand, and could never see what she saw through her eyes- where others saw a disfigured image, she thought of it as being incandescently pristine. They knew not why, and kept wondering over and over, why a girl who has spent her entire life dodging men, in spite of having many lined up fighting for her heart, would fall in love with a man who is not any bit better than the rest? He had insecurities, countless faults, made heaps of wrong turns in the past and a blurry future.
But yes, she loves him.
She is in love with him, unconditionally.
And she has finally understood why “Love is blind.”

Geek, ***, loser
Find the rope to hang
Anxiety attack on deck
Don't nobody feel your pain
Weight of the world on your shoulders
Daddy isn't around
Family falling to pieces
Home run into the ground

Little brother cries after school
Its what the bullies have turned him into
Bright child full of love
Living in a world full of hate
Turned into a scared child now
Growing up ***** when you're his age
Everyday is a struggle trying to be optimistic
Knowing he has to go to a place where the kids are so sadistic

The nights, they are
So long, and
The days so
Cold
My thoughts are a
Jumble, in this mess of
A head, darting
Back and forth, back and forth
Alternating between manic
Happiness and soul crushing
Depression as I sit on the
Bed where I last saw you
Walk away from me, away from me
Wondering why death seems
So tempting an escape and
Love seems so
Terrifying a fate

A thousand moments we took for granted
In the blink of an eye a year flies past
With a yawn spanning decades until suddenly
You wake up alone, not sure why
The diaspora college brings upon us is tragic
Shattered ties and broken hearts litter the land
Forced out into a world lacking compassion
We become adults far too soon
Wandering our way through the desert
In search of life, and love
and happiness
Hoping to find meaning
Desperate for a reason to keep going
Tired and hungry, lost and alone

You hav another home
You live somewher else
You are seen in two different places at a time
You have a home in me
You are a tenant in my Heart
Everywhere i go you go with me
you are the tenant whose stay will never due
I need you in my world.