There’s a half-empty cup on her nightstand,  
random sweaters piled behind her door,
endless stacks of books on her dressers,
crumpled pieces all over her floor -


She’s all too messy for one soul.

You’re not even a disease.
But ****,
did you **** me well.

Why
do you
always
make
misery
my
normal?

Hand me over the wine - the strongest kind.
And I’ll show you how the happiest creature lives
until the dawn locks
and the hangover comes.

Let us be the barest stones dented with life's toughest surges, resting upon great heights that we never knew existed, sleeping while breathing typhoons and hurricanes - sad but grateful, grounded but fierce, tender but dangerous.

Let us be the ones the sometimes kick for the warmth of love and sometimes kiss because we hate each other.

Let's be this and that with all the twists that make us not a great phenomenon but a precious secret.

Let's sleep under the stars whenever the sky shares them, and let's sleep under the stairs when the clouds give us rain.

Let's be different like there is no such thing as red for STOP on street lights. And ice cream is delicious only if warm.

Let sleep blanket itself
on every tangible inch
of ourselves.
And let it be
the strongest hindrance
on us ever waking up
on this neighborhood
of cheap wine, guilt-cigarettes and eternal hatred.

Listen-
How am I supposed
to word the things
that have already
been elucidated by my eyes
and that have already been yelled
by the pounding of my heart?

Uttering these feelings as words
proves nothing more than me
being
superfluous.
I refuse to be redundant.