I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

I remember all that transpired from that night.

As I was making my way across, the bridge went up in flames.

And the smoke still lingered even after all the tomorrows came.

I saw the match from your hand.

I smelled the gas before I could land.

I blame myself for not expecting it sooner,

when all of your crimes leave the same signature.



All the houses that burned down carried your name.

History said you were going around claiming you were framed.

Yet the clothes you wore still reeked of the fuel.

The last thing they found were skeletons inside a cubicle.

Did you think I’ll always play your game,
never thought I’d grow tired of the same joke every day?
When I came to bid you an honest farewell, 

you thought it was an invitation to send me straight to hell. 


Perhaps I truly am the one to blame.

You did tell me about the things that drove you insane.

And I recklessly chose the path of extrusion.
Perhaps I deserved this execution. 


I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

Where the ghost of the bridge we burned still haunts its culprits.
I saw fear when we locked eyes.
Did you think I’d be reduced to ashes?
Did you think you were burning a witch?
Darling, you forget I’m a phoenix. 

Fire is what keeps me alive.

In the hour between
Ten and midnight,
I am most myself.
When no one is watching
me and my every move,
when no one tells me
who I should be
Or what I should do.

In that hour
between ten and midnight
I choose to be deep,
I choose to write,
I choose to stop doing
what is expected of me.
I listen to music
that will prevent me from sleeping
I betray my eyes by reading
Or watching moving pictures that make me happy
even for a moment.
In the hope
that I will find myself
dancing in the reels with them
when I finally drift and dream.

In the few hours before midnight,
When everyone is quiet
And no one screams,
I am at peace,
I am free.
That’s why I stay up,
Because in these moments
When the rest of the world
is fast asleep,
I can be
more me than I ever am
in the mornings.

Maybe, instead of walls,
I should build a museum around my heart.
Maybe they’d rather respect the velvet rope
that separates them and the artwork.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
it would be left alone
by those who don’t see its worth.
If people actually saw how precious it was,
they’d choose to stare at it in awe,
than dare to reach for it,
knowing that careless moves
lead to expensive consequences.
Maybe if it was inside a museum,
only those who truly wanted to,
only those with the soul to seek for something more
would line up to see it up close.

Because it’s true.
My heart is nothing short of a masterpiece.
Like a sculpture fashioned to look like silk
when it is built in stone.
Like a mosaic made with pieces of itself,
rearranged to create an image of hope
each time it gets broken.
My heart keeps record of histories
of pain and despair
of love and strength.
I cannot let it hang on the walls of some ignorant billionaire,
can’t let it be taken for granted again.
So, I will build a museum around my heart.
And unless you do not realize what it is worth,
please don’t touch the artwork.

How many almosts and goodbyes
are there in a lifetime?
Life is too short they always say, so live it to the fullest.
But each silent farewell kills me a little inside.
You don’t know how many times I’ve died in this lifetime.

How many laughs will escape my lips,
how many I love you’s shall I say
in my one lifetime?
Because every time I do, I remember to breathe
and from death of a thousand cuts, I begin to heal.

I remember the first time you tasted champagne.
As the golden nectar effervesces down your throat, you whispered my name.
I raised an eyebrow and wondered why,
you said, “You’re everything this glass contains.”

They tell me the tale of Dom Pérignon
who said, “I am tasting the stars” after a sip of his own creation.
You’ve always loved me like I tasted of stars,
and I loved you like you put the stars where they belonged.

We made the mixture of magnificence,
until we were twisted too much on the shelves.
Pop, bubble, hiss--- all shaken up
everything we bottled up spilled down until nothing else is left.
I was champagne until I became your problem.

And somewhere in between the lines, we got lost in translation
I didn’t know where to find you, didn’t know how else to meet you halfway,
but there was pain whichever path I take.
I was already walking the track for the exiled, I didn’t realize right away.

Others hide a ring in the glass,
But we put the problem in the champagne, babe.

Soon it will taste differently to you,
All sweet and sparkling—no strings attached like it used to.
But the stars are no longer where they used to be.
Every sip will wash down any trace of me,
until you forget.
But it will forever linger on my lips;
and I’ll always remember it all too well.

This is going to be the worst poem you’ll ever read.
Because it is written with frustration,
Made during a time when a writer is at loss of words.
This poem is an effect of writer’s block.
No rhymes, no style, no meter.
Just a collection of verses put together
By my mind aching to bleed on paper,
But couldn’t, these thoughts are too scattered…
Too many…
All trying to get out the door at once,
And so the words that are meant to describe them
Can’t go through.
I read my previous poems and I lament
Over the fact that I can’t write the same way again.
This is the worse poem you’ll ever read,
This is the worst poem I ever wrote,
Made entirely from the worst torture for any writer.

Let us pretend you were the sailor and I was the sea.
Let’s pretend I have the heart of the ocean inside my chest,
And in my mind, the world’s deepest, most treacherous trench.
Let us pretend your ship has sailed
Through my fingers to my heart,
You dropped your anchor at my centre,
Stayed with me and danced with me for days that never seemed to end.
You built a mark in me and created a home while you anchor stayed at rest.

Yet, imagine how it seemed when thunder and lightning struck.
And the waves that brought me to keep you away came up.
Let us pretend your ship nearly fell apart from the horror that I really was.
And you desperately tried to pull your anchor back up…
Away from the tragic travesty you just now understood.
We’ll keep pretending if only we could.
Though all of these were metaphors with no end,
The pain of how you tore your anchor from my heart
Was no pretend.

Last night was just like every other night.
Drinking to bring myself to the point of ‘alright’.
Liquor, tequila, beer, *****, and so
Wine, champagne, and my favorite Moscato.
I drown myself in all these alcoholic pools
There at the deepest end, I feel completely whole
And while I survive this murderous *****,
I still find myself breathless, looking at you.

My head fumed with heat,
But it wasn’t the liquor
It was the blush that rushed to my cheeks.
I slurred all the thoughts in my drunken mind
Knowing I’ll have more courage in these nights,
Than during sober daylight.

“Babe, can I call you babe?
Forgive me; my organs are filled with ale.
Don’t worry I’m not a person of harm.
I just want to tell you the contents of my heart.
Any minute I’ll ***** all the beer
That had me this wasted,
The way I always do
But I wouldn’t waste any minute that I have
To tell you I’m in love with you.
Every bottle on that shelf, I’ve already kissed,
but I easily forget how they tasted.
I never knew what it feels to kiss you
But **** it
You’re hard to forget.
It needs twelve glasses to make me tipsy,
Yet I’m completely drunk with your face,
And all it takes is one smile for me.”

You were so patient every evening.
Laughing to all my words and you thought I was joking.
And I acted like I was, the next morning
Pretended that I never remembered a thing,
But I knew every word I said, I meant it
And I find myself drinking every night
Just to let you know what’s on my head.
Still I couldn’t wait
For that night that I will gladly shake
The tight gripping hand of sobriety in midnight’s wake
Just the same way that you always do
And when that time arrives,
I will look at you straight in the eyes
And without the stench of liquor in my breath
I’d tell you “I’m so **** in love with you.”

On the night that I had real courage on my shoulders,
I found myself in front of you without a glass between my fingers
As I’ve practiced, I looked at your eyes.
Ready to say what was on my mind
But I saw something familiar,
The same red, teary, drunken orbs I had every night.
He looked at me with a twisted beam,
And I knew completely well, that then he was drunk with gin
Still, “I’m in love with you.” I stupidly told him.

When the sun rose the very next day,
I waited by the bench for him, to hear what he had to say.
It wasn’t a surprise to me, yet it truly was a tragedy
“Even when I’m drunk, you’re a hilarious joker” was what he told me.

The world told you I was dead,
They cry every twenty ninth, calling out my name---
"Vincent! Dear Vincent!"
as if their voices could lift a soul away from death.
Why didn't they shout my name before I left?
Each passing day I ask,
a question running through my mind but never left my lips
Yet no one would even hear me now nor even then...
Why couldn't I be loved, when I lived to have it felt?
Why did love look for me, when I was locked away for sure?
Loneliness was my disease and I never found my cure.
Why?
I watched the stars every night
waiting for all these glittering lights to hear my cry.
Now as I stand on the star's side
Hearing their sad mourning sighs
I now realize why...
They couldn't give what don't have,
even the shooting stars were as poor as hags.
And yet I ask the world again,
"WHO SAID I WAS DEAD?"
Who told you that I was gone and deep beneath the cold hard ground?
I am not dead.
Yes, I, Vincent--- Van Gogh it is to them
I say, I am not dead.
I live in every soul that's been forgotten
Every person in the street who Love has never met.
I live on teenagers on showers asking them selves "until when?!"
Every broken man drowning himself in liquor bottles---
I live in the lives of every soul that sought for love and never found them!
I am alive,
I am there as long as more people are asking "why?!"
I live while so many people stopped trying.
I am rooted in the hearts of those whose hearts are heavy---
heavy from the emptiness of living.
I stand beside every man ready to leap off a bridge and let the current carry their tormented fears.
I am alive,
I am full of wasted lives.
And as long as there's another---
who never found the love he should've been offered,
I say, I am alive!
Let there never be another who left
never having to be embraced by the sweetest feeling ever felt.
Never let anyone leave,
While they're bringing me.

Let there never be another cry for Vincent.

Always,
Vincent


(iac.)

I've seen how the sky flutters her eyelashes
and opens her eyes to wake.
Whenever the sun sets and the moon rises
the sky stretches her arms with stars in her fingers,
and she yawns to the dawn of the evening.

I've seen her smile at me whenever
shootings stars cross my path,
I've seen the Luna grin at me whenever,
her crescent form unites with the twinkling stars.

I've witnessed just how wonder striking the sky is
and yet nothing else compares to the sight of you, darling.

The sky embraces me every night, indeed.
But looking through your eyes, losing my way, feels like,
I've shared a glance with the whole universe.

At a point of time with no certainty,
In between the sleep and wake of day.
In a minute where no one's there to see,
In that minute, I long to escape with thee.

All I ask is for a moment of your needed moments,
If I could, have even just one minute spent?
Everyone has stretched their fingers to have you, and darling all I plead,
Could you walk at midnight with me?

I understand that you choose to take things privately,
and even though this serves us with great difficulty.
But I'd chase through time, I'll await midnight,
If you could only please just spend this minute with me?

I have missed you, my love, terribly.
I could not ever just pull you from the presence of your closest colleagues.
Yes I know it's strict, we cannot be seen,
So I'll wait for the road to clear.
And when the way is clean,
and the clouds shroud over us, my dear,
I'll kiss you behind the loud cry of time.
I'll embrace you tonight, away from these eyes, as we have our walk at midnight.

One day God called me,
He said, “Hey let’s drive away, to this place called Life”
I said, “Sure, why not?” So, I grabbed my things and agreed to the drive
When He was outside my door, He told me “buckle up, and stay beside me.”

And so I sat on the passenger’s seat, while He drove smoothly,
Past the up and down roads of Life, moving past the avenues of memories.
God smiled brightly at me while I watched my childhood went by,
And so He told me:  

“There are no brakes to hit on this drive
And there are no breaks when it comes to life,
You’ll either take this road or that
Make sure there’s nothing missing with what you’ve packed.

See all these road bumps that you have to drive across?
I’ll help you through them, as you drive to your destination.
I will guide you all the way, with me you’ll never get lost,
I’ll be with you all the way through life; I will be your direction.”

No one must see what I keep inside,
and I'll dare to hide it with all that I can try.
But there's still no denying,
I couldn't keep on lying---
I'm a beast who's a princess in disguise.

An enchanted rose, I had none,
This is a curse I live to bear.
I face the mirrors, and see anguish and despair---
My eyes reflect my soul that keeps willing to dare.
Still I try to search for the face that they call fair.

Exhausted in my lonely tower,
Finding no prince on his stallion,
And yet I admit, not a sword nor a silver armour,
Could take the beast that I hold on.
Fairytales end with romantic kisses and enduring promises,
but all I ever needed was someone to fix my broken pieces.

But they couldn't withstand the monster, they only wanted the princess' grace and face.
Because they couldn't defeat the beast that came with my name. They all believed the princess was perfect,
but they were wrong about her.
No one could handle her at her worst,
And it hurt her the most.

I still wait for that one day,
For someone to love my soul and face,
That someone, without hesitation,
could say that they found the beauty within a beast,
That they could be my missing piece.
Still I ask, if this could ever even be.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

Her lips can create poems,
Her mind creates another world.
Her hands create changes in anything
Her heart can create a love that can drown you whole.
Her eyes create a better perspective,
and her mere being creates a home.

Yet you only wanted what's between her legs,
and couldn't stand what it can create.

Just, ****...

Divine Michaelangelo,
a name the whole world knows.
Dear genius of the arts
a captor of young hearts.
I hear the world has handed you
roses and praises for what you drew,
and no one knows more about your greatness
no one else but you,
but I love you.
I love you...

I'll give you my heart, Michaelangelo
what will you make out of it?
Could you create something splendid
as you have done with David?

And you did.

A work of the great,
chiseled a masterpiece, but I can't deny the pain.
My love was yours but you didn't want it in exchange.
You were blinded by pride's game.

But when the universe asked for its prize
and took away the great man's sight,
you lost it all, and we watched you fall.
But I helped you up, and stayed with you
despite it all.

Rock, paper, scissors...SHOOT!
Throw me your play, right on your cue,
Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!
A rock on my palm and a paper on you.
And paper beats rock, and so I guess it's true.
Like when your gentle parchment soul,
Washed over my heart of colored coal.
And as your sweet touch enveloped me,
I knew I wanted it, and needed more.

Rock, paper, scissors...shoot.
A paper in your hand, to soothe my wary roots.
Permanent ink is marked on my skin,
and it coursed through my veins and in my mind it lived.
But once I was of marble stone, I am a prey to shatter,
Until you coverd me, that I realized I mattered.
That maybe paper doesn't beat rock by concealing it,
It protects it from the harm of any waiting scissors.

Rock, paper, scissors...shoot!
I fear for the day, you have a scissors on you.
Cut me not, break me never.
I wish never to be your target to sever.
I have your words on my skin, they're a strength that I have.
Please don't take them back, by cutting me in half.

And what hard stone that I may be,
darling, I implore you to see---
You're my paper, you never defeated me,
You became my sword, when I stood wary.
Could you, perhaps, touch the irony
Of the rock and paper and scissor trilogy.
For when stone stood hard and still,
It fused it's strength and broke at will,
Like feather, her softness had her filled.
And while her paper, lies flat and still as death,
It surpassed the power of a sword's strength.

Rock, paper, scissors...shoot,
a rock for me, and a paper for you,
and I'll embrace you, and in all your strength
my everything you've endured.