I would be a naive white lie
when all you need is dreaming,

and the secret words you mean
to say with silence. 

I would be the kind of things
you've never done before

and all the things you
would never have enough of. 



I would be the crossroad where  
you’ll always have a choice,

and your better half coming along
on all your adventures. 

I would be love running through
if you feel like dying inside,

and the guiding light if you get lost
in the darkest time. 



I would be kissing your hands
if you have to clench your fists,
and a drum to play your most
true inner self beating,

I would be white sheets of paper
to collect your thoughts,

and a blank canvas ready  
to embody your impulse.



I would be there if you're numb
to take you dancing in the rain,

and the weird and magic energy  
before a summer storm.

I would be a mirror for the sunset
if it's behind your back,

and the hot dry wind of a sin
you won’t ever regret.



I would be a thrilling wave
you can’t wait to catch,

and the conquest of creative space
inside your noisy chaos. 

I would be the thirst for life
you suddenly instilled into me,

both challenge and careless fun
and all you’d care to believe in.


I would be possibly amazing
as your wistful colorful voice,
and 
the call of the ocean
with its most delightful breeze..


If just once I would be ever heard
would you care I give you u my all?

All is a nothing, thanks to you
happiness now I came to know.

I doubt
material wealth
means anything
in the afterlife
on the off chance
that I'm wrong
bury me
with my books
and my plastic owl.

Was I put here to love you in our home?
My instincts tell me no.
My fondest memory won't, I already know,
Be my day as bride walking aisleside.
I am not a creature of clichés.
I don't want a good experience again, if I may,
I want one just as unexpected, as fire meets wind.
I don't want to be your friend.
More so, I want an unexplainable connection which transcends.
I don't want to be a student of school,
I want to be schooled by life.
I want to travel through dimensions,
I've tried before and may try again,
How can it be that I am here to be wife?

we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game

If you were a rose & I were too
my heart would still long for you;
if you bloomed in the summer
& I in the spring
my petals would still search for yours
through thunder & lightning;
if you were to wilt and I were too
then my leaves would still reach out to you;
if you got lost in the shrubbery and I was alone, my thorns would break down garden walls and gnomes;
because if you were a rose & I were too
something inside me,
something I don't understand,
would still call out for you
would long to hold your hand

I heard them saying:
"she goes places sometimes".
I knew they meant I leave sticky notes on their mirrors saying "I'll be back, but don't wait up".

I knew that they meant that I sometimes take the long way home for the view, even if the view is the industrial sight where my ambition died.

I knew they meant that, there are voices in my head that are screaming at me dark thoughts, so loud that sometimes they can hear them too.

I knew that they meant I don't wear yellow anymore because I'm afraid I'll go blind; that my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light that surrounds me.

I knew they meant no harm.
I knew they didn't want me to hear them.

I knew they meant that I practice holding my breath for countless minutes just incase they catch me playing dead in the bathtub again.

I knew they meant that I read the endings of books before starting them so I won't be disappointed. I knew they meant that I'm tired of being disappointed.

I knew they meant that I am weaker than usual; that I don't wear as many sharp edges or that I don't smell like kerosene after it's been set on fire.

that I don't ignite at the sound of pistols, I just welcome bullets.

that I don't walk on the perimeter of the ocean, I just drink the water till the salinity makes me see the world in different colours.

that I'm not afraid of heights, I'm just afraid of falling.
that I wear a kind of loneliness that doesn't wash off.

I knew they were trying their best to be gentle,
but I was trying my best to be tough.

but when you light the world on fire time after time, you get tired of rebuilding walls.

you get tired of looking your best; of drawing attention; of wearing yellow.

you get tired of holding your breath, and you let in the voices.

and you take the long way home, and you don't feel bad that you didn't leave a note.

some days, when the pain is bigger than before, when it manifests itself into a coyote hunting down the prancing memories of the good days, chasing the sunset,
it's these days I ask myself if it was truly worth it?
is it better to have loved & lost; to have lived and died, than to be a spec of dust on the wind, washing the sky in colours undetectable.
we painted the clouds in rosy hues,
& loving you was like painting a canvas in every shade of red from every berry in every forest.
but when the paint dried & oxidized, & roses looked muddy like they had been stepped on out in the rain,
it was days like that I felt it was not worth it.
being shackled to the ground, sprouting from the soil and instant destruction,
this love was so young, so pure, so new and senseless,
yet agony awakened as your spirit drifted away from these leaves & thorns,
& I am just a small rosebud begging to blossom but you keep picking petals, playing a game of "I love her, I love her not"
how does this flower bloom if every day she fades back into the ground, trampled by the crash of timber from the shaky earthquake of your voice.
cowering in the corners from the thunder your voice emits, from the high heavens.
so holy you seem with your voice so high, so above and beyond the trees my petals could never reach.
& yet so terribly close you feel, how your voice carries on the wind, howling from dawn to dusk.
so I understand now why it hurts so much.
how you were once all of nature, but the forest burnt to the ground, ashes to ashes,
we, the remains of nature, scattered across the earth.
you're love was so short, a glimpse of light, a lunar eclipse,
& the forgetting is so long, a year of April showers, a mourning period where flowers don't grow, flash floods in my eyes & around every corner.
forgetting is all to difficult, but I'll take it.
I'll take the rain any day, to have felt your light if only for a fraction of a moment;
if only to have it vanish like the wind.