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Dec 2020 · 31
heaven or hell
yan Dec 2020
purgatory is cruel
but love is relentless
straddle a fence between life and death means whether i will wake tomorrow
whether i will be in awe or agony.
hushed blanket has fallen over the house at this hour
except for the gentle hum of electricity within me and from above.
why are you walking so hastily ? have you somewhere to be ?
perhaps comfort is not a destination which resides in a temporary soul for the moment.
i must seek solace within myself.
rebounds are denial disguised as comfort
Dec 2020 · 29
false hope
yan Dec 2020
when you drown, i swim
my guilt does not know where to begin.
you mustn't try anymore
there is no use trying to open my closed door.
i want you to move on too
Nov 2020 · 24
out of love
yan Nov 2020
to watch the life drain from your hazel windows made my stomach churn. to see the pain knit your brows together made my throat close up. to hear the slight quiver in your voice made my chest pour.
but i wouldn't have it any other way.
saplings cannot forever remain bound to wooden poles; they must grow on their own and stand tall, grazing the sky.
to let you go, to leave you.
or to stay and lie till the inevitable demise
of what we were never meant to be.
bittersweet, your lips on mine for one last time. to hold you close and to feel your fingers in my hair
you taste the same as the first time i ever tasted you
yet it feels so different
as though the candle had burned through all its wick despite wax remnants begging to be burnt.
and as i walk away, i can confirm
indeed over time, i'd fallen the wrong way.
Nov 2020 · 25
sapphire eyes
yan Nov 2020
my chest a bottomless pit, i wonder if it's worthwhile anymore.
but the grass stains on my dress make me smile shyly, thinking of your sapphire eyes so blue;
so intimidatingly beautiful, i could barely hold your gaze for more than two seconds.
yet i pushed for three and i'm glad i did; i saw the black circle in the middle invade more of your blue space and your cheeks turned a soft pink, head downturned, wavy brown hair falling across your forehead.  
a month old memory which i attempted to dull with substances
while it remains vivid and intact as though it happened just yesterday.
i fear the power you have over me; when my phone sounds my hopes rise like a tide in the storm
and comes crashing down when it's not your name.
i'd like to see you again, may i see your sapphire eyes ?
Nov 2020 · 102
yan Nov 2020
what is the point of opening the cage if the bird's wings are clipped?
you say she is free but at what cost?
she is flailing her wings about, struggling to take flight.
Begged for the cage door to be open - fought and it happened.
She set herself free.
But wings do not allow her to fly.
She is chained by gravity, denied the privilege to kiss the sky;
whom she pleases.
She's out, she roams.
But flight she cannot take for she is confined in a cold, long hallway.
Up and down in
straight lines is allowed.
But flight with other birds beyond that hallway appears a distant memory, long forgotten, lines blurring,
feathers fading
Jul 2020 · 35
yan Jul 2020
the feeling of struggling
for months
from inner turmoil
chained to a system
the wrong cogs being turned in my head grinding, sparking, creating embers of declining mental state.
But at last, i’m met with a break and a relief from long lived writer’s block.
while fatigue clings at the skin under my eyes, leaving bruises of sleepless nights and tireless structured writing.
i struggle
but it feels as though the cocoon which kept me captive for so long is sliding away from me
and i’m regaining strength to fight free
perhaps this opportunity to write is not because i’m tired
perhaps it’s allowed me to breathe
May 2020 · 33
28 club
yan May 2020
i am an apple rotting from the core,
my shiny skin disguising my bruised insides.
the branch at the top of my head is being twisted off;
a, b, c, d.
pick a name.
smog thought of death comes to mind.
take a bite of me;
feel my sweet happiness ooze with every clench of the jaw.
but get to the spoiled bit
and toss me away.
leave me to rot and dry.
i'm here for a good time, not a long time.
and i don't deserve the pity and praise for the artistry at 27.
so i shall leave the party at my 28th hour.
Apr 2020 · 38
yan Apr 2020
a sip of smooth dried leaves.
head thrown back,
your heart has been thawed.
empty mug
which you hold,
your cold hands drinking the leftover warmth.
yet empty it is; unable to replenish its ceramic exterior.
i'm getting colder
and you put me away.
i'm waiting patiently for you to feed me again.
with warmth
and mint leaves.
only for you to drink me happy.
i beg for you to use me again.
Apr 2020 · 46
yan Apr 2020
tire marks left behind on the tracks of thoughts in my head
from racing cars
roundabout thoughts.
putrid acid of burnt rubber stings the eyes and the throat
from clear, untainted tears.
but smoke from sudden friction
sudden spark
ascending into nothingness
the relief of peace.
it is raining outside.
and it trickles into my bloodstream.
coming inside.
the tiny white powdery donuts are gently disintegrating into me
small pelting on the wound on the road
though black tracks remain as evidence of distress
the sting is gone.
so is the heat.
it’s cold now.
and it’s difficult to get rid of the rubber blemish.
and roads are hard to keep clean when reckless drivers exist.
Apr 2020 · 38
yan Apr 2020
to dream of rope embracing my neck
or compact powder bursting through my veins
to crave for solace and beg for more
my arm is getting sore.
for chest to feel your words and intentions
your smile, your laugh, the soundless contentions
i ache and my face pours with my own rain.
i'm sorry, my love.
our attraction stronger than tide wearing down rocks of steel
your love so real it could truly heal.
i fear my dark overshadows my light
i fear that i'm not worth putting up a fight
letter words spill from my mouth as i bite back the lump of pain in my throat.
i cannot fathom this luck i have to call you mine.
you assure me a thousand times
i am the one you love
i am the one
who will walk with you in trailing white and flowery light.
perhaps i will settle for flight
a temporary
easy way out
to paint away my doubt
uneven canvas
of broken promises.
lost in my own thoughts
drowning in an ocean
Apr 2020 · 58
cherry lip gloss
yan Apr 2020
bubblegum beat
rhythmic uprising.  
makes my chest ache with sheer joy.
four months indistinguishable from 4 seconds
from first glance to the 783rd
your hazel eyes will forever remind me of the brownies we will bake.
while the sound of your voice signals for spring
and frost in my stomach to thaw,
the drizzle of rain will not compare to the safety i feel in your arms.
steal my thoughts!
i'm always with you outside my window.
eyes glazed with bliss and upturned lips.
cherry aftertaste
as sugary as the feeling of your skin.
Apr 2020 · 106
yan Apr 2020
the smell of your sleep
could bring clouds to their weeping knees.
defensive facade of my black chipped fingertips serve no purpose against your curled brown lashes
only for a hiccup in your slumber.
smile like a sunflower,
smell just as sweet.
smell of your hair
smell of your sleep.
to play with your curls
filter them through my fingers
like sand in a child's small hands.
hand in yours.
your head rests so well in my lap.
Apr 2020 · 48
yan Apr 2020
the taste of silver feels like gold on my skin.
break my structure to make me begin.
what i'll regret in the morning;
chilli flakes
have lost their spice overnight.
left over numb.
with every pulse i feel my doing.
undone and free of internal agony.
at last !
sweet, fruitful, tangy amber
but only for a blink.
even she's growing up !
she's growing up fast !
a big one like her requires more.
blinking quicker, eyes wide and open keen.
illusion of curiosity;
a caramel glaze over burnt toast
of intention.
go ahead, take a bite.
i assure you my liquid sugar will mask my pain.
turn the head,
find cotton white of surrender stained with rage and defiance.
eyes will shut
a long

Apr 2020 · 397
2 weeks
yan Apr 2020
2 weeks it's been since your skin on mine
hand in my hair, fingers round my neck.
a fortnight young memory, rapidly ageing
it appears to me that there is no end in sight.
too young to travel, too young to defy.
all too much aching for me to survive.
to crave your touch, your voice and your smile
has become the only routinely act these past two weeks.
your smell has faded from the clothes you left behind,
but my yearning has only begun gradating into light.

agnosticism disregarded
i pray for an end to this
for two weeks to extend no longer till you're once again in my arms.
Mar 2020 · 53
yan Mar 2020
yellow ribbon, oversized glasses,
bent over a page in concentration.
now the ribbon naps on the table, letting
caramel cascade fall free.
pencil at her fingertips, tip resting on her lips.
Though my eyes tire on my own paper,
her gaze weighs heavy on my soul.
we're up!
and so is our time together for the day.
forbidden, we know.
but not even her lingering scent
bids me goodbye
or 'see you later'.
perhaps in my slumber will she
pass me a wink once more,
or sneak me a smile.
Mar 2020 · 48
s a t u r d a y
yan Mar 2020
cool liquids warm our throats,
send our bodies into unanimous bliss.
frequencies through the air
we all echo, throats raw with youth,
moving souls, aching chests.
this feeling could last an eternity,
and i’d ask for it to be prolonged further.
feel arms around me, envelope me into the darkness,
flash flooding of colours and blindness.
surrender to the frequencies and souls surrounding,
depressants causing depression welcomed as sedatives;
as stimulants.
for actions and words otherwise forbidden,
hold me, cradle me, like a codependent child.
let me ride this wave of euphoria into sobriety.
Mar 2020 · 77
summer's day out,
yan Mar 2020
bright and young.
but thick black curtains do not permit.
drawn tight like lips sealed,
only a single ray may be seen.
but bound to a corner i must be,
for that ray i seek i cannot reach.
wrists ****** from tugging at shackles,
breathing heavy as the dark cackles.
pray for cease of long-lived omen.
pray that soon the curtains will open.
yan Mar 2020
how wonderful is the essence of childhood innocence and naivety?
children who question even the simplest daily tasks you complete so many times you’ve lost count make you wonder what it was like to complete the task for the first time.

how wonderful is the simplicity in thinking, the yearning for knowledge that is yet to be obtained?
the question as to why you drink coffee instead of a babyccino or wine over juice allows for our true motives to be exposed; for we do not always consciously choose coffee over babyccino. the idea, to an average adult, would be absurd!

‘me, an adult, drinking a babyccino? how childish.’

but why wouldn’t you choose babyccino over coffee? coffee makes grown ups shake and trip over their words, eyelids jammed open exposing their bloodshot soul.

do we choose coffee for fear we’d be perceived as childlike if we’d have chosen babyccino? what is so terrifying about the ideology of childhood? why do we crave growing up so badly and with such haste? what is so shameful about the questioning of existence and looking knowledge in the eye, desperate to have the last word?

why don’t we choose juice over wine? is the taste of sweet comfort too overbearing for your tongue? does the colour of orange juice remind you of wednesday mornings when you come downstairs, keen to work with jellybeans in maths as your teacher had promised you the day before? or maybe the coloured counters which had been stored away for a while because a classmate was caught trying to eat one.  

the truth is, wine is bitter. no matter how refined your taste might be, there is an undeniable bitterness in wine which adults love to ponder, the same way they love to ponder over pessimistic news stories that are equally as bitter. they discuss the wine, using pretentious words to describe the undertones and how sensual it tastes, refusing to acknowledge the overt bitterness they are so eager to gobble up when they return to sobriety.

‘it’s too sweet,’ they’d shake their heads at the palm which offers apple juice, while eagerly smiling and nodding at the dark, tinted glass which induces headaches.

how about the brittle roll of grey, tossed on our doorstep every morning? the one you ask me to fetch you in the youth of the day, when sparkling sun-rays dance on my face? what do you make of the fine print that tells you what is occurring on the side of the world submersed in slumber while you’re in your wake?
what do you make of the numbers that tell you it’s warm outside?
why not feel the warmth from the orange orb above yourself?
why not dance under the small droplets of the ‘mist’ setting on your hose?

and why do we lose ourselves to the pursuit of validation, to the judging eyes of the streetwalkers which our eyes never lasted more than a second on when we were younger?
i now write as someone who is tired, ability to think in a childlike manner worn down heavily from the constant chafing of dawning adulthood. but i also write in the hope that small moments like these will recur, like clouds in the sky clearing momentarily for the sun to smile at me.

though looking up i’m often met with a vast, grey face, i shall continue to smile at the silver wrinkles, engraved by years of laughter and juvenile innocence.
Sep 2019 · 48
silver slumber
yan Sep 2019
let me into your world of grief
of sorrow, angst, where bad thoughts keep
a world of haze and navy blue
bloodshot eyes, self confidence slew
let me shut your eyes tonight
tell you things will be alright

allow the silver to complement your tan
the silver that fits right in your hand
allow it to paint on an uneven canvas
paint away your blood boiling madness
where paint has dried into textured lines
where you’ve already painted a hundred times

paint a picture of silver and red
careful not to wake the dead
stifle the cry and paint a little harder
the night is quiet but the brush is quieter

let the red into your world of grief
of sorrow, angst, where bad thoughts keep
a world of haze and navy blue
bloodshot eyes, self confidence slewn
let the pain shut your eyes tonight
sleep, for things will be alright

— The End —