every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
atmosphere.
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?

You know, sometimes people who don't deserve your thoughts come to mind. And you are one of those.
Maybe that is why it is dangerous to let your mind wander. Every wanderer needs a lodging for the night, and you so happened to be that old, tattered shelter in sight.

Some hate rhymes- it's juvenile, for the imbecile.

Some seem to find comfort in it- like the hem of her dress she fiddles with; like the feeling of his teeth, against teeth. It's like seeing old paths in the woods, as though you will never lose your way.

The idea of you was so easily uprooted with even the slightest winds. Fancy naming someone after a hurricane. I wasn't sure if that was heartbreak. After all, you never held it. It slid right out my throat along with the words I said to you. And I wish I could take them back.

I am over you, really. But I can't help that the thought of you always hits home. After all, you were a place I dwelled in for such a long time. Even after you were long gone.

Fill this tastevin with something- anything. Your unsaid words tasted foul. And I just want any trace of you to be removed from the tip of my tongue.

For you were a cliffhanger; and I was hanged.

;it irks me.*

Once you get used to it, you fall into a habit. You know it is hurting you but you have no will of stopping. It's like an adrenaline rush you get while speeding on the highway; the only difference is that every second you feel like your bones are crashing. And that is as though you are not a wreck, yet.

You never wanted to get a hold on anyone, or let anyone get a hold on you. This way, you'd never have to let go. Sometimes you wished you would lose your grip on the steering wheel- you were driving a hearse. Just as a carnival is not complete without a couple of thrills, a self-celebratory festival is not complete without a free fall down the cliff. There's something exhilarating about pain that keeps you awake, and somehow you thought that happiness takes your consciousness away. They say when you hit rock bottom, there's no way to go but up. Have you ever seen what's at the end, though? Just a pile of scrap metal, splinters, and broken bones. There is no difference between a dwelling built from wood and nails, from a coffin.

If they said you were a star, is that why anyone who gets too close to you ends up getting scorched? If they said you were an ocean, is that why people never cared if they drowned in love? If they said you were the sky; is that why you were always so out of touch, as if you were never one with the world?

Summer rain:
the epitome of endless ironies,
like joyful pain,
and a bloodhound befriending a fox.

yet precisely through ironies we realise
how sharply contrasting these emotions are.
like how the eyes see nothing but lies,
and how things are only beautiful from afar.

perhaps, only through these ironic moments can we truly feel
the primal nature of emotions;
that lead us to **** ourselves
on the inside without hesitation.

y'know, just to make someone else happy.

never fall in love with a boy who
speaks in lavender soliloquy and
smells like cigarettes and melancholy;
whose kisses leave you in nirvana and
whose flesh lays in some lovely façade;
for he is a poet, a philosopher, and a believer
whose mind will disappear into breathless purgatory
when you're not even looking
and by the time you'll find out
you'll already have lost him somewhere,
between wandering verbosity,
and ashen wordlessness

It is out of habit for a poet to personify the oceans.  Write about how the waves kisses the shore each time the moon tried to pull it away; and then remind yourself how when hot meets cold, they're disaster-bound. Playing pretend was a habit of yours. After all, it was a form of survival- where you get the change in your pockets.

You were fascinated by how the conch seemed to speak in waves no matter how far away you were from the ocean, as if it never depended its beauty in the place it finds itself. Its emptiness allowed itself to echo its surroundings. And if you'd uncover what was buried, you'd think it be a chest- an empty one that will finally be tipped full.

When you mimicked the sound of the ocean, it couldn't lull me to sleep. It kept me awake every night for fear that I'd drown; see, your promises came like waves, with nothing in between. You gave your words away like the weight you had been carrying in you; and I almost thought you had spat your heart out in the process of cleaning your guts. There is so many things you poured out, and I guess I managed to save some- sorrow.

When it stopped, you spoke in hushed tones and it sounded like canon shots in a distance. They say you are a product of your surroundings and you are filling yourself with everything you can find laying around, stacked so precariously high like a game of Jenga- the thrill was in watching it topple and fall. These pieces never belonged to you and you still have nothing to give when you are growing close resemblance to a shrapnel shell. When you are at war with yourself, there is no refuge: dig a foxhole until it blows over and that'd be your grave. How do you hide from yourself? Scream when you listen to the conch again- it's the sound of war.

Break your habits before they break you; times like this, I wish you were an empty shell.

I don't think that people fall out of love. That if you truly felt that way, it never changes. I think many people feel lust, and lust fades. Love can't. Love changes with the seasons, but just like the sun, it doesn't simply disappear. I fell in love with you. As sad or naïve as it is, it won't ever fade.

For you are my stars, my moon and my entire night sky.