Izzah Batrisyia

Izzah Batrisyia Mar 2014

21:56

My eyes are sore
From the non-existent tears
I cry out in my dreams.
My heart pumps out
Black treacle yet my veins
Filled with tar.
In the back seat of
A four wheel drive,
Is just the same as
On the bed,
And another sleepless night.

Izzah Batrisyia Feb 2014

Parallel Worlds

The midnight sky is just another
         Curtain covering the window;
Hiding whatever is behind it.
        My fear of the dark is killing me,
                  Claustrophobia slowly eating my soul
        Out of the scarce source of light.

           I’m
              F
                      A
                                   L
                                            L
                                                    I
                                                            N
                                                                     G

                                                      Into the sand pit of voices,
                                                               Telling me the earth is round,
                                                      But all I see is a square.
                                                               All of six different faces that
                                                                        Can’t look at each other because
                                                               They are all stuck on edge, sleeping.

                                    I stand in front of those curtains,
                                    The adrenaline to scream the earth awake
                                    Is rushing through my blood stream.
                                    A grip onto the cloth of
                                    The elements of the universe
                                    Tearing it piece by piece.

                                                               Wake up, Earth.
                                                               There’s another world
                                                               Outside that window.

Izzah Batrisyia Jan 2014

I Want You To Call My Name

It’s midnight and I am
Craving for the empty spaces
To be filled with your presence.
I want my nights filled,
Like how you filled mine yesterday,
With short laughs and smiles
When I asked you why
You called my name.

I want to lay on your
Shoulder as you wrap your arms
Around me and caress my skin,
To laugh at our inside jokes
Or to drink and avoid smokes.
I want you to call my name.

I want to know whether birds
Hold their wings together in
A bird’s nest when the weather
Is gloomy and cold,
When the Sun sleeps
As the moon wakes up.
I want you to call my name.

It’s midnight and I am
Craving for the empty spaces
To be filled with your presence.
Please,

I want you to call my name.

Izzah Batrisyia Jan 2014

Keepsakes

I remember sweet
Cotton candy moments,
But the taste of bitter
Coffee made me forget.
It’s been 5 months,
And I told myself you will be
Forgotten,
I promised myself you would.
But I still keep your
Picture in my wallet,
And use it to mark
The book you bought.

Izzah Batrisyia Jan 2014

Needles

White walls,
The soulless smell,
Needles poke into my arm
To **** my blood
Right out of me,
And all I see
Is when he would sit
In the corner where
He poked through his arm
A needle with
Fluid as brown as honey
And where he would
Smile with ecstacy.
When the needle touches
My skin,
I feel the pain he went
Through to feel the joy,
And I cry the tears of my mother,
When he laid still on his bed.

This is about my mother, and I wrote this from her perspective. Her brother died when I was a year old. He died because of drug abuse.

My brother was talking about all the things we could do (drink or smoke), and my mother was pretty calm about the topic, until he brought up drugs. I know, it’s probably the most stupidest thing to talk about with your mum, but she went from calm to utter rage. She gave us the usual lecture about drugs, and then she brought up her fear of needles. She told us why she was really afraid of them. She was talking so fast when she was giving us the lecture, and when she told us about the needles, she was so close to breaking down. Then she said:

“I don’t want to feel what my mother felt. To see her children fall apart slowly."

Copyright 2013 Izzah Batrisyia

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