she lays limp upon the sea
foam mattress
gasping for air amongst the swarm
of tubes entangling around her body

i am across from her
a handful of popcorn held
together by a rubber band

is it within my own selfish desire
to keep my love afloat?
or shall i submerge
her gently into the ocean
of infinite nothingness
?

i open a poetry book
to softly narrate
her last words to her.

do not go gentle into that
good night.
old age should burn
and rave at close of day.

and as she slips away

rage. rage against the dying
of the light.

she tremors.

What is me
What is this place I'm living in
I've begun to doubt the reality of the world
It's an illusion I've developed
During the days I've spent in straight limbo

I'm afraid
What if i wake up and mourn a lost dream
I can't go back to the white
The pain, the solitude
How can I remain in this beautiful illusion?

She's wheat-skinned and coarse-haired;
In a fair and lovely world. This woman embodied
Perfection; without ever journeying on a quest to seek it.

All the other girls understood themselves,
Each and every bit of them. She simply
Forgot; to look in the mirror, to be aware of her singular quirks, to be daunted by the schools of swordfish.

In the tribes of North Africa, communities banged drums and danced to please the Gods.
"Allah, Allah!" they'd temporarily yell to foot-stampers who seemed to invoke the spirits,
Those who took breaths of transparent inspiration and truly,
And truly, lived in that jiffy.

The entirety of her life was an Allah moment,
For she never ceased to be lit from below, and lit;
From within. Her monochromatic soul shined a spectrum,
And she was perfect, because she didn't need to be.

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up using my magic girl power
Chasing the boy
Who asked me to catch him
And here's the catch;
"If you can."

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sulking away
Ignoring my frenemies
As I scorned at grown men
Leaning against the bar
Obviously wondering why,
Why,
I am not having any fun.

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up sneaking out
With the guy I've been exchanging stares at
We'd talk all night

I looked forward to weddings, though,
I never go to weddings.

My habits didn't change
Once we snuck out to the nearby pool
Took off all our clothes
And I was photographed, stark naked,
Amidst the chlorinated stupidity

I never go to weddings
They're too uptight
I held up a glass of champagne and yelled,
"And ***** you!" to the man with a blue portrait
Of me in his wallet
As he kissed his bride for the third time

I never go to weddings
I'd usually end up being a bridesmaid
Wearing a ridiculous outfit
Smiling through the pain of my own singularity
And realising that no one really celebrates the couple for them
We are selfish

I never go to weddings . . .

Exploring hands encounter no defence;
Recollecting endeavours drives her to a dry pain
Throbbing, throbbing
Hamlet's hamartia discards her to *the lowest of the dead

His vanity requires no response;
Her life on the line and he's got nothing to lose.
  So much more the eye can see
Caressing, caressing

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass;
  Leave me, carbuncle:
Words she has never been able to utter . . .
Loudly, she thinks it
It doesn't translate
Shivering, quivering

Brittle monster bestows one final patronising kiss
  I must exercise some form of self control

Hardly aware of her departed lover,
She lays in a yellow blanket;
Phosphenes in the emerging light of day.

i still slap my soul,
and drown myself in allergy.
it's autoimmune, me against myself
and i don't know who's winning.

your absence is a lingering sensation -
a persistent reminder that i will be waiting
forever;
for you to come back home.
where have you gone, ma?

every time i'm hungry,
i will wait in the kitchen for you.
i don't know how to cook, ma.
i always thought you'd be around to show me how.

and even though my room is *****,
i will clean it up for you.
***** and span, just the way you like it.
i will brush my fingers over my table to see
if i've left any dust
the same dust you left, ma

and even though you faded away
i found it impossible not to grip you tighter towards me;
and you slipped, ma.
when will you come home?