The most effective way to poison
is to shoot straight through the heart
and
Cupid has been doing a fine job so far.

We are both sinners;
you have stolen from me
so
lost my tool for survival
i became a con-artist
lying with multiple identities
i am alive and well
but
i killed myself.

you'll bear
the responsibility of making me
this sinner.

You only want to embrace sleep.

Sleep is a very selective companion.
She succumbs not to your simple desires.
Even prayers of tiredness are often unheeded
because she senses
your lack of faith in your overreacting mental faculty.

You only want to embrace sleep.

You want to embrace sleep without giving a ****
In your loneliness, you only wish sleep would cherish you
in her arms for eternity
so you need not give a **** about
heaven or hell.
You just want to be erased from all consciousness...
But you aren't confident enough to take that leap of faith,
or perhaps
a leap of the faithless.

You only want to embrace sleep.

It is the same story every night.
You know she is a promiscuous companion.
You can silently pray with fervency but
you'll never win her eternal affection.
She will never give you what you want
for you will somehow
wake up to another "Good Morning."

She did not choose to place her life in jeopardy;
She was never decreed as property
She was never decreed as liability
She never gave up her liberty
She did not give up her ability...
But
She will sacrifice much opportunity
and perhaps*
*She will sacrifice her virginity.

How can a wound be identified--
When people only heed tears
but only with blood;
but only to tears
will the eyes bleed.

People can be ignorant--
For their hearts,
may no longer be filled with blood
but rather tears
circulating till they cause
tears deep within.

These tears each person has in life
forms a unique habit
which does not come in free size;
Some will drown in it
before anyone identifies
the wound.

This day someone lost a parent--
This is a day I often thought
This is a day I've always imagined
This day I will forever be unprepared for
This day I hope will never come for me
Hence, Dear Father in heaven...
"Please do not realise this day for me."

tick tock tick tock
tonight,
the sand of time disperses
i'll be an inventor
invent my fairy tale
mary sue be my name
everybody be my friend
prince be my knight in shining armor
a majestic palace will be where we call home
skies always be pretty blue
fields a grassy green
and
we will all live happily ever after
until
sand of time is almost all scattered
after all sand castles were never stable
my alarm clock attempts to wakes me up
and
i'll wish to never wake up again...
tick tock tick tock
life goes on again till the day my clock expires..

Clock, you hear yourself ticking into a thrice morning cry?
Be ashamed.
Be very ashamed.
Aren't you shameless for my heartbeat mimicry?


Clock, do you see yourself in the mirror?
Be embarrassed.
Be very embarrassed.
Aren't you embarrassed at the dawn of this quarter-faced horror?


Clock, do you need to tingle my body?
Be abashed.
Be very abashed.
Aren't you abashed for keeping conscience awake in my body?


Clock, did you need to greet the morning thrice?
Be disconcerted.
Be very disconcerted.
Aren't you disconcerted to be lying not once, not twice, but thrice?


Yes, Clock. You.
Stop pointing your finger in a second
Stop depending on opinions in second
Stop and stand still
    Face where your seconds are due.

Yes, I am no poet
In fact, my 'pieces' are pretentious
but this is my dear diary
where i relieve my fright tonight
of the lonely awakening of tomorrow morning.

So I choose to live in the shadows of the quiet night
and dream sweet dreams in the busy daylight
where nobody is my judge
where nobody is my lord
where nobody is my god.

I was seduced by your tongue.
From the menu in it's ripe pink
bequeathed with syllables
of toxic waste pronounced;
production rivaling the healthiest liver
in this materialistic marketplace.

Still it is a delicate decadence
not for the faint-heart by recommendation
can only be served in it's ****** state
never preserved with age nor maturity
for it's zest for life can never be tainted
even when cooked
it still wags on and on....
churning more poison.

I placed my order
may the best man win,
I was not a coward.
Bon appetite.

The quest for perfection
let this pen
to write an imperfect poem.

Frog jumping
across
the moon
of floating lilies
sees peonies
bloomed in her eyes
fell
into the mouth
of a carp
sleeping.

Like all wet clothes;
The body bleeds tears
Worn-out sleeves wrinkled
The soul awaits
The coming of its shriveled form.

To be hung up dry
Forgotten
Till the storms
Wash it into another journey
Of new dimensions.

a winter solace
breath of melted snowflakes
sigh of soliloquy