e·mo·ji

ēˈmōjē

noun
a small digital image or icon used to express an idea, emotion, etc., in electronic communication.

Emojis......
The first I saw one,
You had thanked me for a good deed.

Emojis.....
The second time I saw one,
You had thanked me for a favor.

And these emojis,
Theyre so disorienting
Its a first
A boy sending them

Perhaps I am looking in it too much
Maybe Im looking for something, hoping for anything
Maybe its all in my head

Maybe I want
Something that isnt there
A mystery to pester my brain
An assumption
That may pull me down.

These heart-eyed emojis. It pulls at me.

It's been so long
Now my soul has withered..
Tired, my eyes threaten to close.
And as my fingers start to shake,
and the emotions in me start to break..
I pause —

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It'll be fine.

I will be fine.

I tell myself that as I turn towards the wall,
Draped myself in a thin blanket,
Tears taunting my voice to crack.
I silently cry.
And then I pause.


Slowly but surely, I fall deep, deep, deep,... into a sad but comforting slumber.

My body cringes
Like a spring, coiled.
Pain engulfs
A torrent surrounds
Every nerve, every joint ---
they tingle in anticipation.

My mind berserks
What I feel
I cannot fathom
Words never enough
I cringe yet again,
at thoughts with no answers.

My body could not tell
whether this feeling
was a curse
or a euphoric pleasure.

And today was a day I could not wait to forget.

*For the scent of my putrid sins came tumbling down,

And you were there, but with someone else.

And I was here, dying from my flaws,

But you were untouchable, like the sun

that scorches anyone, leaving no one behind.

As I lay there,
With eyes looking up in anticipation...
I waited.
And there it was.
A beauty. Smiling.
Alight.


But just for a glimpse.

This nocturnal darkness
That clouds over judgement
Losing reason to the devil
I lay awake
In the spasms of past mistakes.

There is nothing more addictive
Than this drug called success.

Scorching sun bites down
On exposed skin
The feeling of ethereal bliss
So surely humane.

Dust in clouds
Rays of sun, mirroring
Beauty in the wind.
Lost in such sites.

Drops of rain,
Dim the newly awakened night
To cover with a dark hue of blue
The place filled with silence and awe.
Raindrops drip in front the window.

In this little
alley I passed by.
as a young
little lad...
I saw some men,
dressed and in.
Blades at hand,
men of kings.

Widows sit by the fireplace,
atop their little house on par.
To look down, upon
this alley
of trash and splash.

Now this man who has a mare,
who he cares so much
He dares not to touch!
Oh,
He sells fish
from the bay
and by and by, fish is cut
splattering blood on the table spot.
Like the butcher he is,
his anger flares up
to a child who dares
touch his little mare.

This child is slaughtered
to the will of the blade
of a man who has gone
oh so mad!

In haste to escape
of what my eyes had to see,
I seek the walls of those roofs atop
where ladies
and the cheeky widows
sit by the fireplace,
to fatten up their stinging bums.

I peek to one door
of rouge and red color.
This lady talks to the other
with great detail with a slobber.
"Oh yes, oh dear. The poor girl's mother.
She has gone to elope with her dearest father."

And in the russ for more detail
the widow by the window
asks for another.
"Oh bless her soul.
She surely will
oh surely will,
Have the world look down her
and she shall scream -oh dear!-
This is foul!"

"Ha! She deserves it!" The lady says.
"Ha! May she meet her maker!" The widow says.
They both say
as the saints they think
they were.

Now the words of another
widow by the window
**** the presence
of good will and faith
left by that lady
and in distress I leave
to run away
from a lady's
treacherous words
of ways.

Words are more cunning
than rumors spread
by senile widows
inside window panes
and chimney tops.

Blades move to ****
Born, to maul the soul
it touches like fire.
Like a monster...
Equipped to ****.
Wielded to ******.
Controlled to end
the life of man.

Gossip doesn't ****.
Oh, but it does.
When little lies
turn to twisted truths.
And
To the weak at will,
To the saint by heart.
The woman who
befriends
for the sake of malice...
Intentions and conversations
that **** a fellow woman's
sanity.

Words are flat
Cannot be felt
Cannot be held.
But words cut through
deep in the chasm
of souls
As death takes over
a defeated conscience
and a defeated will of heart
to stay from death apart.

To live on.



What is more murderous than words?
It bewilders the old senile
and cuts a blow
by the soldier's throat.
As the little butcher man
is gone for the run,
his little blade
*taken from the raid.

Some nights I wished my heart was hollow
Some nights I wish you took it away.
To stop me from the delusion
That I could feel some connection,
In some way.

My heart’s a hollowed mess now
No one to blame but myself.
No one to thank but you, my love.

No one to hate for being a dreamer.
Dreams don’t seem to last long,
And my pains seem to stay on.

No potion* to heal this scar.
No wish I could ask from a star
Can heal me now...
Could ever heal me now...

Some nights I wished you could kiss my pain away.
(Make these butterflies flutter away..)
Some nights I wish we never happened.
(But never loving you’s too much to take...)
Stop me from this feeling
(Mixed signals irritating me...)


That I’d expect
Someone like you


In some way
**Would love me



as I love you...

When I wept for myself,
I felt such shame.
I wept for you
in hopes you would see,
that my love is not for naught
and felt no shame.

And now, the skies seem to rise.
But my heart felt down,
felt pitiful.
And I chased your shadow,
day in, day out
in the hopes of divine intervention
and in the blindness of being pitiful.

So why am I
so kind, so blind?
Why love a man like you,
whose for all has not seen me
or fragments of my shadow.
Or whose for all made me
shameful and
distressed for the pity that I feel.

But why blame you,
when in the first place,
there is none to blame
but I
who felt compelled to you,
who felt a need for you,
who felt she could have you,
who thought she could be.

She could be the one.
But, no.
Because I'm too ashamed.
Because I have nothing
left to love this soul
of mine,
nothing to give
but the pity that I feel.


So how much more,
a love that I should give to you.
What can I,  a void
in your peripheral, do?
For I can't love myself,
so much more, you.

My words are entailed with empty promises,
And my eyes look at you with judgement and deadly hypocrisy.
My heart beats for the malice of your pain.
And I indulge in the words I say to you,
like a whip of a rose's thorns,
so dark, so sharp, so bold, so beautiful-
SO YOU.

But you always are so different.
An entity I cannot fathom.
Yet with all the bruising and all the madness,
it is you who gets the last laugh
...best.

And as that viscous scarlet rolls down,
down unto the earth,
your hands crush my words,
and your words crush my heart,
and your lips always bring me my defeat.


Indeed.
So dark, so sharp, so bold, so beautiful.
So you.
That it kills.
That it kills me not to have you.