it's interesting how, at night,  the smoke only reveals itself when shone on by the light. it's not even only the smoke -- it's the wind that moves it.

i thought of you while i smoked those three cigarettes. i can only reveal my true self when i'm with you. you are my light; the only one who possesses the ability to bring out the beauty in me, the beauty i've been keeping in for a very long time.

i'm intoxicated. both by the cigarettes and by you.

He's the son of the wind and the ocean
I'm the son of the mountains and the trees
The water is his element and i, the earth
His cool demeanor made the rock beneath me
Melt becoming quicksand
******* me into the cold, dark ground below
When he comes close,
Everything feels right
When he touches my skin,
Tremors appear like the remnants of earthquakes
When he says my name,
The mountains recede,
And the birds sing brighter
But the geography does not align
Alas, the mountains will never move
To meet the ocean
Only the wind from coastlines
Can meet with the canopies of the trees
But, the waters cannot flood the summit
and, thus, we can never be.

maybe...
maybe it's okay to lose people.
maybe they're supposed to stay
for a little while;
they are only vessels of
tiny reminders such as
let the pain remind you
that you can still feel
and
so now you know
why not to trust and get attached.
maybe...
maybe it's okay
to leave people.
maybe we're supposed to leave
because they're poisonous
- or maybe we are -
either way,
when it's not right,
someone's got to leave.

i'm screaming under the layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at my broken heart.
the edges of this glass-piece contraption between my lungs
sing like static against my rib cages,
muting the sound of the words i've been aching to say.
the sound of the tearing resonates relentlessly like the rain,
and there is comfort in the sound,
but it feels heavy in my chest
like the apologies that rotted in your throat
before you could tell me everything.

i'm screaming under layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at my throbbing head.
the thoughts that rage sound like breaking glass,
and they create shipwrecks in my calm mind.
the words that you said still bombard the walls of my skull,
carving every sentence that i wanted to hear from you,
but never dared leave your mouth.
perhaps i'm going crazy, but at least feel a tad bit honored
that the way my head spins
is all caused for and by you.

i'm screaming under layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at you.
you used to be my symphony, my only melody,
but you left me a broken note and a crooked key.
the parts that you planted your kisses on
decided to sound like raging storms and sirens.
the way your fingertips trickled down the line of my back
used to echo the song of the stars,
but now they hum the world's saddest tunes.
you buried me beneath these sounds, and not even i can hear my soul.

maybe that's what you need to do in life --
you have to look
a little deeper,
a little closer,
a little longer.
nothing is a total beauty, i know.
but there will always be
something beautiful,
something radiant.
it's the discreet things
that make things a little more thrilling.
if we keep quiet every once in a while,
nature will intensify for us.
the world isn't cruel;
we just don't see
the delicate parts of it anymore.

the world is kind.
life is kind.

it's just us who are not.