Everyone sat
criss-cross-applesauce
in our hearts.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

I try hard to sound
important,
when I write *******
because
there are bodies
reading this *******.

And bodies grow and wither.
They thrive and survive.
They get married
and die alone.
They die.

To become dead.

Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

Random dates.
Random times.
Useless words.
Stupid rhymes.

It's not cool being
less than you can be
so I urge you--
urge you--
to be happy.

Because there was a man
who was a clown
and he danced for the children
as they were being lead
to the gas chamber.
And it was 1943.
And it was
**** Controlled Germany.

The clown wept,
each time the lever
was pulled
and when the children
became silent.

To stop crying,
he told himself
that existence
is just random dates
and random times.
There was no meaning
in reason
and no order
in lines.

All he could do
was all he did know,
and that was to give
happiness
before they'd go.

you have to push through the pain
you can try to ignore it
but like a clown in a circus
it demands attention
it will do everything, go out of its way
even burns itself until you feel it
in its totality
this is truth

you ask,
"just how long more do I have to strain myself?"

my noor,
loves' essence is sacrifice
if you want to reach the palace and
lay down comfortably on the magenta leathered sofa
surrender you must,
you will be accused of having a foolish heart
you might be lured by the gold on their palms
it will look beautiful and harmless

this is all I have left to say
so listen intently,
your wounded heart
your bruised knees
your swollen eyes
your aching arms and broken bones
those sharp glass splinters under your sore bloodied feet
will all be forgotten
as soon as you arrive at heavens' gate

my crushed flower, you bloom
for all the times you gently
closed the door and swallowed your own tears

when any soul question you
what love is
my noor, you tell them with conviction
love is sacrifice
love is sacrificing what you love
for something or someone
you love more,
for your Rabb you love most

you could drown me in
a sea of hungry sharks
or feed me to the menacing
crocs in the parks

you could smoke me like
your last cigarette
or down me like
your last alcohol bet

you could grind my bones
and play with the  shards
then mould them up again,
into clean white cards

with those white cards
you shuffle me away and tell me
"shoo"

but my heart will still,
no  matter what,
run back to you.

Today I saw you as you.
I saw everything about you.
I studied you.
I attempted to understand you.

I shift my eyes away from yours
diverting them to your ears
the ears that listened to my incessant cries
and heard my foolish fears

I move down to your mouth
which spoke to me only kind words
and also incompetently mimic the chirping
Of Abyssinian lovebirds

I scan over your honey-olive arm
and the smoothness of your skin
which, for warmth, among other things
I seek refuge in

I hung my head earthward
giving attention to your feet
the ones that brought you far and wide
just to let us meet

You call my name.
I glance back up and look you in the eye
those eyes were now blank and cold
I could not see you anymore, but I still try.

I've learned that when someone asks you if you want to watch the surise, it is not because they have never seen it before, it is because they have never seen it with you

“Can you state your emergency?”
“There’s been a lung collision.”

He’s stealing your breath, darling I can’t feel your lungs
What an aberration, forced to bleed the river of an emotion
You were never taught to feel growing up
I think nobody told you how to feel a colour so hard
Crimson on your neck, on your chest
But I cannot find a wound
Your breath feels like knives
But it’s funny, you’re dying

You’re trying to tell me something
It sounds like the kind of thing you would say right at sunset
Slurring your sevens like you have mints on your tongue
But you are only gasping for air

Marble gazes
Your eyes are lolling back
They are the same eyes that have cut through me
The same eyes I’ve always thought were beautiful
When you were sad

You are weak and you are failing
Completely unlike the times
You would walk in like a sandstorm
No less powerful than a serpent
Beautiful

Now you are trying to speak
“Feels like a fishbone dislodged in my lungs”
And you laugh
You are laughing and you are dying
And this night still feels like day

I tried scraping out the difference
Between guilt and self-loathe
But the answer only lies on the blade of this knife
Maybe I could tell you I don’t know what I did with it
The reason we are not sure from which wound
This blood is seeping from

It wasn't just a lung collision
It was the explosion of a galaxy in your chest
When your ribs bent and cracked
Now they are broken, dust
You are breathing in rust
But it does not matter because you are dying

In the distance there is the sound of sirens
They are coming and they might be far too late.