I pray for the truthfulness of your existence.
How I ardently desire to ****** you,
*******!

The stars are shivering tonight
as your breath cloisters round my neck
while the hands of the clock
move backward

ohmigod.

You wanna know the best thing about us? It's the world we own. We never shared it to the crowd. Or to anyone. Inside, it's just you and me and uneven breath between us.

And it has always been enough.

The only sound the breaks the night was the song of the wind.

Apart from that, the stillness seemed long and unbearable and forever. The walls had finally stopped screaming, and it began to shred its skin, hoping to discover a new hope underneath. Against all uncertainties, odds, and even sheer absence of hope. It bled silently.

The curtain, I'm afraid, continued to sigh and decided to keep its exasperation. I have tried explaining the matter, your situation, but it just looked at me and sighed. It never bothered to offer any response but contentedly suspended itself around the railing, embracing dust; dissolving itself in the labyrinth of the passing years.

Sometimes, it would turn to me and smile, the window. For a fleeting moment, it would allow the edge of its lips to curl, up, up, up, like birds flying then scattering then eventually exploding in the atmosphere until all that's left is the sky hovering above the trees and the remnants of its feather dangling on the leaves.

At night, like tonight, every night, the candle swallows the moon, and fades with summer . I have to ensure that every passerby should witness the fatal glow of its decaying cinders. But I put it there, near the window, not to amaze any passerby. Nor to invite anyone.

I put it there,
near the window,
for you to find your way back home.

You said that I should work. You said that I should work hard. You said that I should save some penny, so I would have some, for the future. So, in our sheer effort to earn a living, we have practically forgotten how to live.

I guess, I must say ******* *******. In the first place, I am not even sure if I would still be here the next minute. Why should I worry about tomorrow?

Why should we care?


*Your Individualist Daughter

Career, in his mind, is just a 20th century invention. My admiration seared when he admitted that he doesn't want one. So unlike a typical human being, that man. Four months later, they found his lifeless body in the Alaskan wilderness.

I could have married him, you know? I could have run away with him beyond the edge of the world - two hunted individuals leaving the stereotypical expectations of this stereotypical society. We could have had children, you know, whose names would be very strange, like the sound of the ocean in its sheer stillness or the explosion of its raging waves.

You know what made him beautiful, among all the others? His act of defiance. Most men that ever existed are coward *******.

Believe me,
the blank page in front of me
the one attached on the monitor has its own face.
It makes my finger tremble,
***** incoherent words.

It looked bright, but vacant
as if married to someone
but without love
like life without meaning
existence without purpose.

For countless times I heard it sighed
a heavy, heaving sigh
a sigh that exhaled past lovers
dissolving on the creased bed sheet
and reappearing underneath the unwashed blankets.

Their egos bruised.
Their names old.
Their home in the labyrinth of yesterday,
in a village somewhere in the world
that revolves between their uneven breath.

Their stories stacked,
in the deepest corner of a human heart.

No one could unearth them.