there’s two reasons why someone doesn’t talk about something;
it either means nothing to them
or it means everything to them.


if i was your everything then how come we became nothing? why couldn’t we be everything if i believed we could? why did  our “everything’s” meant nothing in the first place? why? just, why?

where do i go
and who can tell me
how to get out of here?
is there anyone out there
who’s been outside
who’s seen both worlds?
and if you have
rid me of this reality
and bring me with you.

each year
each month
each day
is marked on your timeline.

you tossed me out of your timeline.
and i try to toss you out of mine.
there’s a hole in the year 2018
and other people wonder,
“why is that tickmark not there?”

but we don’t say a thing.
we shrug our shoulders,
“i don’t know.”


and the year’s about to end, francis.
where does my tickmark go now?

it’s been around 2 months
without you
the air changed since then.
you’re gone.

but you walked by me again
and i inhaled
to expect oxygen; but it wasn’t.
for a few moments, my world felt alive
you came,
only temporarily.

this air killed me whenever you walked by. yet today, in this bland world, i was able to feel life again.

why won't you
close your eyes
when you know
you'll get hurt to see?

why do you choose
to return to
where the pain resides?

and as I stare into
your tired eyes, I wonder,
was I the rose you kept
or the dandelion you hid?