Here are the thousand hopes packed in a red coffin
Made of yarns and tied with black string
It comes with flowers and wrapped in green
As if it is so weary; it flashes a grin

Here is the sleep packed in  wooden jars
Unreachable for the latches are worn down
Then it comes, decorated in porcelain
With cracks spread across and glossed by tears

Carve down the ornaments and you shall see
The nightmares and scars it hatched
When you and I walked down, forlorn
To call for Pandora and the hope she’d forgotten

Here are the bullets torn down during life
The protector and murderer of our own kind
They come disguised in arsenic laces
Tearing the night and the vulnerable moon princess

Carve down the ornaments and you shall see
The dreams and bruises it abandoned
When you and I walked down upon chaos
To call for Erebos and the darkness he caresses

What is happy from a bed of flowers
Mere colors are left to flutter
Green looking blue and soon turns paler
Red withers and be no more

Sitting still acting pretty
Rotten roots that no one see
Hide in depth to become nightmare
That is happy from a bed of flowers

Slumping sun and puking clouds
Mourning moon and raging  breeze
Haunted soil and this ill world
Have kept themselves to wonder;
What is happy from a bed of flowers

A piece of you
Reflecting back
The bitter words in your mouth
Too raw to speak
A poet is
Someone in pain
And someone in love
Someone who looks at the world
Through a kaleidoscope
Who takes a magnifying glass to each
And every
Word you say
And lets them imprint on their heart
A poet is
A star gazer
A dreamer
A chaser of
The improbable
But hopes anyway
A poet is
Tissue paper skin
A heart of glass
And a soul of titanium

A poet is
A sharp tongue
And a gentle kiss
She is a sob
He is a sigh
A poet is
The sun at midnight
Bright and
Burning
Hot
Alive
But cloaked in a darkness
They cannot shake
The brightest day
And the darkest night
A poet is
The human experience
A paradox
An oxymoron
So complicatedly
Simple

A poet is
A lover
Who refuses
To stop wearing their heart on their sleeve
No matter how much it bleeds
But rolls them up
So you can’t see
The blood stains


A poet
Is Poetry

To all the empty rooms
And trapeze windows
The tiles decomposed

Before the holes in bed,

We were in joy
In the name of death
And for death also,

We had fathomed
Each other

We have long known
Death and its embrace
Where we sheltered

But for the sake of
Morbid sanity and flooded colors
We have never been used

Of death

If all these sad songs rejoiced you instead
If all my ballads for you lead to ballistic
If all your weary hair untangle your tears
When will the sun droop
For the teapot heat of your dimmed heart
Will never cease like unclean dagger
Lathered by
Our blood-bound love

In the empty rooms
Before the trapeze windows
By the dirt you dwell in
Degraded by shallow affection of
Blood, coldly overflowing from
Earthly remains so cold
Getting blue forever more
And leaving me in
Hollow-soaked world

The room was silent
And the room was dark
The papers were half filled
Each of us had gotten a mark

Sat separated like a ****** convict
Restrained from looking left and right
Our visions went on as the pages went by
To fill all the blacks in the hollow white pond

Some minds raced and some were scooped out
Some minds cracked and some started to decay
If the amount of thought could be shown by blood
I'm sure only some of us would die because of the loss

I saw your eyes rolled beneath her table
I saw another rolled and peeked from above
Poor things couldn't put their minds at the right place
And finally grazed for victims to contend their dry thoughts

It might not seem like it but to me, dearest, you are criminal
Fear pursued you to reflect on a wrong mirror to cope with evil
But Fear has always been my ally and always serves me a good deal
Then why, I ask you, why did it dance you to the pit of blatant fools?

Let's just watch our show merrily and I shall talk no more
When we started from nothing and ended as nothing
Since in the ****** I was both Holmes and Moriarty
You copied the way I think and the way I ****

I was the one who thought and the one who worked
I became compared with a mere doll of your kinds
Supposed to embark heartily and gain my throne
Yet you sat upon my couch like an impostor queen

In the end nothing really matters
For I have seen your flower and I have seen it withered
I should water mine so it would grow a steady tree
And I will doubt and laugh if yours ever break free

From the tangled lies you've made upon the papers
All these rotten times.

Kindly tell the sun to look away
I don’t want to see my curtain sway
Indeed, because these fabricated joys
Are demolished by an obscure ray

Serve me breakfast while the day
Lies as cold as the dew I’ll drink
Now what to do is just obey
Before we are rued by fire’s blink

Put my hot tea beside the lake
Serve it dead and withered
The day is boiling and we’ll be late
For we are but a paper scrapped

The fireplace shall be planted
With torn thorns of brown and black
No rays of red will favor me
As long as the sun scorns at us

Wipe my mouth with torn fabric
It pains me so to be stained in red
That I long ago forsaken but now
Dripping down my crooked neck

For the ghost of you who preyed
On my solitary beat of ill and ****
For your revenant who feasted
On my will and half-eaten heart

For the glooms of your fairy
Schadenfreude upon my sorry
For the life I did not live
To the joy I took from you

Raise the cup and shatter it
Open the curtain and drain our life of lies
To the eye of the day and God’s pity
Serve my breakfast before I live