depressing cities.
depressing jobs.
depressing train stations.
depressing streets.
depressing homes, houses.
depressing people.
depressing lives, souls.
depressing cover-ups,
lies and fake smiles.
depressing body composures.
depressing malnourished
street children, stray dogs and bums.
depressing skies.
depressing movies.
depressing books.
depressing stories.
depressing music.
depressing real life stories.
depressed writers, artists,
working class heroes, soldiers,
students, mothers, fathers, cousins, brothers, uncles, sisters, priests, pastors and sewer rats.

life doesn't do much.
problems, shades, nostalgic memories that you never thought
you have.

you can choose to be happy,
but the world will remain
the same;
you may choose the lifeless path,
and the world will show you its true colors.

death brings us closer to one another. . .
if it's not our own.

you can have many friends,
as many as you want;
the perfect roster for your funeral

the world remains the same,
but you can choose any color
you want to paint it,
but the world remains the same.

the rats in the sewers knows
this too well.
they only know one color.
one place.
one same foul smell that never gets bad or good.

rats are immuned to depression.

some humans turn into rats
but the world remains the same.

H a v e   y o u   s e e n
The sky where our eyes meet,
The air where our skin touch,
And the sun that put flames,
To our hearts?

The pounding of the birds' wings,
C a n  y o u  f e e l ?

H a v e   y o u   s e e n
How time made us blind,
How our inactions **** our mights,
How clouds made us doubt,
The vision once clear we had?

And as the plants grew
At spring,
C a n  y o u  s e e** ,
How they blossom
alone in numbers,
Just left at is
For every person
To wonder?

H a v e   y o u   s e e n
The smoking poison,
On your palm,
To **** every living,
With a touch
By sending them to ash?
And how it made
You feel thorns
Growing on your soul
Because for once
You believe you are cure
But for some you are
Death for sure.

And thus,
You live like a bird
Who only lands
To a place
Where your pounding wings
Can be heard.
Where the only cage
To trap you dear
Is   t h i s   w o r l d .

Like the switch button of a 90s television set, the echoes of a knock and a dead bolt’s lock pierces the static air of sharp breathing.

“Define stay, in your point of view, when you can’t even be here to explain its meaning directly to my face,” she pleads with glassy eyes on the verge of breaking down.

She silences a sob with the tearing of handwritten letters and the burning of old photographs.  She won’t need them; she already has every word bound and every pixel branded onto her memory, as much as she tried to annihilate it all.

Behind the closed door, his eyes mirror hers.  His tongue was dry, but careful enough to select the words that would quench their parched throats and hearts.

Will she open a new door? Will he face a new destiny? Are they even in the same corridor, the same floor, the same building?

They’ve been roaming separately, unsure of their directions if one is following the other’s path. Or are they just traveling in circles of pure coincidence?

He knocks again.

“Stay is when my hands or eyes are unable to hold you close, yet you know you’re home.  Because of the way you are anchored to my voice when I say your name, or the way my heart keeps you with me.  

Stay doesn’t always require physical presence.  

I know you are already decided on staying whenever I enter your mind, whenever you think about me. And you know I can never leave your mind, much more your heart.”

She stays put where she is.

The only thing she leaves is the door—open—for him.