The wind howls to the craters of the moon, wondering if its lack of breath is another respiratory disease waiting to happen
As bodies crash into the ocean and casualties increase by every bottled up sensibility
The cracks of cardboard doors fill up the voids of emptiness,
Emptiness of washed up filth and five days worth of street toxic meant for the guts too vacant to feel
Their doors quiver to every knock and exhale, families too hungry, awaiting to devour assurance of safety
Just this once, they are asking for a little more
Than numbered days of handfuls of rice and rock salt, enough to feed the mouths of eight
Teeth clicking to every bite, bones clashing together to prolong the food not more than a mouthful
However this time the clicking doesn’t stop
It intensifies as street light poles plummet into windows and shards are washed away, seeping through soaked doors
They are told to leave these places without titles but this unnamed land is their entitlement and home
Their mother whose tongue is a symphony of lullabies remains silent, hoping for the storm to pass
Lips swollen from biting, she looks at her children with fear in her eyes, tears reflecting the shattered bulb that hangs by the kitchen ceiling
She links her arms to her children’s, grips their skin tightly hoping to warm their shivering exterior while whispering the words “they’ll come for us”

Time elapses and the water rises, their properties enveloped by the disease
Their house disappears along with it, in a downward current of pitch black and rotten forestry
What is left is a family of seven, arms linked and accompanied by the howling wind,
Slowly diminishing with its lack of breath, becoming a nationwide debris

n.j.

Scatter the ashes that have become steady flesh
Before someone collects them to bury the remains in a false cemetery
Scatter them quickly into the flowing rivers and high up in the skies
I am parallel to their world; I am the closest to death

Ligaments and veins that was once compelling
Supreme yet a puppet to garrulous demons
An artistic treasure box of limited oxygen
Fell victim to powerless witnesses that chose to keep their silence

When our bodies collapse and our hearts expire
Revive my breath with visitations and flowers
Although I am now a river and a turbid sky
I am parallel to your world yet I am right here by your side

n.j.

coming home from a long day of school, i am welcomed by my mother's kisses yet it's the blade's that touch my cheek
i feel the long glides of hello's and how are you's creep up my veins and sleeves
my heart pounds like a hummingbird, except this time there's no bird but a desperate cry clawing at the door
my throat catches itself as i skip lunch with an empty stomach. my tears will be all that's left to ingest and the dining room will be my bathroom floor
i collapse on my knees drenched in uniform sweat, punching the tiles and marble décor
why is it, that every time i strip i reach for sharp edges instead of shower curtains?
why do my hands try to break the buildings of restraint? why are they strong enough to reach for the blades?
and why am i considered weak if i resort to such violence?

i cannot remember the last time my thighs looked bare
each time i recall, i see a naked canvas stained with red and purple
my individual hairs dipped in fresh cuts and my head spinning around in circles
each time i try to forget the lunch i skipped and the conversations of unspoken words i never said,
the skull behind my forehead trembles with regret
and i’ll remember how my heart would pound like the wings of a hummingbird
flying back and forth, clawing and tearing my chest open as i reach for the door

my mom awaits me with kisses to welcome me home
but i’ll be too eager to collapse on the bathroom floor

n.j.

I know how painful it is to not know if the one you care for would ever return
I promised these words I thought I could keep and sealed each with a future we both thought we could forsee
I shed tears and you offered your shoulder despite the distance that laid in between
Every breath was beautiful, every emotion was genuine and never a disarray of words
Every night was an ending and every wake of mornings had their beginnings, we both knew we would be present in each one of them

At least that's what I thought

We are a mess, shambles of living flesh yet you and I served as each other's comfort for times of distress
Sometimes words need not be said for all you had to do was to pick me up with your heavy hands and envelop me in your arms, you were my blanket
But I was a deluge of restraint who chose to have her mouth sewn by demons which tempt me to repress
You welcomed me into your mind of aesthetically aligned scenarios and tragic memories
I was stepping into your life and you showered me with gifts of assurance, and it was terrifying
I didn't know how to respond to these reciprocating feelings
But I knew that I loved every minute of it

Days that were born grew older and faster than we're told and I was a helpless victim and witness to the hours of conversations that developed into tedious virtual words
I plead guilty for keeping my silence as I watched you mouth out poetry and wisdom
It was burdening to keep coming back so I left you waiting for uncertainty
You are the soldier at war and I am the wife that grew tired and deprived
I am the selfish individual that seeks for a refreshing start while you try to win me battles I choose to fight on my own
I was blinded and kept wanting for more but what you gave me surpassed the limits of overflowing
I am the fool, not you and each night the demons mock me names on top of one another
They have been growing ever since I departed from your mending surfaces
I tried to keep my distance, but it didn't work
I had already stitched up my hands with yours, and I tore away our body parts the day I didn't say goodbye
I spit out crimson and inhale regret, every day and night

And I know it would be easier to move on if you found out I was dead instead of accepting the reality to which I promised
But my mouth turned out to be a liar so I closed my heart and left
And I am profoundly sorry for saying those three words, but know that I meant what I said

n.j.

Yet again, here I am, overthinking things that I shouldn't but it's hard to avoid not doing  so when you're waiting for a huge change to happen.

My life is dull. Routines on top of one another. Daily conversations that ebb into nothingness and complete irrelevance, sometimes I forget what we even talked about.

The spaces in my head are occupied with peculiarity and distress and I am often dressed in a color that makes people presume that I am suicidal.

I have been in love, but I was never the lover who received genuineness from another. I was always the giver, emptying and deflating the lungs trapped in my rib cages. I released the life out of me for that person who considered me a girl and a friend, not the words put together.

The only time I am understood is when I sit behind a screen, mouthing out the lyrics while my eyes blink and speak. I drown away the letters on the keyboard and tower over them, replacing each with watery words.

Every evening, my breath paces back and forth the four corners of my room. Screen too bright to see what's around, and I wait in anticipation for the roof to collapse and surround me with its rubble.

Often times I wonder if my conversations will ever consist of importance. Whether my words will reach another person, instead of bouncing back to me, cutting through the skin and past my bones.

When will I ever empty out my lungs of oxygen?
When will I ever replace it with something of significance and worth keeping?

n.j.

She sang herself to sleep every now and then
As the tears trickled down her tiny face
During those nights, no one heard except for the pillow case positioned under her head
And the mattress served as a barrier for the demons that lived beneath her bed
As the sun buries itself into the sea,
Its flames die out and so does she
Nights are when she crosses out the days left on her beating skin
Dawns are when she peels off dry scars and have her cuts covered in bandages
Solitary lullabies are what keep her sane
But the words leave the mouth of a battered child yearning for the company of another,
But she is all that will remain

n.j.

I would be lying if I told you that I am never bothered by the way you perceive the world. As a matter of fact, I am sick and tired of wanting to know what you're like with depression out of the picture. But if I were to repaint and reconstruct every feature of this portrait, I will see things as partial representations. You are incomplete without it. It has come to a point where it defines you completely. I can't even remember the last time you smiled and meant it or the last time you were genuinely happy.  
You've come to master getting used to being ignored, maybe not entirely but you are this book and in comparison to the many others, you are too complicated to be worth their time. They solely focus on other things that do not involve you, so you're left on your own to decipher your passages and you will remain as an enigma to them.
I promised you that by the time you reach this age, you would be too busy worrying about college and other things like if your boyfriend or girlfriend prefers your old hair over your new haircut, or if the girl that you like feels the same way, or if that guy in your class smiled at you because he thought it was finally time to make a move.
And now you've reached that age and you are worrying about college, but not over those other things.
5 years ago you wanted to die, and with each year that passed that desire grew into a shadow that always lingered behind you. Now it overshadows your actions and you're too busy wondering and worrying why no one has held your hand and looked at you the way you wanted someone to.
You're too busy trying to keep your watch from sliding down your wrists, too busy hiding the lines that overlapped on your skin. Sometimes you wonder if it's time to **** what was growing within instead of watching your outsides lessen to thin sheets, and yet you don't want to bother your best friends about things like this.
It's burdening, a load too heavy to lift, so you try practicing by doing all the carrying by yourself. So far you've managed, just a couple of scars and lashes, defined bones, suicidal thoughts and cuts too deep to mend. So far you haven't killed yourself, no, not yet but I hope you keep yourself together until someone sees the potential and beauty that you always thought were absent in you.
I hope one day they fill the spaces of your thoughts with contentment and happiness that you deserve because we are put into this earth to grow old with another.
This is the closest to heaven that you'll get, whether or not you believe that death is what ends a person's existence. It's just a shame to see that you think the life that was given to you is a way of wasting away, that it is a state of mind and everything you feel is not temporary.
I hope you've come to realize that it's okay not to fit in, that surely things will pass and you'll find the hand that fits perfectly. But never pass away too soon and early.
Never give into them, never let them take over, never let them make you do things that can hurt, because death is the only relief I wouldn't want you to have.

n.j.