She can’t write.
like the tip of her pen is
imprisoned  just inches on that
white sheet drenched with nothingness.

She can’t write.
as if she began to freeze
when she is under
the line where it cuts the globe into half.

She can’t write.
like the words were nowhere near her,
and they ran faster and farther from her.

She can’t write.
as if her words was playing with her
a game of hide-and-seek, and she was it.

And still, she can’t force the words out
like note stuck in a rusty abandoned piano keys.
Restless, she remains hidden in words she can’t find.

16-word-story: you let my words crash onto your shore but you refuse to call me the ocean

I lie awake not
thinking of you,
but remembering
us.

You were the slow death
I was wishing for,
like this stick
the third, the forth
you are ever more

the same ****** thing.

I inhale you in,
as I do,
I'm slowly killing you
and you are slowly
eating me.

I burn you and you burn me
more than you intended be.

at this glorious point,
we are mutual.

at last, we are now.

sometimes it scares me
that I have been too strong
that no one ever sees that it rains
on me even the sun
is striking at the sky.

the fear grows as
the years pass and no one dares
to know the real side of me
to transcend all my flaws
and to accept me
like a lost child.

and I continue to weep
for all the time that I am alone,
in this fight called life.
And soon, I know I am near the end
where I lost,
and I am gone.

what would be the last thing
you hear, you smell, you see?
you would probably not notice.
is it too cold? or a bit warm? or too hot?
or the window less open than yesterday?
will you see the mess of your tiny room
occupied by forgotten tasks or hobbies,
the 1000-piece puzzle left in the box,
remember that? trying to solve everything
on the floor, room not enough space,  no?
you would probably not notice
the door locked, maybe unlocked, would it matter?
phone uncharged, again, would it matter?
you might smell a familiarity in the air
of course, you're inside your room; you've been here
you lied here, again and again -
above everything you own, would you remember
the last thing, will it matter
when you're on the last turn, on your last blink-
would your remember the last thing?
you would probably not notice.
I would probably not.