cold metal to the temple
the cradle bled red
wine stained carpet
the fingers tremble

bang

helpless gasps
a flower struggling
darkness consumes
it kills

bang

quivering lips
a tear drops
knees collapse
fighting sunlight

bang.

I am a canvas
that my parents painted

they gave me their features
a freckled nose
and pouty lips

so that when they separated
I’d always remember
that on my face
they’re still together.

If you ask me to describe him,
where will I start?
I can’t possibly fathom my thoughts into words
and turn him into a description of art.

But I can try my best,
try to pick him apart.
Describe him in words,
perhaps in four different parts.

I’d start with volcanoes
for he’s just like one.
Where his touch feels like lava,
but surprisingly calm.

Up next are earthquakes,
since his heart is one.
It makes the world shake
causing me to run.

Third would be hurricanes,
since his mind is one.
He’s a drug I should abstain,
that makes me come undone.  

Last would be forests,
since he’s full of secrets.
Hiding and waiting,
to be uncovered by none.

He’s a mystery,
yet someone I trust.
He is impossible to describe,
and rarer than pixie dust.

I keep on running,
trying to find myself while falling.

I keep on falling,
trying to keep myself up by believing.

I keep on believing,
trying to find a way to tear those mental walls down.

I keep on trying,
trying not to burn my bridges down.

Touch me the way you touch books - lightly skimming your fingertips over the spine, opening the pages, gently leafing through them, using your fingers pointing to each word, and just memorising the way the parchment feels against your skin.

Hold me the way you do with an old fragile book, or a new book that you're afraid of damaging - gently holding the spine, afraid of opening me too wide and hurting me, taking in it's musky scent, and studying every word, committing it to memory.

But don't end me the way you do with books - putting it down gently, only picking it up to reread occasionally, and leaving it on the shelf to collect dust on it's cover.

Keep me by your side, like a diary, and write in me, telling me your truest feelings, terrified of losing me, for fear that others would uncover your darkest troubles.

Keep me by your side and always read me, read through your past entries, treasure me, and place all your trust in me - I'll never disappear, your memories, happiness, sorrow will always remain with me, and you will never have to worry about forgetting anything. You will always have me by your side.

But when the pages are filled up, don't stop - add in new pages, like you can with any diary. But I doubt I will ever be filled up because I've enough pages to last you a lifetime without any worries of me ending.

Collaboration between twitter user @xaequix and I*

I knew you were only passing by
and never had a thought to stay
After all, I was the one to chase you away

So as you moved on
and walked your way
I watched you slowly get lost
and scared in this thorn of a maze

Deceived by the fragrance of withered roses
you stumbled on without much focus.
Left turn, right turn, stumble and fall,
you were wounded right to the core.

Now when you re-tell your jokes
your smile once lively
is now empty

You pretended to chuckle
trying to hold on.
I gave you bandaids,
trying to pretend your scars were gone.

Lost was the boy who once held onto every word I said
for now he's stronger and
would only fall for her instead

Looking back to how you wasted

seconds

hours

months

did i realise
that you were the treasure instead
The one who painted my smiles
and showed me my selfish mistakes.