A wall clock, slowly ticking on the side table
A ceiling fan, hurling with the lowest speed setting
A sudden breeze, rushing in through the windows
tiny LED lights, like ghosts illuminating in the pitch black night
All these sounds, stirring in the air
The screeching of cars outside
And rustling of nearby trees
A heart thumping, calm, inside a body on the bed
Sudden thoughts, saddening and exciting
The duality of the melancholic mind
A face looking up, staring at nothing but darkness, thinking
"Will I see the morning?"

You should be here with me
My heart is as empty as the side of the bed that you used to sleep on
And my life's crashing harder than the waves on the shore like when you first kissed me
And I'm falling harder and faster into loneliness than I was when I fell for you
And I know there's no stopping this
But you should be next to me
Kissing each freckle on my arm and tracing "I love you" into my palm because each letter deserved it's own recognition for it made up a larger picture
And you should be next to me
With my head leaning onto the very shoulder I spent entire nights crying into
You should be beside me
But I guess this was all besides the point
And now you're next in line for a new girl
I just wish you would give me a next chance

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

It shakes. Lives are lost. Cultural history is all in rubbles.

It shakes. There's nowhere to run.

It shakes. Leaves our minds and bodies shaking in fear.

Hope this passes soon.

Pray for Nepal.

Ode to our empty abyss.
Why must God bless
That torn mistress.
One man's treasure
Is another man's forever.
Indisposed, he can still
Taste the musk on her lips.
Holding all this hate inside,
I surely will not live long.
You can keep forever,
And I will swim in darkness
Undressed, lonely, and deprived.
I will continue indefinitely
Searching for light until
I combust into shards of plasma.
Just when I become bright enough,
All I see is fire,
And the ashes of the dead.
These horrid depictions of mutilation.
Drowning in these bloodied waters.
In a day and age where we live till 80,
But it will take twice as long
To find anything steady.
Forever stuck in my head.
I'm ready.