It was ringing in my ear
I don't understand
The room
Emptying thoughts into the crevices of the mind
Thinking
Thinking
I dip my toes under the sheets and

She is a paradox
dead under the wholesome demeanor of honesty, beauty, and creativity
I find her sometimes underneath my darkest fears crawling up my throat
to express a voice of her own
I lock her in a prison of my own muffled screams
when no one is looking, I feed her one more rumor and insecurity
she is insatiable and I have lost my balance
The broken key is lodged in my throat and I am drowning in space
She is the paradox, that is me

I'm scared, lost, and tumbling
Tripping on my shoes that were never tied
Walking blind.
Bollywood movies flickering,
Warm greeting during Eid, putting on my best
The innocence of not knowing what was ahead but still swimming into uncharted waters  

The times we ran past the security guards wearing the shoes of adolescence
how we sung high voices, breaking the silence and laughing away the drowned voices and the dead that were never able to cling to us
the colors got burned but the door was still colored against the tree of stupidity; in between the houses we walked through old trash and a bare bed to look back at our acts of defiance
We got high on the words we slurred that meant friendship to us
Walking home everyday until the point where we had to part ways at Woodhaven Boulevard

Now, now, now I hate that word
I'm the only one walking alone; cracked pavements, and potholes steer me from what was always the path to fantasy and the youth
I'm growing older, and older and I know
The key is slipping from sweaty finger tips and I have to choose the right door
My mind has gotten sober from the future in my head to the reality that stops me with its red light
Time is so small and I haven't still found faith and I'm searching walking back to the same intersection, empty handed but finding scathed pennies and hungry dreams greet the soles of my torn shoes
People will leave me and I can't stop them

Why, why, why
Did I hit the walls that were so far apart but now make a square around me pushing and jamming me against the bricks
I want to see past the mist and know the truth
Is it written on my palms or held in my hands where I can clutch it or let go of it

Slowly faces of ordinary are falling under 6 feet and I have to carry the dirt on my back and remember there is a future
A future I'm scared of welcoming
and I get lost and lost in my own fears and swallowing the guilt of not believing and falling to honey dreams only waiting to be stung by a bee
The bee dies
Leaving me lost at Woodhaven Boulevard

Sometimes I can't find words to say
they get lost in the passage of thoughts, and imagination
its like I ****** on a lemon
the sour details are pushed to the pit of the darkest hole
But someway, somehow I need to tell you
My lips are betraying you
I need to rush it out of me
So it feels less like a disease
I have cancer.

There is a room.
Dark red walls.
Priceless sofas.
Expensive chandeliers.
There is a gun nestled in the arm of a sofa.
There is a cigarette dying on an ash tray.
The lights flicker on and off.
Too quiet.
The man comes in the room.
The girl is waiting.
She is wearing her pale grey dress.
He takes the gun.
And shoots her in the head.
Everything is normal again.

Sarcasm, the only language I speak, to hide my flaws.

I live in the past to remember the inked flaws

The words, painted on my face, but blind to everyone.

The paper is empty
blank, white, fragile
But the city is impossible to color
Each part of this picture requires specific, individualism
the smell of nuts sold in the small vendor carts
The words 5th Ave written on a street sign
but pronounced like its on a plaque
The rush of hot air when the train rushes away
warming you on days nature places her cold, bitter burden over you
Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens
heard on the news too often
No need to film movies here,
when the movie is the one we are in, and the wounds are real
Staten Island, forgotten most times
Hazy and far, isolated from everyone
And then there's Manhattan
clean streets but flawed history in the sidewalk

There's too much going on
I still don't know what to write
In this bustling city
A pen is not enough
So I leave my paper empty and let the blankness tell the story of
New York

The first time it happened, I was 12. Small hint of desperation reeked from the mouth of tainted white lies. The hushed voices of angels welcoming God to this play. Slick grey stains written on the pavement tracing a skyline littered with empty hate no one was to blame for. He went for the face and yelled, “You lying, cheating, *****!” The sting vibrated and her voice yelled words falling from a pistol. The sad facade of sanity slipped away and the forbidden fruit fell. When “enough” was reaching its limits he delivered the last blow, sent the teary face belonging to mum across the stripped walls. The rag doll silhouette fell and all I heard was the thunder hit the ground, it started raining and my tears crumbled the grey skyline.
The second time it happened I was 15. My brother, he died. Sick ******* didn't even try to say goodbye, left with the last blink and never opened his eyes. Unfortunately, there weren't enough pills labeled, “Stress Relief when Your Mum is Killed by Loving Daddy,” to relieve the malignant pain. The little clouds in his head got heavy with acid rain; it was time for the powder white, sugar rush, ******* to eat away his mind. Drugs or “drugs” either way too much of an overdose; all misguided directions when he was birthed. Each pill wasn't closer to hell he told me. He was floating on his own cloud to catch God and ask his passage to hell to see if it was better than his current “paradise.” My father didn't care, his principle method, supply and demand. More pills, more bills. I prayed everyday to this God, one day the father would breathe one last breath of oxygen and stop the pollution. However, the coin flipped and it was my brother who left me with empty pill bottles.
The third time. There was no third time. I didn't stomach this feeling well, like having a gallon of water on an empty stomach. This feeling, I don’t know, I don’t know what to call it. I put the bullet to his head trigger set. We breathe the same air of memories, drink my mother’s homemade bottle of liquor each sip bitter than the first. My brother’s medications hit our noses; a dose of reality doesn't mix well with sanity. The little pistol in my hand, the pistol I earned, I can taste and feel the drizzle on the pavement the smell of metal and rain thickens the fog in my head. I close my eyes, shoot.
Silence.
I see the thick crimson, blood molested by the devils, he is put to bed.
This is when I find my sanity.

Built from emptiness
So toxic it can ****
Will you survive
this hell?

The crawling spiders follow me everyday
And if I were to tell you the inaudible words
They would simply fall to the ground
Like the particles of dust the sun's rays try to make visible
You would crush the consonants and vowels in one swift step
With the stilettos you love too much
You bare the pain it brings from walking through peoples' misery
It was my fault, but she would tell you different
Maybe I was really scared of living and not dying
I awaited the news, the November day
Clouding my judgement with chilly leaves tainted red
The news came 7 minutes after admittance at the hospital
It took 12 minutes for the ambulance to come
and 6 seconds for the accident to happen
I couldn't think straight my ears too blurry to capture the words in a place of antiseptic smell
They were trying to clear away the sickness the death but fell short when it hit the head
It takes longer to save lives then **** them
And I was the murderer, I was trying to save them both
Her emerald green eyes and the smirk that are permanent in my eyes
I never got to see the child, boy or girl
Waiting for the world but I closed all chances
The news penetrated my body and I was on the floor
Asking for a God to take me too
But this was my penance and I was left alone
Premature, her death too premature
I walk the same path
Your stilettos are getting longer in inches
The visibility is clearer in your eyes
The drunken pain and emotion
My job is done here.