something beautiful
a meeting, a night of
talking in whispered
tones, "I love you"
said like a mantra,
you know it was what
I needed to hear,
but you meant it.

There's something...
infinitely beautiful,
dancing, delicately,
on pulled threads,
across nimble fingers:

the cat's cradle,
between emotional agony,
and mental silence.  

When every tear, is at last, exhausted...
when your lungs, wheeze, fluidly,
from helpless overexertion,
and, gasping for breath,
you turn your cheek, for air,
your pillow:
now, a man-made lake...

the numbness... suffuses,
your entire being.

Loud suffering, falls silent.
Red-rimmed eyes,
become too swollen,
to examine their own pain.

The nothingness blankets you,
in its warmest embrace.
You become swaddled; baby-soft, again,
yet plated, in auric detachment.

...Nothing, can touch me,
nothing,
can inform, my placid heart,
to beat.

in this moment,
I am free, of its emotional trappings.
its threads, can't pin me;
its pull, can't drag me down.

My lips,
shape a smile,
but it only serves, to show...
that it no longer hurts,
to stretch a wooden bridge,
across the gaping void.

...but even so... it's just a band-aid.

It won't fix, what's broken,
and the blood,
will seep through,
the gauze, again.
The pain, will return;
it'll grow knuckles,
that form fists,
which wield knives.

But, for now...
I lay myself, to rest...
blunted, mummified,
in a buzzing swathe,
of pristine, white.........





silence

bare, a beast of all sorts,
the kind, unknown, unnamed,
desire, perhaps, or even the want.

peeling back layers upon layers,
haunting like venom dressed in velvet,
freaky, misdirected, and led upon.

devotion and lust drink from the same glass,
the champagne poured in by the hands that sculpted brass
into silver,
now mistaken for diamond shine
razor sharp, pricking at the slightest touch,
reaching all the way behind to grasp
the thin fiber of reality that separates.

distance barely existing,
trembling hands trying to pull away the curtains
that hide behind the mesh covering the eyes—

like silk over barbed wire,
perfume resembling the stench of blood,
metallic, almost glittering upon a caress.

curling upon the sheets like smoke in a fire grate,
in spirit, in being, in a soul tie so strong,
the red string pulled taut—

circling the fingers, going all the way up the arm,
slithering and coiling like a snake around the neck,
possession lacking in need.

war report disguised as a love note,
signed in lip stain.

warmth where the danger lives,
close to the flames that can destroy whole,
turned into ash, not mere blackened soot—

violet seize amidst grey sample.

rotten, wholly spoilt,
always a dance,
circling around, close—oh so close,
yet so far.

the truth about forever,
which exists in eternity,
for the while the self survives—

cherry-soaked bodies
living below the ransacked lair.
unspoken, the eyes connect,
few faded visions filled with anomalies,

and a step further up ahead.

grip loose, just way too loose,
accept the chances at running,
escaping right after the wisp of contact—

entangled fingers slipping as the light dims,
furthermore, the radio in the very corner
plays the same track from the first ever night—

with or without you,
don’t touch—don’t glance, don’t do.

torn between staying to take away the soul
or leave behind a heart wrapped in a ribbon.

the blackening veins, cinematic mugshot,
before ties around the wrists and eyes up at the skies—

give up—give up—breathe in, let be.

+92, look at me—do you hear it too?
the sound of bells, calling upon all the wanderers,
the bare ones, yet to hold any other.

too generic, exceptionally quiet,
concentric circles of the eyes,
tired of novocaine—

about all that you don’t see,
put the **** away.

solely a white, white lie,
blazing remembral speaks in starlight.

numbing ache around where the fingerprints remain,
tunnel vision, staring right at you,
at the way you move.

the last ticket, the last trip—
no turning back.

dripping cocoa down, round from the ceiling,
the mirrors speaking monstrosity,
reflections sharing a breath—

en route, in the midst of almost,
leaving behind all casualties,

end this trip—
while going down and low,
and back into the graves where we slipped out from.

a book titled the comfort book
carries silver-tongued truths disguised as preachings offering some peace.
turns out reading what's already known
is like seeing the result on paper—
having exclaimed, i won't believe unless it's shown.

can i slip in, as a matter of fact,
the moon is suing me for emotional damage
and all the pressure i've brought upon it, forthwith, with immediate effect?

she left a letter this morning while leaving
to hide in her contrary's presence—
a cease and desist nailed to the door of my self.
she claimed i'd stared too long,
longingly enough she’d started to feel bare,
and seen me stark naked as i whispered my dire lies to the night air.
she felt used. perhaps i committed a crime.
so i admitted, and asked for apologies.

except i was sent a summon,
to present myself and the plead-not-guilty note.
the stars—she put as the jury,
the night sky her lawyer,
the sun as the judge—he held fury.

i presented myself, humor disguising my truth,
but when they brought the memories to the witness box,
i knew i was done for—eloquently misjudged and overlooked.

had to take an oath,
but they lied under it even.
promised nothing was wrong.
i saw right through their plotting.

i aimed for the time reversing,
pleading guilty, admitting innocence.
my shadow whispered secrets i haven't lived yet—
and they brought her to cross-examine:
no one else but my imaginary friend.

she was mad.
mad for being forgotten and left.

so i did the next best thing:
tore my skin, let her scavenge through the inside.
she felt for the way my veins pulsed,
and admitted i was right.
speaking the truth, your honor,
i smiled at the moon,
but felt guilty for not seeing it sooner.

the universe had glitched—
whenever i cried, it glitched,
sent down a star to wipe my eyes dry.
in doing so, the stars suffered,
and the moon, without her supporters, lost her glimmer.
she lost her friends, as i lost my own.
and no, she wasn’t angry—
just a bit tensed, for she'd seen what happened to my hope.

the lawsuit resulted in me being freed.
i stood up, walked over, and gave her a tight hug—
the trial of chaos, and of giving life to non-existent hope.

she handed me the book of comfort,
written in white on a black page.
it glistened.
the often misplaced truths hide in the bright.
so accept them as you may—
they could be sour, bitter, expired to taste,
but breathing in the venom is one way to make sure
you don’t repeat the same mistakes.

and so this was my tale,
held in the celestial court.
i missed everything—except that i was forlorn, not too long ago.
i still sit at nights and stare at her,
but this time, she lends her own shoulder.
the stars scribble it down:
surrealism meets emotional rundown.

ominous as though it might seem,
this fits like a verdict-stamped
"not guilty" in my very being.

born into a family,
where resolve meant escape,
through silence or withdrawal.

the distance between love and pain,
a retreat from what we couldn’t face.

raised in the cold embrace of unspoken words,
where hearts were shields,
and love was buried beneath layers of pride.

they veiled their emotions,
masked in stoic faces,
refusing to show the ache that ran deep.

the flower they nurtured,
once bright, once tender,
pushed aside by their own selfishness and greed.

each petal lost to neglect,
each thorn sharp with their disregard.

the love they could not give
left a void where warmth should have been.

feelings, cold as ice,
the flower frosted over,
but inside, deep within its trembling heart,
it bore the weight of every feeling that they could never speak
and every tear they never shed.

within that fragile bloom,
i felt it all.
their anger, their sorrow,
their fear, their joy,
and the overwhelming silence
that drowned out any chance of peace.

i became the keeper of their unspoken words,
the one who felt everything they could not.
the weight of their unsaid love,
the burden of their unshared grief,
all carried in a heart too full,
too overwhelmed by emotion.

and though I learned to hold it all,
this tangled web of feelings,
i became a vessel,
overflowing,
caught between the unspoken coldness
and the warmth I longed to give.

I call and I text, I hope and I pray,
Because there’s no one left, no one here to stay.
You’re busy with friends and I’m done saying please
I knew it was coming, the sound of the bees

You’ve climbed so high while I’m below
And you start to hear the bees temptation in the echo
I sit here and write, while you sit and laugh,
Stuck thinking of times when my heart wasn’t half.

I still remember when honey wasn’t scarce,
When I wasn’t left alone, caught in despair.
When others stripped ur pollen, and the garden bare
I had other flowers with plenty to share.

Flowers so elegant so white and crisp
It only lasted a while- a while of bliss
No
And though honey is sweet and bees are brave
They sting when scared, leaving them in the grave
But when desperation meets temptation ur left with our expiration
So now you’re up there with bees fitting in seamlessly

And so should I because flowers are overrated
Let my heart feel- no longer sedated

And though you were my only flower,
I’m not gonna cower
I don’t call or text nor hope or pray
there’s no one left, no one here to stay.