As they say
Words fall short to describe experiences.
Photographs are still pixels away
From being a reflection
Of one's memory -
A refracted reflection,
Of the experience itself.
So what about hopes
To capture, treasure memories for this lifetime?
What about people
Who love to imagine,
And spend their lives
Living on memories
Of those imagined sights,
Scenes, smells and people?

Experiences.
It's something undergone,
Planned and unexpectedly done.
Perhaps, an element of life.

Experiences.
Either positive or negative
It brings mistakes and lessons
Perhaps, an essence of life.

Experiences.
Shared or not
It shows the real you.
Perhaps, a story of your life.

Experiences.
It will always be a subject.
Undergone by all, all of ages.
Perhaps, the good thing 'bout life.

I wish to undo all the things I've done
To turn back time
I wish some things didn't happen
But,could I still rewind it and change?

There were things that made me happy
But, mostly were tragic and sad
It all happened unexpectedly
But, could I still rewind it and change?

There will always be situations in our life,
Situations we never thought could happen
But, still it happened to us.
But, could we still rewind it and change?

Truthfully, things done can't be undone.
We couldn't rewind it
But, we have the chance to change it.
*Change it and learn from it.

nights like these I think about all the people I don't know
no time is consumed the way mine is as I sit very still and imagine someone
halfway across the world sitting as still as me
sometimes I wonder if some person in china just took the same breath as me
thought the same thought as me
only, in her native tongue
is there a person out there who looks exactly like me?
I have this extreme addiction of needing to be connected to strangers
I'll be driving past someone halted at a red light
and I think
oh my god, I've most likely never met that person but I just glimpsed them
and they just glimpsed me
and for one quick second we /existed/ to each other
that person existed and was on my mind
if I hadn't been driving at that exact moment, quite possibly
I never would have known that there WAS a driver
how crazy is that?
and sometimes I people watch
and I don't know if it's my own mental block or if I'm just beyond weird
but I imagine their lives and how they are as a person;
it's like I make people have tones like music or wine or a conversation would
and I can't fathom their minds, fears, stories, families, paths, selves
life is so tough for me to drag myself through, and yet maybe someone else
with completely different circumstances and experiences from me
is feeling the same way
or maybe they aren't
maybe there are people out there who don't feel this way
I'd like to meet them, I'd like to meet all of them
even if I were to despise their choices or maybe they disrespected me
who cares?
they existed to me
and I cannot figure out why  
but the simple knowledge of that feeds my soul intensely

There’s vengeance gnashing its teeth
The anger, blindfolded,  
Flagellates at my insides
Churning out a fresh helping
Of supine decay,
Feeding its crippled existence.

I shrink at the sight
Of fingers pointing at me
To then direct wobbly steps  
Of melting courage
To be able to peer at
The faces behind
The exclamations
Of accusations aimed at me.
Till I bump against a mirror,
That, I had thought to be a window.

My palms scramble for strength
Clamped on to the mirror
As I slip on to the floor
I hope the aches will
Numb me into sleep,
Till I wake up
To fidgeting arms and feet,
As the glass ceiling above shatters
To reveal in mockery
A mirrored ceiling right above,
Which I had thought to be the sky
Before I had entered the room.

part i

Sardine in a cardboard box
you cradle me in your arms.
Your voice burns the cold
Winter in my mind.

I feel you caress again:
I rest my eyes
Your arms locked in mine,
minutes perfect
time stops.

We leap forward
into an final kiss.
We leave the place behind.

Nights adventurers
wandering through
streets, half alive
half dead
we never sleep.

Part ii

I hoped sunday would never come
we depart;
we wait for the train.
seven, eight, nine
both insane.
Two swollen eyes,
twp shaking limbs,
a sore head:
t-shirt soaked in *****:
cider mingled in cigarette
stains...
That awful, awkward
wait to Leicester.
We stare in silence:
we say no more.

I see my reflection
she grasps my hands.
The water ***** deeper:
drags me down.

I go under.

The world is a distorted chasm
  surrounded by shadows
  creeping around
    every
     corner.

Roads slide into the night
  with no light.

Gardens decorated with
false fiery bulbs.

Curtains camouflage the windows:
chimney lights up
loud load.

Red handed.
They blow out.