I want to feel like I did at the dawn of day
But dusk has long since been on its way
Night of broken strings I tug and I fray
Thinking on the warmth of sun in yesterday
It never will rise again, I will never be okay

Mayday, mayday I'm swinging low
Into waves and crashing to and fro
A cosmic painting of emotion
Just another drop in the ocean
Blue abounds around me down I go

Can't tell up from right down from wrong
I thrash and fight as I get tugged along
Currents pull me with promise of holy
Belief will be your light, can't fool me
Angler fish in the void you won't eat me

I will grow purple and bloated like the royals of old
Waterlogged in darkness I float into the cold
Decay of flesh leave the bone soon I will be dead
I will be gone from the abyss but I never will have fled
Boldly I resided in the night drowning in the cold

My legacy will fade away seconds after I am gone
Nothing last in the colors of the night I have flown
In the colorless sky, a colorless soul never to be found
My whole being frays and I become unwound
Day never comes, the only son has set out on his own

I want to rend this mind from within, cut it free
And leave it to expire with an ounce of clarity.

I want no skin left pure, I want it ripped until raw
If it would only cancel this human mistake that I abhor.

I want resentment to reside, to agitate these thoughts
As they race towards a destination that, for so long, I had fought.

the flesh
and bones of humanity
   strike the ground

pressed
distressed
   and broken

your brother's
   extinguishing breath
your sister's
   draining blood
there in crushing
   darkness
          
reverberate
   annihilate

vultures/drones circling
   overhead

this is how
heading home
   becomes a crime scene

At the time I laid my hands on the soil,
The sky had darken,
For God had turned away from me,
I thought my enemy was smitted,

But no the veil still remained,
I never refrain,
I always cry out,
But don’t worry the 9th hour will always free me...

striving, searching

meaning everywhere to behold
in a world hardly days old

diving, lurching

in a drowning sea of possibility
each drip a different plea

defending, upending

small bottles of water
preparing for the great slaughter

sending, contending

“mine is best!” i cry
and why?

when do we lose our imagination,
our curiosity and lust for life.

is it during the first heartbreak,
where our souls are left scattered in the remains of something beautifully haunting.

is it during the death of our loved ones,
holding hands, burning eyes, tight throats,
whispering our last hello and goodbye.

is it during the realization that our age comes finality,
generations before us falling to their knees,
back into the earth that bore our footsteps.

is it during the times that test our strength,
foreign words of sickness, a prognosis,
cancer burning in her chest, chased with poison to eradicate.

when do we lose everything,
our hearts built around familiarity, family,
the loving smiles and tears that brought us into this world.

i find it hard to sleep at night, as i toss and turn,
thoughts haunting the corridors of my mind -  
wondering where i lost my imagination,
my curiosity and lust for life.

having the last word
is rarely as sweet as they say
what is seen as triumph
goes out with a wheeze
no ends are tied
no resolutions reached
not even a goodbye
unfathomable that it will be
the last you hear from me
a limp excuse
of a parting gift
many poems written
in honor of you
meaning nothing now
unable to speak again
separation so quick
painless and agonizing
nary a farewell
a question
an answer
“alright, thank you”

Reveling in
Simple things
Loved before they're gone

Playing down
Entropy
For the moment
We should let it go

Aware of
All the things
Thing's I can't control

In finding
Evidence
Of another
Brighter type of dawn

Out here
Past the point
Never quite alone

Resonate
In bitter sweet
Little moments
In the undertow

Aware of
All the things
Thing's I can't control

In finding
Evidence
Of another
Brighter type of dawn

Vanity, a flippant curse of heart and mind
Conjoined as one, feeble as the end produced
The whole mass aches and shivers
What I tell myself, and what I know as truth
Are two separate things entirely

Humility, an apparition of soul and spirit
Unity at the cost of knowledge and it's pursuit
My thoughts elapse, and it all slips further
What I told myself before, in this exchange is forgotten
And I'm something else entirely

Morality, in arbitration, I ground myself clear
Wrought against the will of better self
Tooth and nail ground against my gaunt spine
All the words said before, robbed of meaning
In the context I find them, am I something else?

Are you a part of me?
Why can't I hear you
Deep inside these walls
Aimless, seizing
Are you through with me?
I cannot hear you
Can't feel your echo
Only creeping residue

I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.

It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.

This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.