All the leaves have fallen off,

All the branches are small.

The sky helps me stall,

Waiting to wish upon a star.


What color is the sky painted?

The color of your emotion is faded.

The bonfire is created,

The wind has your face painted.


Close your eyes,

Maybe we're falling.

Or is the wind just stalling?

The rain was falling as if I were bawling.


Tell me the color of your emotion.

Tell me if the rain is your devotion.

Is the bonfire burning,

Or am I only yearning?


Cause maybe i'm just falling,

Listening to your calling.

You're like a bonfire,

Unmatching with a wildfire.


So let me listen to your calling,

In the rain as if I were falling.

The bonfire is slowly fading,

Allow me to test what we created.

The fire burning in my heart
set the forest of possibilities ablaze—
And no love sprouts from a forest fire...
No matter it’s intentions.

Mangonadas for dinner,
or maybe just a snack.
Cooking isn’t my forte—
an unfortunate skill to lack.

But when I was a child,
my brother caught on fire.
He leaned against the stove
as if it were his pyre.

Falling to the floor,
he stopped and dropped and rolled—
and luckily for him
the fire was controlled.

I ran upstairs in terror!
I screamed and I cried!
I thought I’d lost my brother—
I thought that he would die.

Lifting up his shirt,
he showed his big, black scar—
Such a drastic contrast
I could see it from afar.

Anxiety came in,
and never did I learn
to cook myself dinner—
too afraid to burn…

I will soak my mind in kerosene
and strike the match with my teeth;
I will burn myself to the ground
a thousand times
before I will become
the worst of my natural beast

Only when there are no options
will the stinging vines trap me there
in the ditch of a cursed existence.
Only then will the mud at my feet
finally seize the rest of me
and feast on my warrior bones

we were nothing.... and i sat there and looked at you like you held the world in your hands, but still we were nothing....
when we looked at each other it was like worlds were colliding,
I could feel the invisible string tugging at us, making it so obvious.
I ached for you.... craved to know what you felt like, what it would feel like to know you and hold you.
you were holding me hostage with just your eyes.
and god, when we touched, just our hands.... it was fire, pure exotic fire, setting ablaze in our souls. telling us.... making it so clear.
how could we not have?
how could we have sat there in front of each other for so many weeks and not just plant the seed that was so ready to bloom, before it was even in the ground?
how could we have let this slip by so silently while crying to be released?

i remember the first time you touched my skin.... just our hands merely grazing, and i felt on fire.
knowing it would get more and more intense.
we kissed and it was like you were bringing me to life.
passion surged through my veins
i knew from that moment on i was addicted i needed your touch like lungs needed oxygen.
you were putting me in a choke hold.

I will spend eternity craving you.
longing for your lips pressed against mine.
with every touch you slowly brought me alive, igniting me like gas on a fire.
I exploded under your touch.
with every word and whisper.
I will die remembering how you made me feel.

Shadows of formless flames –
silhouettes piercing my vision, through their gaze
of a relentless light. A horn of fire in my hand, I feel the
gusts of smoke-laden, blowing away my once air
filled lungs.

Tender lips brush against my heart,
awakening the remnants of darkness and chill; my spirit
resembles a mere lump of coal. I am the embodiment of love,
inspired by someone else’s dream. I toss a handful of coins
into life's faulty machine—yet another excuse to invest in
faulty dreams.

Battles yield no victors, when wars try to be won
by other wars; love cannot nourish itself if both souls
stand with open arms; one must yield; to surrender —
for even in doing nothing, lies a semblance of peace.

Individual actions act as a lifeline for those around us—
who never know how to love. The flames have scorched
my flesh, leaving blisters, woven into pain— nurse me
with the balm of patience, as every old man confronts
the inevitability of death. The question that haunts us all
is,

when?