There’s a bottle of my mother’s love
Sitting on the kitchen table
It’s gone sour
It’s Sunday morning,
In the piercing comfort of a place
I once would’ve called home,
And the world woke up and walked out on me

The aftermath of July grows right outside my bedroom window
While I sit on a desolate strip of imaginary sand,
With my head in a water cooler
As significant as an ill-fated horsefly

if if only is
imaginary why not
stop playing the game

call me your imaginary
lover, miss pretend,
your concentrated fantasy,
a night that never ends,
the prettiest delusion
your mind ever made believe,
a pocket full of pixie dust,
your self-prescribed reprieve,
the sandman tried to warn you
not to get lost in a dream,
you took your wishful thoughts
and said, “they look real to me,”
your mind could only conceive
what it thought could never be,
felt better to be trapped there
than lost in reality,

under a pretend sky
in a myth you made believe,
it’s just imaginary you
and imaginary me.

I had that dream again
the one where I'm floating in space
stuck in a box that looks like where I sleep
I can't control my container's course
as it floats towards a black hole
I try to push my cell in another direction
but I just make the room spin
faster and faster
until I'm holding onto the floor for comfort
then I look over and see you
laying next to me
making me feel safe and warm
we kiss and cuddle
forgetting the spinning cosmos outside.

I know you're not real
you're an amalgamation of everyone I know
friends, family, suitors, lovers
you may not be real
but the safety you provide in my nightmare is
so I thank you for that
and for spending time with me
which is how I know you're not real
but I enjoy our nights together all the same.

I wake up at 1 a.m
There is nothing
This room is full of darkness
The light only leaves a little body for me,
for sure she is very ****, pure, and touches my eyes softly
The windows open
The wind blows my hair
I lit my last cigarette
This room is still full of darkness
I look around
I look outside from my window
The trees are too tall to see the tops
Too cold
Too quiet
Too heavy to every breath
This is the time that I love
When the night comes to my soul
I think this night is so scary,
But nothing is scarier than the thought itself,
It is so strong and real
Be ****!
I forget to buy cigarette stock for tomorrow
I **** myself
I **** nothing

It's funny how I always think of you,
as my sanctuary, someone I can run back to,
and tell that "I love you,"

But all there is a wonderful raconteur
that filled you with alluring words and beauty
All you are is a piece of art;
an illustration of imagination

I am head over heels for you
despite knowing how troublesome;
it is to me

In the end, all I can say--is that;
"She is my Wonderwall,"

Reaching my hands so hard
that my fingers bent
Counting days till happiness
And my finger lines are erased
I finally grasp a fading light
It’s a memory of olden times
Swinging in the blue rusted swing
In school’s playground, waiting
For my parents to pick me up
So I’ll show them my bruises
And they’ll cheer me up with the boxes of juices

But it’s not enough so I reach out again
I grasp a fading light
It’s a memory of happy times
Dancing in the monsoon rain
With my brothers in the flooding streets
With overflowing drains
And coming home to slip under the warm blanket
And pray for the rain to continue
But the school was never skipped, the sky always turned blue

However it’s not enough so I must reach out again
to grasp a fading light
It’s a memory of good ol’ times
Standing beneath the shady tree, cursing out names
Me with my rather competitive friends
Throwing jabs and insults but taking it in all fun and games
And the cruel school times diluted by the spirit
Of carelessness, nonchalance and adolescence
When the handholds of hours were actually for a minute

But why isn’t in enough, I can’t reach out anymore
My feet are twisted, my arms are broken,
I can’t do this no more
But I run, one step turned into a hundred
Breezing through all these fading lights
To find the one, the dearest to mine

Is it my mother kissing my forehead?
Is it the whisper that made a poet?
Or the family trips with my brothers and cousins?
Or the foolishness with friends without repercussions?
No they’re not them, not the movies nor my video games
I run, I run, I run but it’s all the same
I can’t find the one
Not the stories I created in my wandering head
Not the pleasures of life, nothing lies ahead

It’s not enough, I can’t reach out anymore
No amount of those fading lights
Can return back the fading lights in my eyes
As I lay bleeding in the middle of a road
I can’t reach out anymore
I can’t reach out anymore
I can’t anymore

I recall those days
I ran after the walking moon
Dreamt to be carried on the wings of a fairy
Gazing at every little thing with amazement
Admiring the wind's beautiful melody
Filled with curiosity and expectations
Fearlessly danced through the rain
With just one thought in mind
Being happy was my only goal
But as time goes by
The ageing crystal rain melts away
alongside my cherished childhood