In the third of the night that sent by fate
a fate never meant for me.
As you burn, I freeze,
shrouded in the blizzard of silence,
witnessing your lightning-quick decision.

Makes me stand in the heart of winter,
with void dwelling deep in my senses and breath,
I turn myself into a monument of lament and sorrow,
powerless, violated by the shadow of your touch.

Perhaps I seem calm and unshakable,
but my blood boils, giving birth to a disaster
a tornado of crimson rising in my chest,
spinning without direction, wild and untamed.

If only I had not severed these hands,
for whenever I crave to reach for you,
it would turn me into ruins of darkness,
covered in dust, with shadows nesting in the hollows of my ribcage.

Yet behind it all, a flicker still lingers.
Even if I keep severing my hands,
your warmth, your beauty will always be
the cascade of light I yearn for.
And if I rust away, this monument will stand,
a testament to your grace.

“Is that a girl?”
“I must be mistaken”
“His voice is what gives him away.”
“I can see that his stubble is just growing in”
“And his shoulders are broad”
“Keep that **** pervert away.”

school is frying my brain,
I can't keep up with the strain,
my neurology is down in the drain,
this workload drives me insane,
my backpack'll lend me a sprain,
and my posture will give me back pain,
these textbooks shall be my bane,
I lament this hail and rain,
of takeout and shirt stains,
of dreary weather, snow and rain,
I feel like I've been hit by a train,
every word I say is incoherent and inane,
so tell me, how do I stay sane?

Like the clouds
Running to be with the sun
Little did it know
That the very thing he desire will be his demise

And on his journey to the West,
On the pursuit of the light
So little he know,
That he'll be enveloped by
The eerie darkness of the night
Again

It's hard to turn the page to a new page
When our fav character is not there

No matter how brightly the stars shine
They can never outshine the moon's silvery glow
Yet no matter how long the moon shine,
She'll never have her own light
Under the silent veil of the night
Echoed with the songs of the waves
So freely as they flow
Over this wilted love inside my grave
Drunk from my own wine
Aching for a tale that never intertwined

Keeping the promise we never made,
Sitting behind this wall of regrets.
The day dot not last!

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
The dome protected me from harsh winds,
For the crude winds bring death to the candle.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
I'm getting weary of this dome,
Suffocating me to death and yet not,
Why chain my wings?
Why not clip it;cage the wind too.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
Being caged for almost 18 years
Since for a very long time, my wings chained,
I can't fly the highest nor the longest,
Neither can be the fastest nor the best.
But should it be for the best not to taste freedom?
Inside this dome, the day dot not last.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
The dark night that i so detest for its eerie,
Becomes the one who validate me.
It's silence, embracing me in her chilled breast.
In solitude
Giving me a bereft yet a tranquil feeling.
Perhaps this is the only freedom I get.

I am in the depths of memory, where we place our full trust –
By the spreading branches, shaking off their dust
Past reflections of fury, all the moments coming to pass,
As the stain of my smile is this visage in each glass
Pale lips still whisper, as these eyes devoid of light –
Wondering about myself; if my will is still bright.

Lord, at a journey's close, where will my spirit dwell,
Will my memory become the tales that they’ll softly tell,
In twilight's after glow, what echoes will I hear,
Be it love and laughter shared throughout the years?

Where time stands still, and you feel truly whole;
Is this truly a familiar place for one's lost soul?
Dying a mirror to reflect on all the moments, never lost –
Forged memories, of all the paths we’ve once crossed.

Letting my nightingale heart serenade away the night,
A melody that lingers, pure and bright.
With every note, it mourns the dance of death,
Though heavy hearts may bear the weight of pain,
Its song will rise, a balm for every strain.

there is a small fire,
a flickering light,
akin to a firefly lost
in the cold mists of night,
shining bright where
my joy should be.

there is a deep well,
a profound darkness,
akin to a cavern flooded
with frigid dark waves
echoing eternally
to the sound of loneliness.

there is a lackluster wreckage,
a broken trireme,
akin to a kingly one
that sailed out of Ithaca,
bleeding memories through
a gashing wound.

there is a rhyme,
a shattered syllable,
akin to a muffled shout
that reverberated throughout
those splintered blinks
of a forlorn childhood...