You crafted a shrine for me,

adorned me with wings,

elevated and sacred, untouched by your secrets.

Your last chance at redemption,

a sanctuary where you hid from yourself.

Your perfect lie—

an illusion of salvation.

Once shattered, your adoration

twisted into disdain.

The hand that shaped my wings,

became the force that broke them.

And now, you watch me fall

from the heights you once placed me upon.


Yet I release you, I forgive you,

Love, a quiet thread that ties us still,

A spark woven into the fabric of time,

Never truly gone, but transformed,

gently fading

into the glow of what we were.

I return sometimes to those moments,

not with longing, but with reverence—

like that stolen kiss—

unexpected, breathless,

the words "I love you" spilling from me,

uncontainable, truthful,

your arms, holding me,

an electric hum between us.



This is how I'll hold us—

in the warmth of what we were,

not in the sorrow that followed.

When you remember me,

let it be the quiet depth of my love that remains,

the warmth of my hand resting softly on your

cheek,

the steady, unwavering gaze that held you,

unchanged by time.

Let that be what stays with you—

not the deafening silence that followed,

not the weight of what we lost,

but the light that we held, even just for a moment,

so close to perfect but fragile.

Not perfect enough.

oh these mirrors lie
they give me false hope and I fly
people around me always judge
I don’t know why they have this grudge
among hair too short, nose too long
her compliment felt like a song
my stupid heart mistook it for love
now I carry my broken heart in a glove
before I was just an ugly person
now am still ugly but an unloved version
oh these mirrors never lied
am realising this after everything died
I should have accepted me first
even though I was the worst
mirrors never lied
And now I have died

i came across this post today—
it asked me if i wondered
what would be the best place to leave my heart—
even if it's bits and pieces, like shells in the sand.

made a list for my own peace,
but here to share it, if you seek to leave a piece
of your own:

the sea, people claim, carries the tranquil
and provides the cool;

the empty temples and churches,
where your heart prays and reluctantly admits;

graveyards at night,
protected by those who left their own behind.

libraries and dusty old bookstores,
in between the pages and caskets of the used shores.

sun-dappled shades of yellow, green, and orange—
once settled, the purples and pinks of the similar hues.

gardens of thorns and flowers,
the sleeves of your last lover;
knots of the willow trees,
in winter blues and heated blooms,
risky texts during the night,
with strangers i met online,
in midst of late monsoon showers,
not to miss out the midnight hours.

a few bits i leave
in the misty mornings of the early summer,
the drenched evenings of the spring shimmer.

the company of my closest companions—
in the fur of a cat,
the nip of a bunny,
the smile of a pup,
sometimes in a sunset,
in the lush green of the forests,
often in the foil of the autumn trees.

mostly on my bed,
in my tear-filled, forsaken pillow,
and against the one i sleep so dearly.
plushies and teddies,
keepsakes of childhood memories.

with all those i've met so far,
and cookie crumbles at the footstep of my life—
for those who are welcome
and those who are not.

i have left, and leave, a lot more pieces.
i wonder if my heart is a cake-a-piece.

I have your voicemails on repeat,
To hear you say “I love you” again.
You said that you loved me, and I believed you.
You tell me you’re excited to see me.
You tell me how much you miss me,
How you’re leaving Thursday night free for a date.

Did you know then, that you’d leave me behind?

Because your voice still sounds like it’s mine.

What peace exists at the bottom of an empty bottle?

The torment of the mind only silenced,

quietly growing,

pressing against the walls you built.

I'm still tracing the outline of what we were,

still searching for myself in the wreckage of us.

I once made a home in your sorrow,

and now, without it,

I don't know where I belong.

In dreams, I bear your sorrow, grasping for the

moments you escape your demons.

Release me from this endless ache—

find the strength to let go.

My soul will not rest

until you are at peace.

I wait for you still,

hoping you can heal enough

to set me free, and rise beyond the grip of this

endless night.


Time slipped away as I watched you spiral,

and I needed to reach you, to speak, to be heard

but you were only there in fragments—

the version of you clouded by liquor,

a hollowed shell, shrinking deeper into your

shame.

You pushed me away,

the distance growing,

until I became a stranger.

You left me no choice,

no escape but to walk away.

You gave me only one option:

leave, or be consumed

by the slow, painful erosion of you.

She was once the ink of poems.
Now, she is the blot that bleeds
Through every page I try to keep clean.
A mirror I simply cannot trust;
As its fragile glass that always screams when held.
I bear the weight of two homes.

I recline in a chair of brittle oak,
Fashioned from fragments of lost endeavor.
Cloaked in silence, the air itself awoke,
Bearing whispers, dust-bound forever.

His hands no longer chart unknown seas,
The maps of youth long frayed and worn.
Quiet tomes rest like sleeping trees,
Pages hushed in binding shorn.

Through glass, dim twilight bleeds regret,
Ivory panes painted pale with grief.
Garments draped in sorrows set,
Each clasp marks memories brief.

Hours drift, strangers to his face,
Dust spins unsure, in circles slow.
Garbed in remnants of lost grace,
In one exhausted body.
A pair of shoes that never rest.
A heart that negotiates treaties
With broken logic and manic thunder,
Just to keep the child from hearing
How close the sky is to falling.

She does not know of gratitude.
Only gravity.
She does not fold laundry;
She folds reality
To fit her comfort,
While I bleed time into corners,
Hoping peace grows like moss
Where no light reaches.

And Still…
I do NOT break.

1st gust
drowning puddles with chimes
underneath
the hem of a guava tree
when i am robbed
of choruses
sung by the rain

with the coast
comes warm white sands
but never the taste
of salt on the ground
packed in like
grandma’s sweaters
permeates the smell of
freshly cut skin

i am fond
of bruising peaches;
no longer as
youthful as they
used to be.
expired hearts;
they are only fresh
for a week

how do i keep warm
the memory of you?
do i stash it away
in the arms of a girl
ready to be birthed
into a world
too desolate for its own

i watched the hope
crumble before my eyes
a stale concrete prison
i pushed my way out
just to see you
being burned alive
and i could not
weep, nor
could i cry

left me
to die in a moat;
acrylic coffin
meant to be
a gift for someone
happier than me
and watch my
expiration date
at my end, join me

you watched my
petals wither away
robbing me of
that which
i first loved
because i missed
you

i wish
i could
keep you
warm

her hair was dark , like the night
Of cloudless skies and starry nights;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Met her eyes and stared right through;
i saw what she wanted
so i let her go, to cry to the heavens above
to Which heaven day denies.