Desecrated and shredded
I walk the asphalt collecting the confetti that is my heart,
Hope the celebration landed you in higher spirits
And when the proof catches up to tingling limbs
You fall from your cloud,
To crash back to reality,
You are a horrible human.

Undo the locks,
Release these iron nails,
Keeping the deep dark at its gravely bay
Let my horns rip through flesh
Teeth sharpen into daggers,
Lips blacken like charcoal,
The skin reddens and hardens.

I warned,
With the subtly of a distant storm
Whispers and calmness in words gifted
Hoping you would spare your visage,
Yet you demanded recompense
In tithes, you could not afford,
And now the tide comes.

You once spoke of existence,
How it paralleled your inability to feel past indifference
As if I could ever conceptualize blabbering words
To make sense of the gibberish and absurd
The obscure way the fabrics of reality weave in and out,
Desolately decimating credible certainty
I am unfamiliar with the language
But too acquainted with the scars they leave.

So you sit, afar,
And know that the time wars on
Waning what was left of my sanity,
My life was brevity,
And as brief as it was, this breathing haiku
I know what I wish then I knew….

Hell is real,
And she looks just like you.

The Poems I Wasn’t Meant to Read

I found the page tucked in a book,
Its fold too neat, like care it took.
A poem, simple—sharp and cold,
A story inked but never told.

“I never loved him,” the first line read,
And something in me quietly bled.
Not anger, not a bitter tone—
Just a truth that stood there, all alone.

No fire, no fight—just frozen air,
A silence shaped like no one there.
Not a trace of me inside the frame,
Not even shadow tied to name.

Elsewhere, a hidden file—other notes,
One more poem that she wrote.
A man unknown, his presence far,
Drawn in lines too bold, too clear.

A laugh, a touch, a night of stars,
A place where nothing broke or scarred.
“So much between us left unsaid,”
“Now he’s married and a dad”
That final line just rang and bled.

And it was then I felt the sting—
Not just of him, but everything.
The weight of all we never voiced,
Of moments passed, of silent choice.

The dreams we named but never chased,
The goals that time and fear erased.
The plans we whispered half-awake,
Too fragile for the light to take.

The things we needed, never asked,
Desires buried, faces masked.
The nights we held but didn’t feel,
The love we wanted to be real.

And maybe that’s the cruelest cut—
Not lies, not lust, not breaking trust—
But words we held and never freed,
And poems I was never meant to read.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

You live between the space
of my fingers,
the caress between my lips.

I only remember when I forget.

Like last night
I thought of you, and it felt like
you were there.

Suddenly, my hands felt like yours
Were there.

Creep is such a bad word,
But there is no other way
to describe it.
I swear I was not thinking about you
only to realize that I was.

And then, I felt the familiar weight of your presence.

You live between the space of my thoughts,
somewhere that's not a dream
but also not just a memory.

When I close my eyes,
you are there,
and I question if you're thinking of me.

Every time I think
and I realize it—
you disappear.

But the weight
the weight of you
I'll never forget.

I only remember when I forget

The wheel spins, the bets are laid,
A game of hearts, a love parade.
They place their chips on numbers bright,
The ones with charm, the ones with might.

The ball of fate will roll and land,
On winning hands, the ones they planned.
No wager placed on broken dreams,
No hope for those with lesser means.

Their eyes chase red, their hearts want black,
But never green, no turning back.
A riskless game, they play so tight,
They only love what shines in light.

Yet here I stand, a number cold,
Unmarked, unplayed, a story old.
A silent slot, a wasted spin,
No luck, no love—how could I win?

The burden’s mine, this truth I bear,
That fate won’t stop, it doesn’t care.
The ball will rest where wishes gleam,
Not where the nameless dare to dream.

Chivalry Never Dies (Or So They Say)

Chivalry, they said, would never die,
Yet I, the savior of the deceased, know why.
Once alive, vibrant, and whole,
He held the weight of my faltering soul.

We laughed, we bantered, we shared the days,
He soothed my doubts and cleared my haze.
In times of anguish, he'd always appear,
A steadfast presence to quiet my fear.

But I was blind, so lost in my needs,
I never noticed his silent pleas.
He gave and gave till he was no more,
A shadow walking, his spirit sore.

A living carcass, drained and spent,
Yet never a word of his discontent.
I saw him crumble, day by day,
A residue of light that faded away.

I tried to mend, I tried to care,
But his burden grew too great to bear.
So I closed the door to what once was,
To save myself from breaking because—

Though he returned, his light renewed,
I know his glow will soon subdue.
For this Chivalry is long since gone,
A fleeting star before the dawn.

"See you on the other side," I sigh,
For even legends must say goodbye.

At dawn's first blush, where shadows softly sway,  
Upon this silent shore, my heart lays bare.  
The waves confess their secrets in the gray,  
Whispering your name within the morning air.

The sun ascends in streaks of gold and flame,  
Where once we walked, now only gulls take flight.  
Their fleeting traces washed away, no claim,  
Like echoes of your touch within the light.

As dawn dispels the lingering cloak of night,  
A tender beam of hope pierces my lone gaze.  
In this vast stretch, where solitude feels right,  
Your silhouette remains in dawn's embrace.