you seem like a complete stranger
when i find you at your most vulnerable
it's like i'm looking through eyes
dark, vast, unending,
that everything that's far behind your eyelids
seems so distant

when you're at your worst
and i'm struggling to find
the sense of familiarity;
my footsteps become cautious
every movement becomes uneasy
i would hold you with shaking hands

but i wouldn't mind
i would be here
and keep you close
and tell you to breathe
and offer myself to be your anchor
feel my heart against yours,

for even the stars themselves collapse sometimes.

army green sweater
skin as frisky as leather
is there a feeling any better
than touching our thighs together?

friction and depicting
confusion from intrusion
i heard you write about me,
is that quite an assumption?

in moments gazes would meet;
masks of ice, to your eyes would shield —
is it to keep you from the seething heat
from the pits of my psyche?

with your coffee left too long in the open,
all you held was your soul and a pen.
struggling to find words to describe your sentiment
of feelings discerned with eyes so sunken.

i will always know you
as the boy from across my seat
with hands like fire
a touch so electrifying
rekindling every spark
that as died within me

it has always been you
with a smile so beaming
one that could chase away
clouds of misery
with broadest shoulders
on which my agony is carried

yet out of all the things
i always knew you for
it is your constant presence
that never seemed to remain
though your sunshine
would break away the rain,
it was always fleeting.
it was always in vain.

this feeling of subtle doubt
has resided with me now
has it always been you
or have i always been me
who wanted to keep to myself
the flames within your palms.

to think there was a time
flowers would bloom from where i walked
adorning trails towards my destination
marks of grace to which eyes would follow
petals continue to grow, unperturbed —

now, my footsteps just abide
within the corner of their keen eyes,
though blossoms i hastily step on
i continue each defiant stride,
weary knees begging to arrive home
enduring a journey from the path so tedious
i no longer leave traces behind
on asphalt, dismal and porous.

i'd rather fuel the fantasy of having you close
than having to deal with the smoke when you leave
you, existing to set my heart ablaze;
me, trying to put out the fire
by standing under the rain.

you have become
an essential part of my body
the part that's flowing with endless
mishap and poetry
the kind that keeps me awake
keeps my nerves on every edge
and my heart beating
way out of time

the kind that i need a dose of
every single morning
enough so that
the bitterness in me
is tamed down
by your love and cups of milk.
it completes me,
it courses through my veins

and i'm afraid that i might need you
too much that it's unhealthy.

like wallflowers growing peacefully,
with asthenic transparency
i perceive everything with eyes so weary
yet pick up the little things even angels cannot see.
leaping from star to star,
yet never knowing where to land,
traveling to places unfamiliar  
casting shadows on every space at hand.

i can't help but wonder how it would feel to exist
with a presence that would linger,
one whose souls would reminisce,
where my voice would echo;
not as a croak of sullen desperation
but a sound that would cut through
the haze of hopelessness.

i would begin to think about the probability
of my misguided existence,

invisible, but sees everything;
no flesh and bone, but is hurting.

i yearn for destruction
upon the social construct that states
that love is always associated
with flowers and sunny days.
love has barely brought about
bright colors and clear skies-
all it's left me is a chaotic head
and an ear that's deaf to lies.

it is of blood red and unexpected,
in an ocean of sorrow and abhorrence
it is an illusion of improbability
in a world of utter blandness

trusting the waves to carry you out
despite being wounded in every way,
never knowing that the sharks themselves
were the ones who once promised to stay.

i think it’s best, when the sharks come by,
to just keep a supply of recollections
and a bottle of water for when the tears dry
when i swim right back to shore.

‘it’s always nighttime in prison’
they tied their feet together;
every vowel lives on
until the morning sun hithers

pages thrown to sea,
the deep blue churns recklessly
their hearts are the coldest stones
they have thrown right at me.

he would carry on his back
a piece of the burning sun
and after the ink runs out
would he escape and run

his brothers will never wait
inscriptions he made will eventually fade
horror rots upon the walls of his brain
but poetry will keep him sane.