someone's home
no light, just a forlorn shining from the windows.
inaudible music plays somewhere,
it's so loud yet so silent.
it rains inside on a yet so sunny day.
someone's home, but isn't.

cold hands grasp after something warm,
they reach into thin air.
empty words align with the silence.
the clock on the wall stopped ticking as the seconds pass.
in someone's home, someone isn't home.

Pure was the snow
now muddied-
by the ***** boots
of travelers
who never settle.

Roaming from town to town
sullying snowfalls everywhere.

Why, oh traveler
do you step onto the snow
and create an eternal imprint,
only to walk away?

Life’s a flight in the Night -
once whence,
then thence
- a perpetual fight…

Frigid is the Night.
Blowing winds bellow,
Birds they bring down like an arrow.
Though their fate be full of contempt,
flight the Birds still attempt.
Frightening, the sight
Frigid, the Night

One winter day,
a Fog of Light was blown so high, it lit up the Sky.
Dusk pierced by Dawn,
it was the End of All,
the Avians‘ downfall.
Frightening, the Night
Frigid, this sight

Though infinite in power, the fog made Them cower.
Into the Ground they dove,
yet for the Sky still strove,
Their stars now but
a dream within
a dream
.

Though,
one summer day,
Night broke through the dark
- and revealed the stars high above.

…in their seat shrouded in Night, They shine ever bright.

but, rather I my pain eternalised-

a line to- of the worst kind surmise.

for I had rathered not lose my scar-torn, lovelorn heart~
though the choice was not mine.

~as well as my tangerine-tint of memories- sordid apparel of the bitterest find-
fit for a teasing, lusting, satirically-sad mind

a paradigm of solitude,
a monotone reprise.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.
a symphony of tragedy,
a prayer in disguise.
she walks her path so stoically,
but all their hymns are lies.
a disbelieving audience,
a concert of goodbyes.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.

They're attractive to see
long, thin, sharp as nails
they grow slow like snails
its life is one long jubilee

Butterfly is not a meal
but when they flew in your stomach, it felt surreal
is something that you cannot steal
a hunger that is hard to fulfill

As when thorns and butterflies collide,
You wouldn't even know how to survive
Thorns will **** you for a while
The worst feeling that you cannot hide

Thorns will pierce you and the pain is mild
Butterflies will die, even if they go wild.

A girl with a crush
every pure thought in her heart
she buries deep
until she misses
the warmth of spring
the romance in the summer
and the fall season comes
only to realize that love is gone
the days
when she didn't have the courage
to say
the words
bloom in regret
black blue grenade
shrapnel wound
seems an eternity
when she carefully peels back memories
wrapped so tightly in time
she starts to see
a scintilla
pink and odd
a clutch of stars
dark red and blinking
every bit as pellucid
as the teardrop coalesced
in her eyes.

You were my favourite smell for a while.
I inhaled you like you were the nicotine I so desperately needed to stay sane.
I came close to your body to smell the summer breeze, to feel like I am once again a free child walking along the shore.

On a sad afternoon, I spend the whole day browsing the drugstore, searching for a perfume that would even slightly resemble you. I can’t find it.
The next day, I smell something rotten. Something must have turned sour.
I turn around to see what it is. It was you.