I owe myself an apology-
For forgetting about myself
And instead chasing someone,
Who hurt me even more.

Pretty things remind me of you.

The night we met,
A dream come true,
Beats flew faster,
Stars seemed brighter.
With sweet nothing to lose,
You got it all.
And then she woke up,
In the middle of the night,
She got on her knees
And looked up at the stars.
With tears running down her cheeks,
She prayed for the God,
To turn her heart into a stone,
And never feel love, nor trust no more.

Why don't you sing to me?
Something for the night,
Or the void after -
A soundtrack to my life
A rhythm to which I'll smile astray
Before midnight, before tomorrow, before we go-
A waltz for the night.

And I'll write for you-
Every page a tear
You're lovely, my dear.
Only a fool, one such like me-
Could hurt even after they recover
For not only have I loved you-
I've died with you.

What's left of me is a kin for the kind
Static yet exemplary
I'd blink as to his wrinkled smile
Like a shutter that captures

The next in my memoir, those that make way
I'll feel, I'll love, I'll laugh
For it takes only one, not all
To hold me when the night befalls


Before midnight, before tomorrow, before we go-
Why don't you sing to me?

I wanted to write this,
as a final farewell.
I had dreams of the impact,
as I walked into hell.

I had visions of you,
falling to your knees,
as you heard the news,
and I ceased to be.

I thought of all of the hurt,
and how unbearable it felt,
and how it just kept coming,
and feeling my sanity melt.

Sometimes I wake up,
from nightmares in tears,
and I know that they’re memories,
that I don’t allow to come clear.

Taking the gun,
off the shelf by my bed.
The weight of eternity,
filled with dead lead.

At the table with a knife,
tracing veins on my wrist,
fighting back the voice,
through a drunk ******* mist.

The countless bottles,
I poured into the pain,
Trying to find some relief,
and only finding more shame.

I wanted to hate you,
I wanted to make you pay.
So that maybe you’d know,
what it was like every day.

But now even that’s gone,
and I’m so tired now.
Now I just want to rest,
and cover my brow.

Now I don’t care if it hurts you,
or if you’d weep openly.
You’ve taken that too,
along with the rest of me.

Just please stop the hurt,
I can’t take it no more.
Erase what you can,
and please shut that door.

I just wanted to love you,
and make you my world.
Now my world is burning,
and my vision’s left swirled.

there's a reason for all the midnight cigarette breaks in the fire escape while hoping my mom won't smell the smoke. there's a reason for every uneven haircut; products of sleeplessness or stagnation or something i no longer understand. there's a reason for the paperbags of dysphoria and cheap bourbons lying untouched beneath my bed, and for the days when my bed felt like home and home meant emptiness and emptiness was preferable to my favorite song or to the scent of the beach. there's a reason for letting go of all the obvious lifelines and deliberately sinking into this disarray of black holes. but you breathe marigolds and sunlight dipped in bottled petrichors

and tonight, i no longer know how to translate my storms into a weather you can understand.

Standing alone,
strangers stared at me.
Confused of what to buy,
my heart is starting to get heavy.

Keep on walking,
as if something is going on.
But my mind wanders,
it is not in its right rhythm or tone.

Until I felt getting exhausted,
for no apparent reason.
I am not certain,
if I should really buy some crayons.

Twenty minutes later,
I have not chosen  anything.
Thirty minutes later,
I did not see any shadows of you coming.

I ran outside  the mall,
Someone called my nickname.
I stopped for a moment,
but only to feel tame.

Standing alone,
strangers stared at me.
Confused of what to feel,
my eyes burst into tears my baby.

I do not understand
Why he sabotaged me so consummately,
And made me look like  
Such a pathetic old patsy,

Could he not discern the misery
He was shoring up by degrees,
Over the course of the years
For the self he would ultimately be?

It was perforce a former version of me,
Who led me to this place
Of near-incessant mourning,
A narcissistic anomaly,

Who never wanted the precious gifts
Of peace and domesticity,
The little ones that might have been,
He spirited them all away from me.