I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.

I saw
in the streets —
that desperate
hustle;
(grinding...)
They’re
not hungry,
nor are they
satisfied.

I saw
in the streets —
the filthy rich
and the poor;
(begging...)
They’re
not affluent,
nor are they
the *******.

I watched,
and wondered —
am I
one of them
too?

I saw
in the streets —
the appetite
for more;
(hungry...)
They’re
not content,
nor are they
dissatisfied.

I saw
in the streets —
dead people
walking;
(tiptoeing...)
They’re
not deceased,
nor are they
alive.

No one’s
screaming,
but I still
hear the
sirens —
As they
pick up
the dead
people
walking.

Today, I cried at a funeral.

But it wasn’t sadness that did it—
Sadness lounged on the horizon
Too distant to touch.

No, it was the
White-hot, scalding of the spotlight
The eyes, the many eyes, the
Hands pressed to mine, stamping in a
“Sorry for your loss.”
A tattoo, or a brand.

And then I felt it, familiar friend:
The tightness rising like bile, wrapping
Its serpentine fingers around my windpipe,
Around my vocal cords,
Squeezing, squeezing, until nothing but a
Whisper
Remained in my chest, my throat,
My lips, my teeth.

Sadness floated in my periphery, like the
Sun, too bright for me to gaze but the
Tightness lingers close enough to murmur
In my ear,
“You should be.”

I don't
feel anything
at all,
but I feel
it all
at once.
The brokenness,
the misery,
the weariness,
and the shame
are like
being
drenched in silt,
caked in filth,
covered with
life's crud.
I reek
of the living river—
its currents
have carried me
into a sea
of everything.
Now,
I find myself
adrift
in an ocean
of everything
and nothing.

When you try to vent
to your parents,
it’s like banging your head
against a brick wall—
one you know won’t move,
one you know
will only make you bleed more.

But still,
you push.
You try to shift it,
to make them understand
that you’re tired,
that you’re drowning
in this numbness
that’s eating you alive.

And they ignore it.
Brush it off.
Turn away.

So eventually,
you stop.
You shut down.
You stop offering pieces of yourself
to people who never looked
closely enough to see them.

You become a blank page
in front of them—
no stories,
no pain,
no you...

Reflective tears— but none fall.
Glass-stained eyes, holding back
a flood that forgot how to break.
The walls pit inward— tightening
like regret, closing in like the hole
in my heart.

Hurt me again— my mind almost
begs for it; not for the pain—but
for the proof I still feel.
Cracked knuckles answer what
cracked thoughts can't say.
A fractured mental frame
held together by restraint.

I want to cry, but as I reach for the
memory of it, the tears don’t come—
Just the hollow ache of forgetting
how to let go in that way.
It be like that some days...

it takes me captive, imprisoning me
in shackles i can’t shrug off

can’t feel my grief
can’t ******* rage
can’t grasp happiness
can’t see anything except
nothingness

it swallows my feelings whole,
absorbing my humanity
absorbing my soul
into something familiarly unrecognisable

the death: beginning

last night
a part of me died
and i hadn't realized it was taking its last final breath
until i finally couldn't feel it anymore

no amount of music, no amount of talking would blur it out
once again, a death in silence
i couldn't even cry or remorse for what i lost

such parts have died before
but this was my last try(i said so)
and it just hurt so much

i slept with a hollow
woke up with overwhelming numbness
feeling so, so blue

like you could hit me, and i'd cry for what of me died
not because of the pain
because it didn't even hurt—just went numb
and by that—
it hurt so much i didn’t have words

i laughed, went for a walk, listened to music, tried to talk
nothing.
it wasn't going to return.
it was gone.

the urge

like when light leaves the dying’s eyes
like when you watch someone take their final breath,
realize it's never going to come back

like a candle flickering for one last time—
the spoiled wax, of no point
like a bulb going out, its ligament being torn
like a child growing up, having seen oh so much—
they just don’t have any dreams anymore

a part of me died
and today i organize its funeral
with no watchers, no stand-bys
just like always

and to think i'd gotten anywhere
with understanding and accepting—
nowhere.
not even with people,
because they're the ones who killed me

the urge to make the call, ask—beg—why’d you **** me like that?
but just—who would even understand?

i can't even see the screen, writing this with a vision so blurry
eyes so swollen—i even breathe funny
i woke up
wanted to sleep
chose to get up
wish i could’ve slept, because i’ve been crying since

it’s been hours
i was lying curled up
begging for someone to listen
to hold—to just tell me that it’s alright
that i still can be loved like i’m whole

and the funny thing—
i’ve reached the number of deaths
no one in one lifetime could have caused them all

but i let people do it—
the same way, the same streaks


the acceptance

no hopes anymore
no positivity—
it’s just difficult
how do you suppose i can just get back up?

i taste the salt in my tears
find my nose runny

i went back to where i fought so hard to get out from
i felt it—
the death

how it went from barely breathing
to not breathing at all

how it went from staying still at the edge of hope
to crashing against all borders and falling off

how it felt like i’d been drowned, thrown, teared through, broken, dissipated
i—i just can’t

i’ll stop crying in a bit
and just go back to living
except with another part of me dead

i don’t even know how i shall mourn her death
too dumb, but she just had hopes

i’ll wipe my nose, wipe away my tears
get the ice-pack to bring down the swelling
for once drained, once it’s all out

either way, i’ll be a shell of what i’ve been all this while
a bit more hollow on the inside

this time it made no noise
the fall seemed to be never-ending
usually i heard it break, scatter—
the fragments and shards—i picked them up piece by piece

but this time—
it just fell
freefall?
i’m barely alive now

as long as this body exists
with the slightest of life on it
there will be no mourners for all the parts of me that are no more


the questioning

i’m a museum of everything i’ve ever loved
and there’s graves within me
of places where i lost a part of me

and often i don’t remember them all
but sometimes, when a situation asks one kind of mine
i step by the graveyard of my own self
and often mourn them myself

i meet people
and i give them some bits of me
ones i didn’t know existed long before i’d met the person in front of me

and then that part stays with them
they decide—often unknowingly—that it’s in their pocket
on their shoulder, in their fist
somehow never close enough to reside in their mind or heart

and yet sometimes
these parts get lost in people
watching them leave

often they’re simply handed back
sometimes they’re killed

and i need no understanding of how i end up giving them out
like handing candies to children on a halloween night
uncaring who gets which one, no favoritism
blindly trusting, i just head straight right in

always unknown what and how much they hold of mine
i didn’t even plan on trusting or attaching
and yet somehow i did
and then i’m left with nothing but the mere spirit

feeling the hollow
and the lost
how do i not cave in to death
and keep going on like a fool?
how do i live on when i'm barely alive anymore?

the dreaming

grief is sickening, like long aged sour frosting
numbness woven into it, disturbing and devasting and what not
it breathes like something real, coils in the pit of my stomach leaving my body to ache in silence, to reel, feel, and fear

sometimes i feel like i'm stitched together by borrowed light
but then i ain't any moon—perhaps a starlight?

there's parts of me made of people and moments that weren't even meant to stay
and in return all the pieces i gave of myself
so it would be right to say i'm a mismatched puzzle, always missing, never complete

this light burns, seethes, flickers, garbles, echoes
this grief doesn't scream, it lingers
like the perfume that i once used to wear
and that old teddy bear to hug
on nights when i used to feel hollowed

it wraps around my bones
around my muscles and my organs
especially my heart and my lungs

and it squeezes in tight, like a rope that's being pulled from both sides
the knot just seems to grow in size, blindness coming around my eyes

only i know it exists, this grief—
as it breathes under my laughter, only i can feel it

it splinters every single breath i try to take
ghosts all my memories, makes me want to forget
like a constant static—this pain is immense

i've got invisible bruises, oh so many—
you'd see them clearer if you were to see the way my eyes lie in their residues

the death: end

i carry my dead
like folded crushed paper notes that i don't wanna let go of
from the maybe's to the it's never happening
it seemed to be something, now it's a sad little nothing

oh so broken, everywhere i go
i offer parts of me like i'm a free use and throw tissue
but what can i do?
when they never ask for how i am—
only ask of me, how can i help?

went down the lane of thoughts—one that busied my mind and made the voices stop
they blurred, i held the blade in my hand, even my mind stuttered
you've been away and strong for so long, not again
but the pain was immense

yesterday a piece of me had died
and today i was told to

how could i possibly accept all this sorrow
and feel my heart do the free falls again and again?

i have three cuts
not proper—the blade was too weak
i tried to write 'loser'
got stuck at the e
lost myself
returned to and wondered:
perhaps i've got a thick skin

disgusts me—my own head
i still keep on wondering
why can’t i just be dead





this could go on and on
i live in a paradox
despise, wanting to still be alive
deny, wanting to die, despite my tries
a misfit in the world of those who seem to be natural
at finding their own places
i have no one to call my own
why would anyone even want me as their own?

The clock that does not tick anymore,
The sea that does not soar anymore,
The joy that does not roar anymore—
My soul suddenly went silent;
The body does not feel anymore.