i watched her extinguish
one of the candles
with dainty fingertips
while i hastily blew
the other one out
with a puff of cheeks
trying to be helpful
but getting it wrong
seeing what i had done
she scalded me playfully
deep down meaning it
telling how a candle
should never be put out
in that way

for blowing it out risks
expelling the positivity
all of the happiness
that its burning
had built up for those
who first lit that wick
bathing in the glow
of its healing light
that flickering flame
that keeps our shadows
dancing together
arm in arm
even if we simply
remain wrapped up
sat side by side

i don't believe
her theory necessarily
but i am left wondering
of all the candles
i have ever blown out
birthday celebrations
cosy evenings in
candle-lit meals
if what she says is true
i can't help but think
about those moments
of happiness and joy
that i have wasted
simply blown away
with a vacant breath
and an unwitting mind

It must be dark
out here in the cold penumbra,
where mile after mile
no one smiles,

dots and loops,
dots and loops,
a kind of blissful nullity,
beautiful and pointless,

wearing at the edges
it almost stings,
seclusion unraveling
at the underground in us all,

aubade aberrations abound,
challenging the orthodoxy
of the troublesome
morning road,

but should this near-life experience
hydroplane toward
another mineshaft, it helps to know
less is less, not more.

Closure
Is an illusion
Science shows us
Life is constantly
In flux

Cant keep waiting
On a certain moment, event,
Or epiphany
To button up our suffering
In a neat little package

We've hung on to this hope of
AFTER
Only "AFTER" is when I'll be healed
Enduring days won't be devastating
And suddenly I'll be this beacon
Of strength, I'll be able to endure anything

In truth,
Grief's a heartache
That never really goes away
The brain starts to play
With what's "fact"and whats "fake"

If this is the way
Then where am I going?

In the blink of an eye,
our life is gone.
We live the days,
pretending they don't run out.

Death promises us one thing.
It is a final justice.
We beg, and we ask,
and in the end, it delivers.

Fair or not fair,
there's equality in death.
To postpone or meet halfway,
the grave is patient.

to be the kind of person
who will glimpse
the cherry blossom tree
beautifully delicate
in its early bloom
fluttering the palest pink
against a fragile white
desperate against even
the gentlest of breeze
but only observe
the black and the white
of what the premature
might mean for later
commenting how soon
these branches will lose
their graceful lustre
no longer to inspire
those hopeful wanderers
only to appear barren
and lifeless once again

we drink in the day
like a cup of coffee
or a soft breath
a question beneath a universe of sacrifice
never changing
lingering with love

those pensive ones
as they seem to me
birds on the wire
gazing this way
     and that
lost invariably
to their ennui
their melancholy
their obliviousness
to the point
some may say
     pointlessness
of their existence
in these moments
without reason
or incentive enough
to prompt one
     or the other
to take to the wing
embracing the bluster
of the ever-blowing winds
rather they sustain
this idle malingering
waiting listlessly
for that which none
can know

Death is not a predator.
It is what was before
and what is to come.
Life is but a disruption
of eternal nothingness.
The way that moment feels
is really up to you.
Don't let darkness take over!

fireworks erupt from our spark
your soft lips kiss my fractured heart
i feel safe and that makes me scared
not used to men who exhibit such care
used to men who shoot and scar
play with my crown only after you asked
kiss my pearls, hand slides down my back
keep me in mind, keep me in check
candle lit make out sesh, pomegranate red
passion enmeshing with my nervous head