Some days I wake up in terror
The body would move if only the mind would
Send the signal
Feel safe enough to go on living
Those days I feel a cage in the shape of
My skin
Pushing inwards with so much force
I could become a black hole


Some other days I wake up vivid
Full of life
I can walk, run, lift
Smile
I can answer the phone
I can plan my days ahead
And the only thing getting in my way
Is a pain
In my lower back
That makes it difficult to make things fun
And a confusion
That makes it difficult not to wonder:


"𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦?"

I was contemplating the interlude of breathing
the tease of the jasmine perfume
a wind without insight was resting in the hammock
a solitude round like the moon
the song of birds was inviting a blue exuberance  when
I had this dream... I dreamt streets flooded by blood
they seemed so real, like the amnesia of mercy
the intensity of red an amplifier for pain
violence this enclave of the soul hidden in plain sight
we watch wars on tv in the stillness of sofas
newborn tears claim the redemption of dawn
but we turn our back to the questions of time
no body line of thought but raw nerves,
blind tongues: as if our body is a world full of nothing
sometimes I have nowhere to hide from this feeling:
my blood is his/her/their blood

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?

You got a dream,
A spark inside you.
Your eyes got that gleam,
A passion inside you.

Each step is fuel,
The energy inside you.
Hard work’s a tool,
The patience inside you.

The dreams and the desire,
A hope inside you.
Turn the spark into a roaring fire —
You’re one of the few.

Life is full of pain,
The strength inside you.
Try again,
And make your dream come true.

Hour, minutes, seconds fade,  
Years have passed, the price is paid.  
Yet every thought, each memory bright,  
Becomes my answer—"I'm alright."

I built my walls, stayed strong, stayed true,  
Waiting, hoping—all for you.
But time has shown, it’s all in vain,  
No more playing through the pain.  

Your promises—just fleeting air,  
I held on tight, but you weren’t there.  
I longed for love, for something new,  
Yet all I got was less of you.

Here I stand, my heart undone,  
Reaching out, but you have run.  
Now I'm empty, lost, confined,  
Drowning deep in what’s behind.

Met you on Thursday,

‘Cause it was the heart day.

You don’t not like so —

Sushi — my type.

For every date, is there anything you’d bite?

Sushi body —
You must like it, right?

Night-long calls,

Somebody’s sleeping tight.

Stories flying high, I rambled on —

The sky my stage,

From page to page.

You must have listened,

Eyes that glow...

Turns out you dozed off long ago.

An EDM show,

A rap girl could try,

The boyfriend — surely I called you mine.

Sat on the shoulders, I do like —

Lovely and muscular!

Same kind of kandi,

But with different colors.

So… can we even get closer?

Got you as my PT,

Promised I’ll never get thinner.

How can I just come to realize I’m not her?

Owned my PT,

My PT likes onnanoko —

Nyotaimori…

Indika shows with DJs we know,

For somehow, we both like Nicky Romero.

Should I go ask him,

Where’s my Romeo?

He plays music,

I got played in your show.

It’s all over,

Indika permanently closed.

Latest post of garage items to be sold.

Separated,

As if we’d never got involved —

Isn’t that easy?

Why can’t I even let it go?

So after all,

Things are now undeniable.

Your hobbies run

As rhythm in my veins —

Up and down,

Echoing my spine.

Countless nights

Wondering why, under ceiling stars,

Your snoring mocked my lonely scars.

I’d rather trade that lo-fi lullaby —

Than this silence

That makes me cry.

You had your ways,

I’d still comply.

Changed my colors,

I’ve always tried!

Finally through the rain,

My tears shed.

She is now

That your rainbow.

I have no idea where to go,

Have a sip at Yoyo?

Our all-time drink:

Mixed Coca-Cola and Strongbow?

No more rides

Around the turtle (lake)!

I'd tell you I wanted to be the love of your life
I'd whisper it softly, hoping you might feel it too
Maybe you would laugh
Bt I'd bite my lips and try hard not to cry.

Bt I never told you
And maybe I  never will
Because some truths are too tender to offer
To hands that never asked to hold them.

Pain is not a fleeting shadow,
nor a thief that steals in the night.
It settles deep, like roots in earth,
clutching marrow, dimming light.

It speaks in whispers, sharp and raw,
etching echoes through the bone,
a language carved in silent cries,
a weight we carry, yet unknown.

Yet, even in its cruel embrace,
where sorrow stains the breaking dawn,
the soul remembers how to rise,
though weary, aching, battle-worn.

For pain is not a sovereign king,
though it may claim the throne awhile,
it bows before the quiet strength,
that lingers in a weary smile.

We learn to hold it, not to break,
to breathe through fire, soft and slow,
to meet its presence, eye to eye,
and teach it when to stay or go.

Through tender hands, through patient steps,
we weave our wounds with threads of grace,
allowing light to find the cracks,
where love and courage interlace.

For pain is but a passing storm,
it bends, it rages, and it sways,
but hearts that learn to bear its weight,
will find their peace in softer days.

So let it teach, but not consume,
let it shape, but not define,
for even pain, when held with love,
becomes a bridge from dark to shine.