I still mourn for you
Although you're alive
Living a normal life
I mourn for the future
That had you in it
I mourn for the death
Of the dreams we had
Crying every night
For a love lost once
I mourn for the version
Of us smiling together
I am pleading with anyone
Bring back what is gone
Because I am tired
Of mourning the loss
Of whom I loved

Guilt, guilt, guilt
As far as I can see

Weight, weight, wait!
Its crashing down on me

Shame upon my name
Rehabilitate with blame

Change, change, strange
Things still stay the same

Someday you will cry for me
Like I cried for you.
Someday you'll miss me
Like I missed you.
Someday you'll need me
Like I needed you.
Someday you'll love me,
But I won't love you.

I’ve loved satin and lace for a long time, yet believed I was too rugged to enjoy such luxury. That being draped by something that feels like butter on a porcelain vase desecrates its sanctity. I was never meant for such grandeur, as I am made of stone. Coarse, menacing, and hard. Such gentleness doesn’t befit an ever-destructive chaos. I was a whirlwind romance, a cacophony of squawking ravens and crows, a relentless repetition of echoes in the caving mountains, a disastrous flair in an illicit affair.  A damsel and the prince, the one who saves her own soul from eternal damnation. Yet. I was taught softness once. How I can be a gentle breeze from the northerlies, like a lily pad floating on a laminar stream, or a dandelion fluttering in the breeze. But this softness was robbed. From me, from everything else. Returning me to the state I came to hate the most, to shy away from, to loathe and bury like a cadaver that reeked of nothing but ill intent. Which made me realize that this time there was no turning back, that I was calloused now, permanently. Transforming a learning heart into a plethora of evil and demise. A gatherer of sorrows, a charmer of guilt. A benign tumor, a tactless joke. What’s harder is that there’s no clear road to return.

I plant a garden with trembling hands—
then salt the soil at dawn.
I lace the sky with paper birds
then chase them off with storm songs.

I cradle peace like porcelain,
but breathe too hard,
and shatter it.

The mirror forgives me
until I touch it.
Then it cracks—
right where my face lives.

I keep building bridges
out of wax and wishbones,
then light them from both ends
just to see
if anyone notices
me
burn.

Some nights,
I set fire to every chance I prayed for,
just to prove
I don’t deserve warmth.

And still—
I water the ashes,
hope something bruised
might bloom again.

They don't tell you
that after all
You are
A mirage.
A foolish
Beautiful
Cruel
Illusion
And nothing like you think you are

They said
Your eyes were pretty
And that you had a nice smile
Yet never once saw it
The paradox
Of worlds colliding
With raw and unapologetic ardour
Right before them.
Your eyes weren't pretty
And your smile was a flash of gums and cracked edges
I loved them
In a way
That made me fearless of the truth.

Once
We watched the sunrise
Our cold hands clasping each other
Like children asking for warmth

Sometimes
You end up in a candy shop
Asking forgiveness
For ever visiting the dentist.
If you let something destroy you
And hold on
Words stuck in-between your teeth
Until you feel
The inside of your mouth growing black
From all the things you didn't say
When you should have
Did you win?
When you gulp down poison for nothing
And nothing again
Who will remember your martyrdom?

Sometimes I doubt
If I truly loved them
As much as
I could have.

But I know I did—
These tears are proof.