A black bird sits on my windowsill.

Mocking me with its unlaboured loyalty to the present moment.

I wonder if it remembers all the valleys it flew over, all the food it pecked on.

I yearn to know all the birds it must have known.

What it felt like to feel the wind under its wings for the first time?

Does it remember?

A black bird stands behind the windowsill.

Mocked and dawned with the task of laboured living.

He'll come back
He always does
Finding his way back into your bones that carried him for so long
Returning to your blood, leaving it burning and cold at the same time
And even your hips will remember his hands, as they reach up towards them
Whilst your stomach will feel the exact same revolting butterflies as it used to

You'll find him everywhere
You'll see him in your words, the ones he taught you to say
In your chest, when it's getting harder to breath
You'll even taste him in your mouth from when you breathed him
From when you let him get into every inch of you
And now he'll always come back
Not for you, but he'll always come back

To you who whip through your pain,

Remember that your mind is abounding,
It is  mesmerizing
that when you start to talk about your ideas,
it's like your wondrous mind is pulling me
inside this enormous galaxy,
not a mere galaxy that is empty
instead it is full of heavenly bodies
and colors and life.
I fly in comfort,
I feel weightless.
When you talk about your dreams,
I can picture you collecting the stardust
and making a life out of it
Your eyes speaks like an abstract
of meteor showers
and comets
and auroras,
painted in one great canvas.
The more I explore into it,
the more I could understand
the rhythm of your thoughts.
If you're thinking
that your life had fallen apart;
Remember me,
me who you shared your light and hope with,
You came to me like a shooting star, 
So rare yet so beautiful.

Let the rusted shackles remain
all the tread-marks and the bruises
to remind me in this life,
that I was once a prisoner
of my own habits.

Show the bars were fashioned
from the idleness
of my own two hands,
which bestowed upon me the title
of lecherous warden.