What does it mean
when you feel absolutely nothing
as someone (my mother) tells you
they miss you?

Why don't you reciprocate?
Why don't you feel their love
through a phone screen?

sighing through the evening,
i can't help but feel that sigh.
i'm pausing for a moment,
but the moment passes by

there's a sense of loneliness that creeps up my heart at 2 in the morning. it is the loneliness that i have felt since you left without any goodbyes.

i look up and see nothing but the emptiness of a dimly lit and cold room - shivering, not because of the cold breeze the air conditioning blows but because of the lost of the warmth from your words and presence. maybe, you can drop a message or a note? something that can remind me of you, oh God, who am i kidding? everything reminds me of you.

it is the stuffed toy that still lies on a spot beside my pillow, hoping that somewhat it can give me comfort.

the glow in the dark stars on my cabinet; because you've always loved science, the stars and space.

my brother's bedsheet; just because coincidentally, he had to have it in your favorite character.

some poem that i've scrolled through; just because the words fit you like a puzzle.

just like that, everything is all about you.

you always seem to find a way to make it back into my life without knowing it, nor wanting it. because in reality, all these are just my excuses to remember you, even if you don't remember me at all.

Butter hued flowers,
From tip to toe, the tree sighs;
Burden of beauty.

filled up with enmity coiling up inside
The chest billows up
Thy want to heave it out
Then destined to tranquility

The claws scratch the flesh
Death gnaws on the remnants of longevity
Unless visions have a chest
To burst out into effervescence

Spontaneous sigh is kicked out of your breath
The clavicles sharpen, the eyes ogle ahead
The nothingness dilates
The flicker has no entrance for itself to adumbrate

For utopia has its own gore
To marvel over inside,
The plasters of bliss
Have guffawed over the gullible dusk

The gloom has left with a whisper
A muttering not to be heard
The relief has sewed on flesh
With the clouds coming out of thy outburst

The relief rebirths the serenity
Has been meandered, halted
For thou shed leaves
Making agony to clouds of no return

Utopic defiance,
the idiosyncratic anectodes
Stains of externalized innundation
For the literal existance of hope.

versus the objective extreme,
politics make me want to kick and scream
is it too much for "ignorance is bliss" to be the dream?