Swells Aug 2016
the dark squeaks through,
sinks in the holes
in the lungs—the worms
found her too.

appendages of the hands
become mushrooms
grown from the soil of old hysterias
to sate the browning mind,
the eyes no longer do.

in the caricature of her boots,
the prints left in frenzied twos
are auxiliary to the compounds
of blues
that do not do

anymore than the supercilious
breath she left above ground
when she was twenty-two—
latent now in a grave
where the light can’t produce,

but the heart still beats.
He whispered “I’ll miss you”

“Why would anyone want to be missed?”
She turned and smiled at him.
“People don’t want to miss each other,
they just do.
It’s not a decision we make,
it just happens” he replied.
She smiled and touched his cheek.
“Ok then, I won’t ask you to miss me,
And since we don’t have a choice, you can kiss me like this.”
”Please...” he cried.

With that she kissed his lips.

And that was it.

That night he left his dreams at the doorstep of her eyes. His heart at the footsteps of her mercy.
The next morning he went chasing the memory of the night before.
He rang the bell twice and the echoe answered the door.
She had left a message with the breeze but the wind had swept away the fragments of the kiss.

Don’t hurt me like this.
People don’t make a decision to miss each other. We just do. Strange how we’re by nature prone to hurt each other like this, without intent.
japheth 3d
you painted me like a beautiful picture:

one with our future ahead of us,
one with both of us laughing.

there were strokes of anger
of pain,
of our fights,
but looking at it now,
the aggressiveness of your brush
definitely highlighted the beauty
of the painting:

it showed
the wrinkles of our face when we smile,
the creases of your clothes forming lines towards my arms holding you close,
the light in your eyes when you look at me — as if the world meant to me and i was the only who deserve it.

you left me in a single room.
i thought maybe, i was that special.
that i was one of — or better yet your greatest masterpiece.

as you smiled,
i felt happy.
i thought maybe this was it.
a painting you’re so proud to show the world.

you crept towards the door
went for the switch and turned the lights off.

and just like that, i waited for months
for the lights to go back on.

i knew in my heart,
that this beautiful painting i thought was your masterpiece,
became one of your hidden collections,
that only you could exclusively see.

just like what you did,
to the others before me.
i’m in a rut guys. i’m sorry. starting today i will be in a social media hiatus — a cleanse so to speak. i need to think of myself first. don’t worry though, i’ll keep writing during this days so good luck to me.
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
Someone said to me once
that "you have to have empathy
to be a true poet."
     You have to have empathy
to be a true person.
I said that.
III 5d
What a cruel cycle
     That the cure to
     Is the inevitable shine
           Of beauty.
There’s an “e” in your name.
2. It’s also composes a syllable of it.
3. Things will always empty, no matter what. Even bottles, for example. Especially ones that contained alcohol. You seemed to enjoy emptying those quite a lot.
4. Once, I emptied a pen of it’s ink while writing about you.
5. There is no “e” in my first name, but you pronounced it as if there was, replacing the first “a” with an “e”.
6. I always, and still do, get annoyed whenever people mispronounce my name, but never when you did it. I always knew that you were the one calling it. You were the one thing I was always sure of.
7. The other night, I tried to think of other things that started with “e” and “a”. I found “always” and “eventually”. Just as you substituted the “e” for the “a”, we substituted “always” for “eventually”.
8. Or maybe it could stand for “eventually an alcoholic”?
9. I just wish that you could have emptied your heart out to us just as easily as you could empty a bottle down your throat.
10. Ever since you told us that you drove home drunk I’ve been thinking about writing an eulogy.
11. Please don’t make me write one. Not while we’re so young.
12. Eventually, everything expires, like our patience, our vitality, and our days.
13. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months, and I don’t know how to reach you, or if you even want me to. When I saw your mother this past October, I wanted to ask her if she knew had badly you had been struggling, but I didn’t because I know that you would have hated me for it. There was a reason you had tried to keep your addiction a secret.
14. The letter “e” is the most used letter in the alphabet. How can you ask me to forget you when nearly every word I write has a trace of you in it?
15. I would never pick up a pen again if it meant that I could hear you mispronounce my name one more time.
Do you ever bloom?


Open up and display your beauty,
Start afresh;
Allow new people into your life
And beautify the world.

Do you ever die?


Close and initiate the façade,
Take a rest from those who killed you
And show the world what it did to you.

Do you ever love?


Remain closed and appreciate,
Love yourself;
Compliment yourself
And kiss the mirror by mistake.

Do you ever cry?


Open up and let it out,
Flood the pain;
Make it suffer like it made you suffer
And send it back to the devil.

Do you ever live life for your own growth?
Maria 6d
Blue skies are now a vibrant shade of red,
Unavoidable screaming can be heard,
Thousands of souls who have suffered and bled,
The survivors mutter words that are slurred.
Lying awake reflection on the past,
“How could I have not saved my dear brother?”
Inner demons fight me as if I asked.
I remember those eyes like no other,
A small bullet that travelled through his chest,
My name was the last to be spoken.
Tears escape my eyes for my big brother.
Right through my heart I feel a gust of wind,
Unrecognised now I am for mankind.
99 desiccated corpses
bloated bodies ready
to burst from
the gasses building up
in the bellies of
our friends and kin.

99 bodies of newly
non-binary identities,
cause in death
he and she means

99 tragedies
for all those families
who will have to
dig through
the bombed building.

99 sons, daughters,
mothers, and fathers
become a statistic
that no one will remember.

99 reasons to stop this horror,
to end our hurt making economy,
to stop selling weapons,
to the enemies of humanity.
Next page