it was a pronouncement
of a lifelong sentence.
“not a declaration of death”,
my friend kept on telling.
“at the least, yes”,
i answered.

must you wander elsewhere,
selfishly could ever seem,
may you instinctively
seek for me.

not that this bothers me,
the shades of your silliness.
the presence, my dear.
because if it did then,
i would’ve ceased
at delivering these words.
admittedly then, the silly person,
i suppose, must be me.

at least a few lines,
might as well a word
or perhaps a period,
and only for that moment,
betrayal to “I would resist”,
in constant, shall happen.

brief and half-silent,
in an empty space,
at a corner of my room.
back against the wall,
arms hugging knees
close to the chest,
eyes mid-air,
breathing.

i soulfully wonder
of these devoted feelings i have.
because the quality it posses
is abysmally surpassing
the extremities of emotions.
simply to tell that,
i am madly
attracted.

is it not this morning
a breathe of captivating
yet unsettling air,
my dear?

as thoughts convince me,
the unjust impossibility
of knowing how the air
would smell different,

if only i know the scent
you have. quite aching
to realize. but it does
the heart good.

to think about this,
i mean. to think
about you.
i mean.

i have scars all over my body.
ones that you see,
and ones that you cannot see—
engraved deeper in my flesh;
down the bones,
penetrating my whole soul.

under the horizon
above the naked earth;
i'm half drawn to the sky
and half to my skin;
along with the flowers
of december, wilting.

but, It's half a fine day.
and I'm half convinced.
the day, is yet to end.
and if after all, i am failed;
to be fully drawn to the sky,
ever i lay to cold, until it warms.

in this flesh,
at its rawness,
inside these skins
and bones, all that I seek
and ever thirst for,
is peace.