To fly above the white clouds,
Walk on the moon.
Dance with the stars,
Step out of your comfort zone.

To astonish the world with your creativity,
Fulfil your dreams with great accomplishments,
Stay productive, stand out among the crowds,
Break through the chains of your comfort zone.

Your pains, sorrows, and wounds my friend are
Your bridge to a breathtaking life, 
Full of hope, adventures, and excitement,
With a new dawn, and a new day!

Hussein Dekmak

I'd rather you use bombs and knives,
I'd rather you use guns and swords.
I'd rather that we would have fights;
that you'd leave me with open sores.

I'd rather you find a different weapon,
a different tool to use on me.
I wish you'd make me feel a pain;
I wish you'd leave me weak and ******.

Yet the sharpest tool is what you use;
you leave me dead inside.
I wish you'd tear my heart out;
I wish I would have died.

You open your mouth and the weapons spill out,
you're armed with words that you scream and shout.
The pain is unbearable, the torture indescribable.
I know there's no point in putting up a struggle.

You **** me, one by one,
your words an open ****.
They slice me up in pieces,
making me feel like trash.

All I can be is silent;
I know that is the best.
I try to block them out,
but they're already in my chest.

Your words are killing me;
a slow, antagonizing death.
Each word you say cuts me,
each wound raw and fresh.

I wish you'd let me be,
I wish you'd leave it unsaid.
I guess you just can't see
you can't bring someone back from the dead.

Open wounds are bleeding cuts exposed to the sun
Caused by a knife or a scratch from a run
They are lines on the skin that fade after a while
At least that is what it is in people’s mind files

But sometimes blood is not the only thing that flows
Sometimes tears or numb expressions are the only thing that’s shown
Sometimes they are not simple lines that just fade away
For some they run deep, they are there to stay

Some wounds feel sharp like a knife on skin
But to some those wounds are short moments of relief, heaven
Compared to the wounds inside their head
Telling them that they are worthless, they are better off dead
If people look on the inside they will realize, they will find
Not all open wounds mark the body, they can also mark the mind

im a lil scared, my mom is unwell
i am reliving fears, i know this feeling all too well
each hospital visit, each tear filled eye
oh god why do you make my family cry
sadistic incision into my heart
idealistic vision into my art
i don’t want to feel good or bad, i just want it to end
i dont want to hear news good or bad, i just want to hold my mama’s hand
friends, family, it all hurts the same
constantly shifting frames, day in day out
labour hard, echo chamber scream it out
its hard, its hard, it hard
waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering where is the next empty spot
in the christmas dinner, thanksgiving dinner
dreams of the deceased, am i a sinner?

perfumed delusion, unruly exclusion
time bombs ticking and toking
vibrant illusions, visual pollution
cutting all the ribbons and strings
you tried to tie me up in, you tried to rub the salt in
to my many many wounds
I felt so lonely in crowded rooms
crowded stadiums, your eyes never met me once
I was too nervous to confront your fronts
shy away from topics that we needed to discuss
performing necromancy trying to keep this dead love up
checking the pulse, it's so gone now
we are both adults, you remain disavowed

To dance under this broken moon
Is when speckled stars and old fascinations
Come together to put back pieces you
Shining a light on this midnight blue
That infuses your wounds

Ten thousand years can't save you now
So, leave behind this moonlight melancholy
Find the hands of those you've loved
Those that hold you in their eyes
Hold onto them,

In the empty space you used to breathe

i was young back then, already into my last year in school. i have waited quite a long time to get old, so i feel like i owe it to myself to make the most of my advancing years. my mom used to tell me that life is a one-way street as if i am too foolish to understand it. i just wish i could travel back in time and be a child again. i just wish i could walk away from the gloom and doom of this life. reliving all my childhood memories by listening to my grandma's fairytales about angels and demons. how can i forget those days when the nights were so short and the days were so long yet there was magic everywhere? those were the days when i made castles and sailed paper boats when it rained. in the fields, where i tried to catch butterflies. those breathtaking and eloquent memories have gone.

i miss the days when i felt so carefree and unencumbered by the burdens of the world. i wish i could experience those days filled with laughter and joy once more. the hot sun and heavy rain didn't matter. everything seemed to work out like a dream. during vacations with grandma, she would fed children delectable cookies and enthralled them with fascinating tales. i love the days when i played with my friends and sat down by the bonfire while singing and dancing on the midst of the night. these were the happiest years in my life and i remember them vividly.

memories flooded my mind of those golden days of my youth. i wish i could go back and be a child again. i’m tired with the sound of my own tears ringing in my ears. i'm tired with continuously fighting my own battles. tired of struggling with challenges that continuously reappear. i am tired of remembering—remembering how i used to be so happy. tired of the blame—the blame i put on myself daily.
for several nights now, i've had to put up these drenched pillows to ignore the past because every time i dwell from the dead and buried, i couldn't stop whimpering in those silent mumbles of the night. those tears seem to be exhausted. they just keep on pouring like a never-ending storm. i can't help to ask above if the tears that i shed every night are the stepping stone to heal the scars that i bear. this sickness is still fresh, as is the misery brought on by unrelenting sorrow. it was tiring to drown on my own anguish. it was infuriating to scream and not be heard. the sounds of my own weep were deafening.

can tears really cure this invisible disease?
can tears really heal these invisible wounds?

because if this is the only remedy to heal the traces of the past—i will let them flow as if i would never get tired. i'll eat everything else until the last speck of each vestige from the past is gone.
tell me—how many seas of tears must i shed before i can see the tranquility i crave for?

It is a rainy day
I walk
It washes away my fear,
I feel I am letting go.
It is a rainy day
I feel my worries
Wash away from my face,
My wrinkles are being erased.
It is a rainy day
I know
Healing takes time,
But time heals the deepest wounds.
It is a rainy day,
It is dark
But I feel a spark of light
In my heart.
It is a rainy day
And I know
How hard it has been to let go.
Now I heal
As the rain washes my wounds away.
I heal as the rain pours down on me.