Why do we have to live?
Who placed us in this mess?
There are a lot of questions in my mind,
but please aid me in this quest.

I don't see anything
inside this blinding dark.
This heaving mass surrounding me,
is swallowing my heart.

Its cold, amorphous hands caressed me.
It wiped away my tears.
With all these evils around me,
which one should I fear?

All I know is nothing.
I've learnt that from the start.
But the only thing I'm sure at,
is that the sun hides all the stars.

I am never lonely
because I have shadows,
I-I mean--- friends,
and they always follow me.
ALWAYS.
They are friends,
I'm sure.
They told me so.

They talk to me.
Might be incoherent sounds.
I don't know.
I understand them though.
They're my friends.

" e &m b r ?a c e
c {}l o s +e r,
e m b r €€a c e >m • e,
<c h £ i l &d."

There is nowhere safe.
These four white walls
called home, is now graffitied
with profane symbols and words.
Even my mind's eyes are filled
with their vulgarity and lasciviousness.
They don't rest, eat nor defecate.
They used to sound
like white noise.
A deep rumble
amidst the heaving mass of a black sea.
Then, it turned into whispers.
Whispers that reverberates
throughout my dome.
"b #u t %c h e r  y o *u r s {e l f
s l i ^t y o +u r n e ]c k
u s e  r u /s t y  b l &a d e
k i =l l #s  s l o #w e r
s ~i |n k  i t  i n
s a &v o r  p a @"i n."
Sadistic bastar--- friends that
delights in my pain.
I could see them smile
as my battered spirit
pours out of my body.

Night comes,
and the moon shines brightly.
Why am I
wearing a funeral suit?
My eyes adjusts to the darkness,
and I could see thousands
of white orchids surrounding me.
The air smells sickly sweet;
akin to death,
but no.
This would be too easy.
I know what they want.
They want me to suffer.
They want us to suffer.
They're my friends.
They slowly seep out of the petals,
turning a field of alabaster into rust.
Slowly creeping in on me.
Gurgling,
as they flash me their coruscating,
jagged teeth.
It almost reminds me of star-filled skies
that we used to watch.
Back then when there was silence;
true silence. Tranquility.
Their slick, black tendrils
licks, then latches onto my skin.
It coils from my feet,
all the way through my face.
I could feel it pulsating.
Beating at the pace of a heart.
It feels warm.
It looks so beautiful.
Too beautiful.
I can't resist the urge.
We kissed.
Oh, God!
Whatever might happen to me,
please have mercy.

Morning comes,
you'd strip your suit,
wear your "normal, productive
member of society" clothes
and make a convincing smile
like nothing ever happened.
But still, something feels different.
You can't get rid of it, can you?
You would if you could.
I know.
Trust me.
I know, because I have tried.
The ominous feeling of being watched.
Even the sweet, aromatic cup of mocha
you cherish every morning
seems murky and unforgiving.
Staring into the temperate abyss
around my palms,
you find that the abyss,
stares also unto you.

"m i &g h t  n o )$t  h e $a @r m e
                                  l o !d g ?e d
        d e ;e p  i /n s i <d e.
                       d ^a r k ><n e s s,
        w £h e ~r e  y o •u  b £e l o €n g.
c _a n t  e >s c •a p e
i  l =u ~r k
             i n  e ^v ' r y  s •h a •d e
                      i n  m u }{g
c o %u l d  s e #e  e y *e s
          d e e +p
                              e m %p t y
        a l m o @s t  l ;i k e  m ?e.
   a l )(m o s t.
                          b !r o •o d
                 r )e s t
                       f e @a s t
    b &r e $e d."

It would be better off
if they just left you lifeless.
I don't see the point in living
in this ******* anymore.
Everyday is the same;
an endless episode of
torment and misery.
If my heart had eyes,
I would have drowned
in tear infused blood
countless times by now.

Everyday you die.
Everyday you're alive but not living.
Everyday you die.
Everyday you drag yourself
through shards of glass.
You want to say that you're used to it,
but in all seriousness, you're not.
You never will.
One could never be used to this kind of suffering.
Physical wounds will heal, but the darkness is eternal.
It remains as your soul's scars.

"Maybe if you slept just for long enough we would leave.
Maybe we would get tired
of picking on a tired soul.
Maybe.
But maybe is better than nothing.
It's been years since I came to you-----
and I've relished each and every
sweet memory we had together.
After all, I am your friend;
and dusk is already setting."

saw:

the adoration of the daddy,
as his red haired babes
leaned into
either side of him,
courtiers to a king
on the way to school this AM,
transfusing his magical super~fatherly,
by inhaling his special powers through
their nostrils, direct from his
broad and powerful brave-heart chest,
for use later in the wild jungle
of second grade
•••
an elderly gent whose walker rattled
with every lift and kerplunk on
the street~steppes of a dangerous city
for the brittle of bone and the easily dentable,
and the crowd that gathered round walking
at precisely the same pace he required
to make it across the widest boulevard
which was thirty seconds more than the
Dept. of Transportation's asinine calculations
and a miracle from Lourdes occurred -
not one horn honked in ire as the court
escorted their Long Live the King
safely across the street, as if
idiocy was like rain, against the law,
until after sunset as in Camelot
•••
an elegant germanic man,
in homburg and velvet collared overcoat,
taking care of sales and distribution of
newspapers and candy at the corner paper "stand"
while the elderly owner, whose partner~wife of
fifty years had recently passed, now had no one
but someone's pop whose was out
walking our cocker spaniel,
to tend the place while said candyman
obeyed nature's callings

and all his fans and friends who passed
on their way to the adjacent subway station,
exclaimed Erwin, Erwin what are you doing?
his twinkled crinkled eyes replied,
enjoying their puzzlement, laughingly saying
"making spare change"
•••
where I lived these little miracles occurred so frequently,
was told a story that the ministering angels
could not keep up with their duties,
complaining to the On High, who resoundingly loudly
commanded their silence! by reminding them that
all these, his creatures, were his own precious,
the reason for creation and why they were needed,
and the sum of all these small acts gave them their own
existential purpose, now angry at himself for loss of temper,
soft spoke as a parent and told them better,
hush my children, we have much to do!
•••
so now you impatiently need to know
why this scripture
came to be known as
$$$$$
for I was witness to all of this,
all on that day,
that was twenty fours hours long
across many hard hearted Hiroshima decades,
that made me
temporarily
the richest man in the world