you stand in
the grey;
because absolute
black or white
lacks
the beauty of
balance
that you love
so much.
stand in the middle of
the scales in
iustitia's hands;
that's what you
say when
someone asks
who are you with.
but in reality,
flip the coin over,
open the blindfolds,
rid of the façade.
and everyone
will find that you
are indeed the
most hideous.
the puppeteer
and the raisonneur;
everyone was fire
and chaos was the smoke.
but you, you
were the lighter.

it's not suffocating. it never is.
air flows in so easily, very much so
that my chest is full and fuller and
suddenly about to burst.

i scramble for the saddest tragedies,
hunt for angst painted on pages.
all just to cry for a different reason.
put an ice on it,
leave my mind from it,
all just to numb myself.

missing someone isn't waves.
missing someone is the sea,
it is the endless, unbounded by time.
like tangled feelings personified and
ducking your head into the sea,
and breathing burns.

all of it is plain fuckery;
the thoughts in my mind are blasphemy.
honors stripped from me,
i begged fate a thousand of pleases
to put out the burn, pull up the drowning.
stop it from hurting so much,
because i'm dragged to hell by my heartstrings.

i'm a small man who can't give big things.
forever sounds like a grand promise to make that
i'm unwilling to make and no one can fulfill.
to be the best sounds like something i'm not and i'll never be;
to make you the happiest sounds like a forced future,
like trying to tie down an unpredictable dark horse
and telling it to sit down like a dog.
and true love sounds like a far too abstract,
far too bizarre concept to grasp,
far too incomprehensible and universal—
too big compared to the little me.

but you can hold onto these words:
no matter how many other hellos and goodbyes given to me,
i can promise i'll kiss your knuckles before you sleep every night.
i can promise i'll hurt you;
but i can also promise i'll chant apologies like a prayer,
tear-stained cheeks or not
and scarred hearts or not.
i can promise the odd times while the sun is up
that i tell you my weirdest ideas.
i can promise the odd times while the moon is up
that i plead for touches, hugs, kisses;
crave you close so please hold me tight.
i can promise the odd times all day that i tell you:
i treasure and adore you.
because i really do;
every time of the day
and anytime of the day,
i do.

and everything about you always reminds me
that you're one of the greatest things to ever happen
to the earth, to the living and to me.
they say promises are meant to be broken and
words are just meaningless sounds and symbols;
but nothing is truer when i say:
i really want us to celebrate your birthday together this year.

the words are water
and they flow,
and they flow,
and they flow,
and they also             get clogged.

the days where
imagination swirls in your head
and there's a nonstop thrum of a drum resting inside
because your mouth is shut,
unable to puke it out,
and the days where
your hands are dry,
pens inkless;

the days where you feel dead,
the days where you