Victory, conquering, staggering loss, nothing, nothing, everything.

Like walking through a tunnel searching for light and then it hits you and you feel nothing.

Like wanting the sea and getting a river.

Its been a strange one kids.

Im neither happy or sad its over but I am ready to move on.

Slowly.

Patiently.

If there is one thing I'd like for the next year other then fireworks, love and pure creation it would be a little more self acceptance/love/forgiveness.

I've been carrying and nurturing the same wounds for so many years now and all the sudden I am a scarred woman laughing whilst crying, not fully realizing how much lighter things actually are.

Its almost like I miss my darkest days or maybe I haven't found the right things to replace the dark with yet.

I still want more,

more,

more,

of whatever I can get my hands on.

Or maybe its just me getting older. One year at a time.

Happy  just borned Day lovers.

May all our dreams come true so we can create new ones.

There exsists people
who live on the bread of
Inequality
Injustice
Hypocracy
Prejudice
Dear those people
I must say
you are really poor

A girl is borned
tangled in so many boundations
and these restrictions
are right from where
their lifecycle begins
to their deaths

Belive me these chains
which grab them
weigh them more than
anything
Some die
Some struggle
Some protest

These activities
are all variant
but why only girls
need to do all of that
why they have to beg for their
FREEDOM
why they are so desperate
for education

There is only one life
to live in this
beautiful world
let us not waste that
lets unleash those chains
lets break those cages
lets remove that handcuffs
and make this world more beautiful

As an egoist animal borned in the middle " *** " of this so called " modern men" land-circles and mazes . I tell you centuries of vices and consumption altered human spirit from egoism to greedy individualism. Fat politicians claiming divinity

I can't return my regretted actions
I can't apologize for ruining your life
I can't move on from my past
I can't be anyone better
I can't escape where I am
I am this sickening person
I am this borned curse
I am dead

Newborn,
So sweet,
Cry, scream,
Eat, sleep.

Learns more,
Crawl, walk,
Grows more,
Run, talk.

First grade,
Then on,
Grows up,
Soon gone.

New love,
Grows big,
Hitched up,
Lust gig.

Plus sign,
Kin borned,
Parents,
Were warned.

Unfolding petals
slipping into sunlight
For its first day of expression
and it knows just what to do
but the rays scorch her soft tissue
and her color goes brown

how sadistic the father.

the below is a tentatively titled and finished companion piece to my recent chapbook, infant cinema (**** Press, dinkpress.com, April 2016)

infant cinema can be purchased here: http://www.dinkpress.com/store/infant-cinema-by-barton-smock



shut-eye (in the land of the sacred commoner)

~
poetry and god share the same quick death.

I’m on what you’re on;
the eighth day of the world.

~
it’s all in your head. the newborn we had on a mountaintop. the word it knew from memory. its hand that stuck to everything but the dog our dog ate. the cold our dog died from. the tent we called aquarium. that we filled with diapers. that was never full.

~
existence is the wrong inquiry.

I was destroyed by an angel

for having
taste buds.

/ a pinkness

went on
without me.

~
if touch is all it can manage

the hand is poor.

I am the new face
of baby
doorstep.

when lightning
has emptiness
to burn

feed
the fasting
doll.

~
I am old and nothing brings me joy.

I did
good things
but I
was asked.

drunk
outside
of a dog
shelter
I am likely
to remember
a library
pyros
love.

my uncle
he is probably
still
west of me
able

to open
a bottle
with the mouth
of a living
frog.

~
and what
would forgiveness
do?

my kids were never born. yours
they hide
from the number
of people
god
made.

when dead, I was not
a bird
yet
my mother
asks
what kind.

I can’t tell
by looking
if he’s seen
the future
or seen
the future
again. I strip

when my stomach
hurts.

~
it puts me on my stomach

this grief
you have
for the switched
at death

–

god’s color has returned

–

the male
animals
in the grey
barn

knew

–

first

~
I want to say it is yes yes

puberty’s
painted
egg, the island

clock, the genitalia

of alarm…

I want to say it is orange

like bees
like
not all

the hymns
not all

condoms…

~
he says we are men
not because a raccoon
chased a bone
into the factory
of shadows.

he says it’s me
or the bag
of trash
and gives me
a knife.

he says before I was borned
we took
the same
bullet. he says mouth.

I kick
he says
in my sleep
and it puts
a belly button
on a bird
one
bird.

he says them animals
ain’t so wild
as a dog
in drag

and your mother
is the outside
world.

~
the robot is a ******.

the baby
it goes
from baby
to baby
with no
message.

–

I want your work to matter.

~
subtitles, ghost
pollen / I sit

facing
my father

he strokes
a large
bumblebee…

~
eating behind the mirror’s back
it was all
hick lore
to me

a scratch
in scar’s
nakedness, a loss

of infancy
awarded
only
to the deaf
who dug up
the ears
of god
for nothing
more
than the sound

of depression
going blind
in the garden
of the hairdresser’s

hair

~
death
my way
of saying
goodbye
to god

–

had you lived
or enjoyed
amnesia…

~
when asked
I say
I see
on the floor
of a mudhut
a *** toy
having
a seizure.

I kiss the feet
you’re the future
of.

~
not
for devouring
the mannequin
but for eating
the seeds, it was

(in a coloring
book
for cigarettes)

beaten

by a baby
a baby
could love

~
I go with dove to high

dives / I am on

the pill
the swimmer’s
pill / for nine

months
I’ve hidden
a rabbit
from no one’s

hormonal
christ

~
it was for healing the hand of the plain hand
that I
was touched / well blood

on a bread
crumb
massage me
a brainwashed
worm / well comb

all you want
the eyesight
of god / swallow

a hair
in the house
birth
built…

–

can’t
this once
a thing
die
in the sanctuary
of its double

~
hell is a book.

she reads it
in a room
that’s alive.

attic or no, I want
to miss
my father.

~
nakedness,

give it time
to recover

~
into something from his childhood
a man
is born. never

far off
what crawls
her way.

~
she reaches into the same hat for the rabbit he’s made disappear.

I sleep and the dark takes me for the bone

lightning
straightens.

~
church of intermission. church of the rolled-away church my fever follows. church of it ain’t a baby until it spits. church of the lawnmower left running. of the space you give the grieving horse. church of you when you die in my sleep. of musical suicides. church of the disinfected high chair. of the false bruise. of how to become a balloon in the church of touch.

~
in the library’s dream, the abortion clinic is no bigger than a fingerprint.

~
this is me
praying
for a photo
of my father’s
last meal.

me

praying
to have
the allergic
reaction
my mother
faked.

for proof
of animal
suicide.

a mirror for my toys. dirt for my brother.

~
and we touch to abridge doom in the bed of a headless man. and we struggle to hear a father verbatim. and we ask in a fierce wind a phone booth to please be a fireplace. and a starfish consoles a handprint.

~
/ I was spotted covering my eyes by a dentist whose childhood had stopped disappearing. how big is your family and who wears the mouth? is it true your dad sold to a city gargoyle a spray-can of ****? that your mom had no baby tired of being born? that their suicides filled a madhouse with cubist maids?

/ year nine: your birthday spider is put on film for biting. your sister takes one look at my brain and remembers what to feed and how to clean a cricket.

/ year eight:

~
my son doesn’t want the circle he’s drawing to touch the circle he’s drawing.

the dog
is a heartbroken
wolf.

~
she checks her teeth in the door glass of the oven.

the egg is dropped
and the owl
******.

~
when
did your caterpillar
become
a syringe?

I want to hide the clothes I’m wearing.

something touched
is something
mourned.

~
the woman had the suicidal absence of a man who’d just broken to his body that his blood was not the rooster patience devoured. if I peeled a potato, I did so in egg’s hell.

~
praise headgear, worship eyewear.

adore nostalgia, forgive

memorial’s
constant
vigil.

say god
three times, then

say mirror.

~
this is what you mean, kiddo

what you mean
to a bomb

/ it doesn’t help god

that god
is awake

~
for what
does the torso
pray?

the cocoon is music
to the mannequin’s
ear.

sister
she ain’t
been calm.

~
when grief
was password
and not
codename

when gift
horse
was horse
fly

when baby
little baby
shorthand
went all
stork-****

(on who)

to remember
god

~
outside the dream, I had written the most heartbreakingly clear poem about brotherhood. inside

was this boy
was discovering
god’s thumb
is never
clean. a boy whose mouth

was never
here. all those I’ve met

I’ve left
alone.

~
asleep in the pickpocket’s bed, the baby is a mirage.

I’m so fat
I’m fat
in the dark. I compose

at my lowest
a crucifixion
story

from the basements
my father
wired.

~
putting the meat
back together
in an unfilled
pool

we yawned
at the same
time / brief

painless
the unmothered

between

~
as overcome as I was to be gifted a hospital gown, I had nothing on the angel whose brain / for visiting the eye / was banished…

we are the dead
we’re here
to return

~
by death I mean nothing was beautiful for a very long time.

that, and when did you know.

15% off all print books and free mail shipping at Lulu today with coupon code of MAYMAIL15

~

some poems:

~

[raise god]

it’s a nice enough baby with an inability to emit. the adult world worries but no more than than it does for the television’s volume during bouts of ceasefire. parents divorce or parents agree on the same support group. siblings form a circle around a one trick pony. some believe the jack-in-the-box is broken while others believe it’s patient.

[taunts]

death is never early. take the first bite of every meal in front of a mirror. chase the kid while pulling a plastic bag over your head. invent a sibling schoolmates blind. know poverty, know moon. shampoo the elderly from a distance. baby no one. they have looked like hell since before you were born.

[pathos]

our fighting
determines
which of us
is more
sonsick.  

relic child, town crier.

I take what I’m given, beating.

cerecloth, snow
on snow
before and after

it buries.

me of course
as I position
myself
to hum

above
a basket.

me as I marry homeward
and kick

ball, stone, stiff
bird

stiff bird in death
doubling as
the rat
of an angel

yes
kick
for reasons known
to another’s

pet cobra

skin to skin
in an unmarked
life.

[costume]

we’re here to ****** the head of the boy who put a clown’s red nose on the girl playing jesus for stopped traffic. if I spoke your language, I would tell you.

[poor lighting]

a plastic doll with a human right hand distracts us from the parrot’s empty cage. we have been writing in unison instead of eating. our poverty is so advanced it keeps a fake diary and a real diary but hides them in the same spot. we are dying in two of our mother’s arms. our mother is elsewhere repeating after the man who does our stunts.

[collapse]

how
on a clear day  
my father
is the face
of absence.

how what I mean
cuts the finger

my mother
sips.

how porch blood
is not the same blood
the body
faints with.

how copperhead, how rattlesnake, how lisp

says I myth
my sister
who is still

vanishing
to shoplift
god

from the thunderstorm
we gave her.

[southern treehouse]

as my sister
inspects
her *******
in the white
piece of paper
we both
refer to
as the one
and only
ghost
mirror

I fry
god’s egg
in the plastic
shovel
I took
from a sandbox
shaped
like a coffin

and shiver
like the psychic
who with
the controllable
sobbing
of her hands
gave our seizures

to animals

[bait]

I didn’t see it
like some kids
saw it-

pain
as clay.

a swat here or there
to the back
of a mother’s
mind.

a man who took a bowling ball
into a closed garage
had no sadness
I could pray
over.

...Santa smoked on the roof
of my father’s house
while I
with a noiseless
stomach

touched
that hunger.

[how to live in the country dark]

toss frogs
into a fire
your father made.

find a woman
who’s abandoned herself
to being led
by a stick

let her blind mongrel
lick your palm.

bury a handful
of gravel
call it
the moon’s
grave.

hide in houses
hidden
from road.

make at least one friend
whose night vision
is a glass of milk.

double your body
by walking
drunk.

[outside the body it is always procession]

I may have lied about being pregnant but I know my ******* kid.

her father quells *******.

ants are quiet.

-

his teeth make sense.

our yell is I’m gonna shoot you in the blood.

-

elsewhere
is a light dusting
of downfall.  sleepily

legal

are the sunbathing sad.

[crown]

i.

a hand towel
over the lid
of any
stubborn
jar-

a mother to a father
or less frequently
a father to a mother
I don’t know why this is
but either way
a gentle admittance

to couple

as if passing beneath
the singing voice
of statue…

ii.

that stage
where a baby
is all
head

[mendicant]

this doorbell
is for the inside
of your house

-

to some
you’re the giant
you’re not

-

hearing isn’t for everyone  

-

a fog-softened man
with a baby
might experience
a sense
of boat
loss…

-

hurt

what you know

[crystal]

a foster boy using an alias teaches my son to shoot.

it’s the tooth fairy on a sad day finds
under my pillow
a handgun.

you know your father
is a night owl.

[dog years]

the longer
I grieve

the more

~

below is an unpublished companion piece {shuteye in the land of the sacred commoner} to my recent chapbook, infant*cinema (**** Press, April 2016)  

as such:

~~~~~

[shut-eye in the land of the sacred commoner]

~
poetry and god share the same quick death.

I’m on what you’re on;
the eighth day of the world.



~
it’s all in your head.  the newborn we had on a mountaintop.  the word it knew from memory.  its hand that stuck to everything but the dog our dog ate.  the cold our dog died from.  the tent we called aquarium. that we filled with diapers.  that was never full.



~
existence is the wrong inquiry.  

I was destroyed by an angel

for having
taste buds.  

/ a pinkness

went on
without me.



~
if touch is all it can manage

the hand is poor.

I am the new face
of baby
doorstep.

when lightning
has emptiness
to burn

feed
the fasting
doll.



~
I am old and nothing brings me joy.

I did
good things
but I
was asked.

drunk
outside
of a dog
shelter
I am likely
to remember
a library
pyros
love.

my uncle
he is probably
still
west of me
able

to open
a bottle
with the mouth
of a living
frog.



~
and what
would forgiveness
do?  

my kids were never born.  yours
they hide
from the number
of people
god
made.

when dead, I was not
a bird
yet
my mother
asks
what kind.

I can’t tell
by looking
if he’s seen
the future
or seen
the future
again.  I strip

when my stomach
hurts.



~
it puts me on my stomach

this grief
you have
for the switched
at death

-

god’s color has returned

-

the male
animals
in the grey
barn

knew

-

first



~
I want to say it is yes yes

puberty’s
painted
egg, the island

clock, the genitalia

of alarm…

I want to say it is orange

like bees
like
not all

the hymns
not all

condoms…



~
he says we are men
not because a raccoon
chased a bone
into the factory
of shadows.

he says it’s me
or the bag
of trash
and gives me
a knife.

he says before I was borned
we took
the same
bullet.  he says mouth.

I kick
he says
in my sleep
and it puts
a belly button
on a bird
one
bird.

he says them animals
ain’t so wild
as a dog
in drag

and your mother
is the outside
world.



~
the robot is a ******.

the baby
it goes
from baby
to baby
with no
message.

-

I want your work to matter.



~
subtitles, ghost
pollen / I sit

facing
my father

he strokes
a large
bumblebee…



~
eating behind the mirror’s back
it was all
hick lore
to me

a scratch
in scar’s
nakedness, a loss

of infancy
awarded
only
to the deaf
who dug up
the ears
of god
for nothing
more
than the sound

of depression
going blind
in the garden
of the hairdresser’s

hair



~
death
my way
of saying
goodbye
to god

-

had you lived
or enjoyed
amnesia...



~
when asked
I say
I see
on the floor
of a mudhut
a *** toy
having
a seizure.

I kiss the feet
you’re the future
of.



~
not
for devouring
the mannequin
but for eating
the seeds, it was

(in a coloring
  book
  for cigarettes)

beaten

by a baby
a baby
could love



~
I go with dove to high

dives / I am on

the pill
the swimmer’s
pill / for nine

months
I’ve hidden
a rabbit
from no one’s

hormonal
christ



~
it was for healing the hand of the plain hand
that I
was touched / well blood

on a bread
crumb
massage me
a brainwashed
worm / well comb

all you want
the eyesight
of god / swallow

a hair
in the house
birth
built…

-

can’t
this once
a thing
die
in the sanctuary
of its double




~
hell is a book.

she reads it
in a room
that’s alive.

attic or no, I want
to miss
my father.



~
nakedness,

give it time
to recover



~
into something from his childhood
a man
is born.  never

far off
what crawls
her way.



~
she reaches into the same hat for the rabbit he’s made disappear.

I sleep and the dark takes me for the bone

lightning
straightens.



~
church of intermission.  church of the rolled-away church my fever follows.  church of it ain’t a baby until it spits.  church of the lawnmower left running.  of the space you give the grieving horse.  church of you when you die in my sleep.  of musical suicides.  church of the disinfected high chair.  of the false bruise.  of how to become a balloon in the church of touch.



~
in the library’s dream, the abortion clinic is no bigger than a fingerprint.



~
this is me
praying
for a photo
of my father’s
last meal.

me

praying
to have
the allergic
reaction
my mother
faked.

for proof
of animal
suicide.

a mirror for my toys.  dirt for my brother.



~
and we touch to abridge doom in the bed of a headless man.  and we struggle to hear a father verbatim.  and we ask in a fierce wind a phone booth to please be a fireplace.  and a starfish consoles a handprint.



~
/ I was spotted covering my eyes by a dentist whose childhood had stopped disappearing.  how big is your family and who wears the mouth?  is it true your dad sold to a city gargoyle a spray-can of ****?  that your mom had no baby tired of being born?  that their suicides filled a madhouse with cubist maids?  

/ year nine:  your birthday spider is put on film for biting.  your sister takes one look at my brain and remembers what to feed and how to clean a cricket.

/ year eight:



~
my son doesn’t want the circle he’s drawing to touch the circle he’s drawing.

the dog
is a heartbroken
wolf.



~
she checks her teeth in the door glass of the oven.

the egg is dropped
and the owl
******.



~
when
did your caterpillar
become
a syringe?

I want to hide the clothes I’m wearing.

something touched
is something
mourned.



~
the woman had the suicidal absence of a man who’d just broken to his body that his blood was not the rooster patience devoured. if I peeled a potato, I did so in egg’s hell.



~
praise headgear, worship eyewear.

adore nostalgia, forgive

memorial’s
constant
vigil.

say god
three times, then

say mirror.



~
this is what you mean, kiddo

what you mean
to a bomb

/ it doesn’t help god

that god
is awake



~
for what
does the torso
pray?

the cocoon is music
to the mannequin’s
ear.

sister
she ain’t
been calm.



~
when grief
was password
and not
codename

when gift
horse
was horse
fly

when baby
little baby
shorthand
went all
stork-****

(on who)

to remember
god



~
outside the dream, I had written the most heartbreakingly clear poem about brotherhood.  inside

was this boy
was discovering
god’s thumb
is never
clean.  a boy whose mouth

was never
here.  all those I’ve met

I’ve left
alone.



~
asleep in the pickpocket’s bed, the baby is a mirage.  

I’m so fat
I’m fat
in the dark.  I compose

at my lowest
a crucifixion
story

from the basements
my father
wired.



~
putting the meat
back together
in an unfilled
pool

we yawned
at the same
time / brief

painless
the unmothered

between



~
as overcome as I was to be gifted a hospital gown, I had nothing on the angel whose brain / for visiting the eye / was banished…

we are the dead
we’re here
to return



~
by death I mean nothing was beautiful for a very long time.

that, and when did you know.

Some loved me
                 Some hated me
                                         But
                                                    I don't think that I am borned to please any

I walked away from that blurry night
With my back wrapped nakedly in soft silk, tossing and turning in a fight
Your brother in so much pain and your mother in a scurry to find her words
You tell me it's alright, and that there's nothing to fear
But anybody who knows you knows the lies you mend are sincere

I wanted to leave your family there in the fog of that old apartment building and resume myself to the lone cars sifting through the highway by 407
But I knew that I wanted you to follow me to share that peace I've found in the the hours past eleven
And as I walked away on a familiar stranger road
I turned around to expect your goofy smile, a smile that read you would come back with me to see my life
I called out to you, and let my words fight the silent in the night
And as I turned around, all I found was you and your mother far off in the corner of my sight
With a *** and a garden trowel, and you said to me that you'd bring it light
Although your father was never there, and most of your life you'd spent scared, you planted a sunflower in the mourning of his leaving glare
And like northern lights, did the sun rise that morn, when you told me that you wish, like this sunflower, that you could be borned
That although hurt and never to let go, you'd make the best of it, to give light to your scorn

If only I could learn from this, to make the best of everything as you do
But maybe I'm just still waiting for you to come back with me so that we can start new
So that you and I can watch the sunset, and I can find light too

A youngster told me, mister you are old
I asked, how can you tell
His reply was, I'm young, without a wrinkle face
I replied, my face is wrinkled because I always smiled
He told me, you move slowly and with a limp
I replied, I lived in the fast lane, but it was time to get off
My limp was from working hard, staying true to myself, never wavering
His puzzled look needed me to explain further
I remember when I was like you many years ago
My strength and confidence was my burning desire
I left the ones who borned me cause I
knew everything
They closed the door and on it read good luck young man we moved to Florida
Suddenly, reality set in, I was a man
Everything I thought I knew was there
I'm a man
But the little nuances of life the ones they taught me and I ignored have come full circle
Their wisdom and survival of life will always be in my thoughts
So youngster I'm not old I have aged well
The wrinkles on my face are from all the smiles life has given me
My limp is a sign that I will make it to the finish line

he says we are men
not because a raccoon
chased a bone
into the factory
of shadows.

he says it’s me
or the bag
of trash
and gives me
a knife.

he says before I was borned
we took
the same
bullet.  he says mouth.  

I kick
he says
in my sleep
and it puts
a belly button
on a bird
one
bird.

he says them animals
ain’t so wild
as a dog
in drag
and your mother
is the outside
world.

I am brewing with silence crazily
Notas have died long since
Time is a scorpion which stings itself
Loneliness is amirror which shows myself
You are lurk in my childhood tears
Like a kite whose rope break off
Let it go! İn honor of you Valentina!


Everyone was so right
That we must have been unfair awfully
Our fingerprints must have been
On the all of the slains collar
Blood of killed children
Must have benn on our tooth
Let it go! İn honor of you Valentina!


There were too many innocent
We must have been most babylonian
Ah Valentina!
We could not have borned
As well as we could not have learnt to live
We would have ben a sin
İf we born again
Not much
Goodness We could have loved!
Let it go! İn honor of you Valentina!

Murat Halici

I sat next to her, strength and passion which used to keep me with her still were there. My legs trembling and i felt plunging into the abyss,
vertigo...
We knew it had to end but we were there embraced, our souls were embraced.
I tousled gently her face and hair. It was like standing on earth but also flying at low height. I could see how beautiful earth was from up sky high.
Earth, people, trees, mountains, homes, my most beloved. Nostalgia for the moment i first met her. The newfound feelings borned inside me and the harmony flooding me when i look at her face.
Goodbye...

The alarm clock buzzed beside him as he struggled to reach his hand out to shut the alarm away. He groaned as he rolled over from his side of the bed to the other side of his king-sized bed. The other side of the bed, that used to feel so warm, was now empty and cold. He gave out a deep sigh before sitting up on his bed and proceeded to kiss the picture frame on the side table beside his bed. He admired her beautiful face for a few minutes as he smiled painfully before placing it back where it was before. Ruffling his own hair, he walked towards his cupboard to grab a random shirt and threw it on before quickening his steps to the bedroom beside his. He knocked on the door gently before opening it lightly. Walking towards the snoozing female on the bed, he sat down beside her and shook her petite body.

"Hey... Wake up..." he spoke gently as he switched the side lamp on. Long eyelashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes, her brown watery orbs shimmered under the small light. Small groans could be heard as she tried to hide herself under the blanket, making the grown man laugh at her cute antics. "Come on, I need to get to work..." he said as he shook her more.

"Noooooooooo~" a small muffled groan could be heard from under the blanket and he chuckled.

"If you are not going wake up, the tickle monster is going to attack you~" He grabbed the girl who was hiding under the blankets and started to tickle her through the thick cloth and cute giggles could be heard as she slowly revealed her head, sitting up as she came eye to eye with the grown man.

"Good morning, Daddy." she greeted politely.

"Good morning, little princess." he greeted back, smiling as he stroked his little girl's long wavy hair that she grew out ever since the day she was borned. "Come on, let's get washed up." he opened his arms, inviting the little girl into his arms. She did the same and held onto his broad shoulders as he carried her and they both went into the bathroom. He sat her down on their sturdy basin counter top as he started shaving his stubs carefully. The 5 year old independently took her father's toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste on the brush before passing it to him. He smiled lightly before taking his toothbrush and watched as she prepared her own small pink bunny designed toothbrush. After finishing brushing their teeth, he helped the little girl down from the basin as she ran towards the bathtub.

"Kailee! Remove your clothes before you start the bath." he spoke firmly to the girl as she started running the tap to the fill the bathtub.

SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH!

He squeezed his eyes together so that the water that was splashing around would not get into his eyes. "Will you please stop splashing?" he nagged at the young girl but she merely giggled, finding the scene of her father getting all soaked rather amusing. She continued splashing the soaped water in her father's direction, ignoring the fact that he was literally getting drenched in his clothes as he scrubbed her clean.

After drying her up, he brought her back into her bedroom as he looked through her clothes that were hung in her wardrobe. "Daddy! I want to wear that dress!" she exclaimed, pointing to a sky blue dress, with floral prints on the thin silk layer on top of the bottom half of the dress.

"Again? This is probably the 50th time you wore it this year, my dear." he half-complained as he chuckled behind his words, taking it out from the wardrobe and dressed her up in the dress.

"What~? I like this dress." she responded as she waited for her father to help her zip up the dress before she skipped to the full-length mirror in her room and admired herself.

"I know I know. Go down for breakfast. Your grandparents are probably waiting for you." he said as he went back into his own bedroom and prepared himself for his day at work.

Decked in a simple tight fit black tee shirt and light blue ripped jeans, he started styling his hair, slicking his black hair backwards in a neat style. After he was done accessorising, he jogged down the stairs to join his family for breakfast.

As he sat down with his father and mother for breakfast, he saw that his little girl was already done with her meal and had scattered off to play with the two dogs in the yard. "Good morning Mom, Dad." he greeted before bowing a little and started to munch on his sandwich. "Egg sandwich! Mmm, this is tasty." he spoke with a little hype as he munched on it more.

"Dylan... Why did you let her wear that dress again?" his mother nagged at him, but he merely smiled at her with respect.

"It's alright Mom, you know that's her favourite dress." he said nonchalantly before realising that his parents were already looking at one another with worried looks. "It's alright, it really is." he assured them with a cool smile as he heard his phone ring and his secretary's name showed on the phone. "Alright, we need to go. Come on, Kailee!"

At the sound of her father's voice, Kailee kissed the retriever puppies goodbye before running towards Dylan, who was waiting for her with his hand outstretched for her hand. Small fingers gripped around his masculine hand as he tugged her along towards the posh looking van that was waiting for them upfront. The two of them board the van and the well-mannered Kailee greeted the adult man inside.

"Good morning Uncle Fred!" she grinned brightly at the male whom was older than her own father.

"Good morning Kailee, wearing your favourite dress again?" he commented casually but Dylan knew that he eyed him for a bit there.

"Yes! I love this dress!" Kailee exclaimed, smiling brightly as her eyes turned into crescents, just like how her father's would. The three of them went on their way to the company. Upon arriving, they made their way up towards the studios and the elevator stops on the 4th floor. Before the elevator door opened, Dylan knelt down on one knee if front of Kailee and gently brushed his thumb against her chubby cheeks and stroked her hair.

"I've got to go. Behave, okay?" he smiled at her but she pouted.

"Can't you stay with me today?" she mumbled and Dylan felt his heart clenched a little. He had always felt sorry that he could not spend his time with Kailee, but this career was all that was supporting him and his family.

"Sorry baby." he lightly kissed her on her forehead and smiled at her again, "I love you." he murmured to her.

"I love you too." she replied with a small smile as she waved to her father goodbye. Dylan waved a little before walking out of the elevator, leaving Fred and Kailee in the elevator alone as they proceeded to the fifth floor, where Kailee's private tutor was waiting for her.



"Dylan."

"Dylan."

"Mister Dylan Caleb!"

Finally snapping out of his daze, Dylan raised his head as he looked Travis in the eyes. "Yes?" he realised that he have not been paying attention to the song that Travis was playing for him and he watched as  his partner sighed in front of him. "I'm sorry." he apologised to Travis but his blonde friend merely sighed deeper.

"Let's go for a break." Travis suggested and they both stood up, leaving the studio as they started to take a stroll around the building. They finally came to the room where Kailee was receiving her private tutoring. Through the full glass doors, he leaned against a pillar that was out of sight from Kailee. Staring at her backview, he smiled lightly. His heart warmed up, feeling grateful for her existence.

"Are you alright?" Travis placed a hand on Dylan's shoulder and his eyes started to tear up.

"What have I ever done to deserve this?" he murmured, loud enough for Travis to hear and Travis' face turned solemn as he patted Dylan on the shoulder.



Chapter 3

*He stared in the mirror as he fixed his tie nicely. The black tie went nicely with his black shirt and coat. He turned to take a look at his bedroom, which still held the things that belonged to her. Controlling his emotions, he stepped out of his bedroom and saw his 2 years old daughter held in her grandmother's arms, decked in a formal black dress.

"Must we really bring her?" Dylan murmured to his parents, his head lowered and his hands pocketed. He bit his lips as he kept his hopes high, hoping that he did not have to bring his daughter along.

"She is, after all, her mother, Dylan..." His father replied him and he nodded his lightly. He outstretched his arms to welcome his daughter into his embrace as the innocent toddler giggled and held onto her father, his face struggling to smile for the little girl.

"Let's go..." Dylan said calmly as the entire family left the house.

Arriving at their destination, most of the people were already there although it was pretty early. He left his daughter in the care of his parents as he proceeded to greet his guests politely before moving to the main hall, where his wife was.

He slowly approached the white grand coffin which his wife laid in and he hesitated before looking into the glass panel, where he could see the face of his beautiful wife, all dolled up. She looked so beautiful, and he smiled as tears started to fall down his face. Reaching out his hand, he gently caressed the glass panel as his tears started hitting it in droplets.

"Sky..." he murmured her name softly, his body shivering as he admired her face. Her eyes were closed and the small smile on her face made it seem like she was in peace. "What am I to do...? What am I to do without you...?" he mumbled under his breath as he slowly stroked the glass panel. "Ah... Sorry... I'll be okay...You will watch over Kailee and I... Right?" he mumbled some more. He slowly placed his lips against the glass panel and kissed it, his body still shaking uncontrollably. He heard people walking into the room, but he ignored it, placing his full attention on his wife.

"Dylan..." A deep voice spoke as a hand was placed on Dylan's shoulder. "Be strong..." he said. He turned slightly to see TOP standing beside him before turning back to Haneul as he slowly calmed down. Back and forth, people came up to Jiyong to comfort him and send him their condolences. It was a small funeral as Jiyong was a celebrity and he wished to be able to protect his family's privacy by not blowing it up too big. The only guests there were his close friends and family as well as Haneul's. Finally coming eye to eye with Haneul's parents, Jiyong bowed deeply at his in-laws, solemnly portraying his apologies and guilt towards them.

"Sorry that I didn't take good care of Haneul like I've promised to. I'm deeply sorry, Father and Mother." he said in great sorrow.

"Look up, Jiyong-ah." Haneul's father said in a deep, calm voice as her mother teared beside him. "It's not your fault. It's just Haneul's fate that she couldn't live longer. But she is a fool herself, ending her own life like this."

BASH!

Out of nowhere, Haneul's younger brother, Hanbyun, came out and gave Jiyong a punch in the face, sending him crashing to the ground. Jiyong's friends wanted to help him up, but he shook his hand before turning to look Hanbyun in the eye. Instead of anger, he saw sadness in Hanbyun's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hanbyun-ah." he apologised, not knowing what to say to the depressed young adult. With no reply, Hanbyun stomped out of the funeral hall.

"Sorry Ji-"

"It's okay Father and Mother. Everyone is definitely not in a good mood because of this. Hanbyun is no exception." he lowered his head, feeling shameful to face his in-laws after what happened to their daughter.

"Let's go send Haneul off nicely." Jiyong's father commented to everyone as Seungri, Daesung, TOP, Youngbae, Mithra and Seungyoon were ready to lift the coffin. He nodded as he turned to see his daughter in his mother's arms.

"Umma. Let me hold Hanyoung." Jiyong said as he reached out his hand towards his daughter and held on to her. Sending Haneul off into the fire, he bid his last farewell to his one true love.



Chapter 4

He held his daughter's hand as they slowly walk along the rows of tombs. Once they had arrived at the tomb of the person they were here to visit, Jiyong passed the bouquet of light blue and red roses to Hanyoung. The 5 year old held the bouquet in her arms and made a small prayer as she laid the bouquet on her mother's tomb. Taking out his hankerchief from his pocket, he knelt down in front of the tomb and started wiping her photo and the words that were engraved on the tomb.

"Haneul-ah... Hanyoung and I have come to visit you." he said steadily and softly.

"Umma..." Hanyoung called out to her mother as her small hands reached out to stroke the photo of her late mother. Jiyong held on to his daughter as he forced out a smile.

"Hanyoungie is 5 years old already..." he paused, "Which means you have been gone for 3 years now..." he said, his lips quivering as he tried his best to keep his emotions under control. There was so much he wanted to say to Haneul, but he kept them in his heart as he made a silent prayer. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how much he wanted her here with him and Hanyoung, how everything felt so incomplete without her.

"Appa, don't cry..." he heard a small voice comfort him as her warm hands reach out to wipe away his tears. "Hanyoung knows that Appa misses Umma... I miss Umma too..." she murmured to her father as her face to change. Jiyong reached out to hug his daughter tightly, feeling her warmth as his heart continued to tear apart at the thought of his wife. He started to hear little sniffles coming from beside him and he gulped in guilt.

"Alright... Appa won't cry anymore... Hanyoung shall not cry too, okay?" Jiyong swallowed his agony to comfort his daughter. Hanyoung parted the hug and turned towards the tomb and placed her hand on the photo again.

"Umma... Why did you leave me and Appa alone? I want you here with Appa and I..." her innocent thoughts rolled out bit by bit and Jiyong watched as Hanyoung conversed with the photo. "But it's okay... Umma is in better place now... Appa said that Umma will take care of Hanyoung and Appa from that place..." she smiled slightly, "Please take care of Appa... He seems really stressed out from work..." she prayed to her mother out loud and Jiyong cringed at her words, his heart shattering with every word that came out of the young girl's mouth. He choked on his tears, controlling himself as hard as he could.

"Umma... I miss you... And I love you, forever..." she stroked the photo gently.

"I'm so sorry, Hanyoungie..." Jiyong caressed his daughter's face as he lowered his head.

"It's okay, Appa. It's not your fault..." Hanyoung tilted her head in confusion as she patted her father's head, making Jiyong smile slightly.


Bringing Hanyoung to a restaurant for lunch, he ordered his usual as well as Haneul's favourites, Carbonara Spaghetti and Beef Sirloin Steak. As he fed Hanyoung, he started to speak softly.

"You know... This is the restaurant where I first met your Umma..." he said and it called Hanyoung's attention. Her ears perked slightly as she looked up at her father, waiting for him to continue his story.


Chapter 5


"What do you mean there are no more seats left? Don't you know who am I? I'm G-Dragon. What happened to my usual table?"

Jiyong ranted at one of the waiters softly in the restaurant. He was there for his lunch that day, but the restaurant was packed.

"Sorry sir. Your table is taken by that lady. We didn't know you would be coming by today..." the waiter replied in a flustered tone, not knowing how to deal with the situation. Jiyong frowned in anger as he turned to look at the woman who had taken his seat. His expression softened as he watched the woman twirled on her spaghetti. She was in a white collared blouse and a mini black skirt, a pair of studious yet classy spectacles on her nose as she was studying her laptop as she ate. He was overwhelmed by her charisma and beauty uncontrollably. Just then, her eyes looked up and he met with the most beautiful pair of brown orbs that he had ever seen in his entire life. With a pose of dignity and sophistication, she smiled at him before calling over the waiter that Jiyong was questioning. Nodding his head at her words, he literally ran up to Jiyong one more time.

"The lady said that if you don't mind, you can share the table with her." he st

Sour like grapes not quite ready to be borned.
And pityfull like a fetus not yet fully formed.
You break me like wire snaps under force.
and we wait until night to announce such divorce.

Bitter like acid under your finger nail
and you chew them unsuspectingly.
ANd I told you boy that I am not frail
Not in the sense, not to any degree.

But I am Weak and I am Insane
and I am gone,  and I've been lane
Out for all of you to see.

I
love is indispensable passion
like bread
we finish off
      we make it up again
either in the chaos of the cities
or in the loneliness of the mountains
all alone
you
you are my beloved,
      who hides the avalanches in her dreams
if you lost your way as a snowflake
learn that hopelessness
is the stumble upon stones on the roads
hope
      is the dress of our dreams…

II
and we should never forget
nevermore
to fall in love with someone
with the love of people
is the relief from decay
to ****
      and to be killed cruelly
            are the mistakes of human beings
therefore one day... if you are;
hurt and go away from love for a while
if the hesitancy ruins your dreams of sharing
if you're left unfaithfully
the reality is unique
beat about the bush is unnecessary
at the final analysis
every leaving
is the reason to look for love in someone else…

III

whereas, passionate love is singular
human is plural
there is no old and new passionate love
the most real death is
      to lose all your hopes
the utmost collapse is
      to give up from love
the most truthful return
      is to return to passionate love
the nicest words of love
      are the ones whispered by your voice
and this is the most beautiful one
      among all the voices in the universe…

IV

they're right when they say
great loves have great risks
with deep yearning, be together again
of the true lovers
happens after they were
departed...
when one thinks love is dead
the most strongest revival of love is
to wake up all of a sudden
at the memories of yearn
bathing in the waterfalls
      and cascading rivers
            reaching to sky
pick up the blue color of love
and, to be borned, freely,
once again in your eyes...

V

for a moment... when you stare into far
suddenly, when lavas spew out
from the volcano of your heart
when yearn for love winds up your body
and if can't endure
be sure I'm blowing the winds of my thoughts
at every move of leaves
      from very far
piercing the darkness of your dreams
a growing point
a fresh breeze from the sea
      increasing up
            wave on wave

and also be sure
if your heart become a pen
and want to go on own way
I'm waiting for you, opening my arms
these white daisies… in my hands
sign for yearn/missing of you
this is the waiting of a heart
never get tired of the wait…

VI

expectancies
formation of poems
flowing of life to stories
is almost the preparation to walking
of a crawling child
      and then the first step starts
this first step means
to say "stop" to the monotony of life
without "delaying" love to the next times
to change the sough of sound to bird warbles
and being lost of two lovers
      in one soul
that is to say
in the glory of the freedom of feeling
in order our grandchildren to be inherited
joining of two hearts, forever
      by turning red...

VII

it is time my love, it's time
the pages of love opened for you, are new
the meaning of a cordial hello now
is the yearn of the beautiful days to be lived
roads are clear
lights are green
nights are the eve of the sunny tomorrows
breeze of mornings, flows
from the darkness of your black eyes
to the whiteness of your wedding dress
that 's to say
I mean, all the colors
sea
      grass
            rainbow
everything written for love today
everything to be said and written tomorrow
      is for you
every breeze
every rustling leaf
all the songs of birds are
because of, you open the road to love...

Turgay Usanmaz

From the book "goodbye love"

It was all I did, all I'd do & all the time nearing Xmas: the time Jesus was borned. If I could talk to Him, like I talk to the Holy Pope, I'd say: “Prince Michael, or Jesus, forgive & forget but mainly forget!” It's important to cover the facts, the people near & about Roswell in New Mexico know it, the peo. who manufacture weather stations & atmospheric what-nots, flight dummies & 4-fingered, thumbless, bulb-head'd, bug-eyed creatures know it also.