I.
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch trains
passing by, dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands
leaking, shaking delirium up to your chin.

Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
but you know you talk like firecrackers
so flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore
truths popping between parentheses.

My delusion has your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue...

II.
You say,
“It’s fiction we live in. You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms and I’m tired,
staring up at your screen.

You're addicted to this diction. My voice is lost,
screaming these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."

III.
Your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue's not numb.
Drink deep, darling. Let's inoculate.

IV.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

It's this clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?

V.
So they say, one day
Or, one day, they say,
we’ll find ghosts sewed to the seams
of Fringe Wolf bones picked clean
who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
that sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like this dance was only ever for me
and my feet always fall off beat
Like I beat off any discreet romancing
To pretend that this dancing was
Anything more than masturbatory.
I guess I do dance the way I drink:
Heavy handed and troglodytic
And a little listless, but I always fight it.
So while you walk away, I’m drowning drunk in cinderblock boots; Toe-tapping a slurred S.O.S. like some song you kept whispering.
You keep whispers like keepsakes.
You speak so soft but
Baby, your voice sticks with me
like sickness.

VI.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

Alright, it's fiction that we live in
It's intended for men like me, bottled, up-ended,
but at best I just seeped through your teeth.

VII.
I stitched script to my chest like a scarlet letter vest that attests there's no Soul here worth Saving but ******* come save me anyway.
Your voice sticks
to my ghost-sewn, sea-floor bound foot steps like sickness.
Tread lightly, my love. Let's inoculate.

VIII.
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
Because I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to dance with disastrous fate,
and I'm finding my rhythm so wake silent
or sleep long, my love. Let's inoculate.

Fixating on the emotions you provided
But only for a second in time

Before you had me falling between the cracks
With a touch of your hand

Moments pass at accelerated speeds
My heart flutters.

Vibrations rush through my perplexed mentality
A loss of affection transpires

Beneath this dark facade suppressing my energy
A troglodytic character exposed

The inception of just another fantasy you implemented
Like any other dream I envisioned

A borderline ecstasy of pleasure.

"I can't do this anymore."
She said as she dropped
the razor from her hand.
The cuts on her hand were
as deep as her love for him was.
She sat there weeping all night
thinking of how she could reverse
the time and heal her wounds.
The night was as troglodytic
as her heart.
She clenched her fist tight as she
heard it whisper in her ears.
A very familiar voice but not
palatable to hear.
A voice that sounds like an elegy.
Her world spun at the speed of light
when it said it's stuck to her.
Her hands started trembling as
it was latched onto her.
Nails so long and eyes so red
she couldn't stop the horrendous
voices in her head.
As soon as the firebolt struck
the ground the wolves started
bawling, the fiendish and
diabolical sky started mourning.
All she wanted at that
time was to be free of that
unendurable and inadmissible
pain but the depression which
came in the form of Mephistopheles
did not let her empty her vessel.
As the long abominable and
atrocious night passed she was
found lying on the floor breathing
but not alive.
She was completely shattered and
broken into tiny bits but
with every tiny bit she still
loved him.
That was the night she realized
what it was like to
live with depression.

A forward confrontation:
Two mortals watching, ogling in thirst.
Instantly, and in a rush.
Primordial acts: anti-thixophobia.
Taunting and nuzzling in such
A local vicinity of inquiry.
Triumphant, wailing slurs.
Alas, but a murmur: troglodytic.
Solitary, oh, limbs chaotic and aching.

Reminiscing on my past.
Why didn't you text?
A simple message
would have made my
day beautiful.
What is that has been
left unfinished that
you still appear in my
dreams?
Why is it still a pleasure
to think about your
celestial face?
Why do I still meander
that you are going to run
back to me and apologize
for everything you have done?
Why am I so lonely without you?
Why do I try to find you in every
single boy I meet?
Why does your assonance still
play in my head?
Why do I look up at the sky
full of stars and think of you?
Why do I still love you
so irrevocably
and unconditionally?
Why do I still get butterflies
when someone takes your
empyrean name?
What is this unfinished business
left between both of us
that makes me smile like
I have conquered your heart?
Absence of you
has made my life troglodytic.
You are the light that can enlighten
my tenebrous soul.
We're on the last chapter and
it's not you who is going
to continue
to write this ambiguous book.
I have the pen and I shall turn
it into a day dream that I wish
everyday comes true.

The sky slipped into a
perfect shade of Clementine.
Standing there all alone on the
edge of the cliff wearing a yellow
endearing empire waist dress I had lost myself
somewhere between the sea and
the sunset.
All the water has it's own memory like
how we do and it's always trying to go
back to where it was.
The painful part about memories is
they only leave us wanting more.
I remember looking into your eyes
on the same spot and realized that it
was a sunset on it's own.
The same dress you loved with bright
red lipstick on my lips and my cheeks that'd turn crimson everytime you held my hand.
Now I realize how troglodytic I am
with nothing left but just a confused
state and a perturbed mind.
So incomplete. So exhausted.
I close my eyes and as the water
floods the shore I drown myself
In to another memory.
How I remember that night
when I came home crossing the seven
Seas and the distance between both of us. The ecstacy ran down my neck as I rang the doorbell just to find her entwined in your arms drinking wine from the same glass and sitting on the same couch that
we once sat on. The perplexed look on your face was certainly not what I was expecting.
But every expectation dies when the sun hits the ground.
I could see all my dreams getting lost
in the sea. I turned around took my bag
and with tears in my eyes I walked away.
You came running behind me and pulled me by my dress so hard that a part of the dress tore but I chose not to stay and continued walking.
This dress is still incomplete without that piece just like how I'm incomplete with you.
I open my eyes and just like how a modern fairytale ends I proceeded with my journey
watching the sunset that you had promised we'd watch together trying not to think how your skin felt on mine. Although it was like taking a sip of eternity. The sun, the sky and the water never tasted so good.