one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart
is a chore i wish i took more seriously.

every time i try to clear out the cobwebs inside my chest, i bump my head and shoulders into things hooked on its walls; knock my knees and toes into things stuffed in its nooks and crannies.
i would lay low and slowly
unpack the baggage i accumulated and start learning to compartmentalise,
unhang the skeletons of souls that have been chasing me in my dreams,
undogear the chapters that are done and dusted where you, like all the others, remain a metaphor, a foreshadowing, a symbol, a period that i thought would fit my lifelong sentence,
but that's a story for another day.

my obsession with hoarding memories like my life depended on it
has long been a problem
just like my system being an "organised mess"
— you and i both know, i am the mess.
until i can fold away my feelings from my past
and tuck away my thoughts about my future
to make sense of my present,
i will have to keep collecting these scattered words and phrases
waiting to be bound and sealed in a box somewhere.

one of these days, i'm going to write about how taking care of my heart
is a chore i took seriously
so that when it stops beating
it is full
and light
at the same time.

- 20200218

****-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.

Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;

Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.

Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;

He walks backwards into a room, takes of his jacket and sits down
The bartenders slides him money and a receipt
He slips the money back into his wallet and the bartender fetches the receipt from under his shot glass
His makes a bitter face as the alcohol creeps back up his throat
He picks it up and sips it back into the glass from his mouth
Things in rewind seem much easier
Like ants running back into their hole
Raindrops flying into the sky
Your skin will soften, teeth will sink back into your gums
Your shoes will get bigger, feet smaller
You will remember less memories
Remember less of the pain
You will forget about all the nights you lay in awe of how much you miss him, you will think of him getting drunk
Wishing he would spit it back into the bottle
Wishing he would unhang up the phone
Wishing you hadn't walked out
You imagine unpacking your bags as salt water tears that dissolved into your shirt slid back up into your eyes
In the distance you can hear the music playing backwards as you rock back in forth, unkissing his neck
You want life to be recorded on a VCR, little green and red buttons putting your mind at ease
But then again, you haven't owned a VCR in years

I'm going to do it.
I don't give a ****!
As I sit... Here with my belt
Pain and confusion all I've felt.
My emotions can't be dealt.
Everything is set.
How I'll do it, where I'll do it.
I'll hang myself in the closet.
No ones home, no one will stop me.
My body stays in the world,
At least my soul will be free.
I tied the belt around my neck,
Think about my life for a sec..
As I'm hanging, I'm no longer breathing, just gasping.
Out of no where life starts flashing.
Times passing, I start grasping.
I unhang myself from the belt.
As I'm breathless there was something I felt.
What I've felt was hope.
Maybe there is more to life.
What was I thinking?
Hanging myself, cutting myself with a knife.
The sun is now gone.
My life is far from done.

Ropes are left unhang
at the demise of the fangs
as the babies cry on the arms
of unopened protested farms

No kin or even kings
but there is a keenness
as the wood toss on a saw
of the trims of time unsewn

I'll let them run and bathe
under the sunsets tale
I'll feed them rhythm and blues
as the skies covers all their hues