and there she is,
known as cruel wicked for speaking.

her hair was tied,
her neck was strangled,
her eyes were poked,
her lips were stapled,
her arms were rotated,
her feet were collected,
and she were dressed into something new.

but she did not like it all,
and broke the strings above her.
they called her a demon,
setted her into fire,
darted her heart with spears,
dragger her into venous snakes,
tangled her with ruling hurricane,
just to let her meet their god, lucifer.

yet she is still there standing,
hoping until her last breath—
after all, she is the woman of god
who died from people she devoted for.

"war may be over— but inhumanity remains" ; @wordsbyhami

Liars
are the new sarcastics
but they are not informed
that as long as they
throw ironic phrases,
Poets already made them
as a topic for poem
with all figure of speech.

I was a lost girl in the Mars—
looking for the crisp melody of air that I can breathe in,
looking for a shivery place to melt my vested warmth that burning as a flame,
looking for mortal who I can able to talk with in the cosmos where I'm the only living thing.

Until he came, an astronaut who saved me from the torment—
he held my hand as we go to his world, the earth:
with a refreshing wind that I used to breath in and out whenever I told myself to calm down as my tears kisses my cheeks,
with a wintry place that I used to experience whenever the atmosphere became cold due of my icy heart,
with someone that I used to talked with who changed when there's a lot of living things fooling around him.

I once a lost girl with my own world and back to it again—
but now, with his universe that filled with metaphors.

Everytime that the lustrous moon's visage apply
as how the stars that glimmering divided in the sky
waiting to perceive a new chapter of tragical book,
that she always utter while descending her tears—
When she's sensing at the antiquated photographs,
titled by their names with date and sugary caption
especially those blessed-satisfactory representation.

She poisoned her mind that he's a gentle saviour
as how he grasps her hands when she fell before,
She reminiscence when he enunciate the word hello,
that gave color to her life but he just left her alone.
She severed her wrist to release her poorly feelings
and filled a pen with her blood that she use to write
her unheard emotions and questions into a paper;

Is it bad if I look to our immemorial representation?
Is it bad if I believe that you're a good-hearted person?
Is it bad if I verbalize your splendiferous sanction?
Is it bad if I cut my wrist to impoverish my emotion?
Is it bad if I wear happy mask to hide my impression?
Is it bad if I didn't fight our love for your satisfaction?
Is it bad if I still love you without any hesitation?
Is it bad if I want you to be yours without limitation?

She asked using literary art from her fragile heart—
as a glass that downward-sloping from the paradise,
Moving swiftly with air, think through being escaped
but directly goes to the pits and broke into pieces.
Sunlights reverberate his faded shades of love for her
make her to reckon his spoken metaphors anywhere,
that slowly killing her willingness to symphathize life,
due of his falsity phrases that stabbed her as a knife.

If I told you to let me go— please, don't trust my lyric.
I'm just a woman that have a million of different behaviour and a thousand of difficulty in my head.
The reason why I suddenly said a fortuitous ****** thing that I didn't want to happened.
I told you— don't believe me because I'm just a victim of anger that living inside of my center.
Just grasp my hands tight like you don't wish me to depart so that I will be alright.
Because I don't seek to exit in the sea that filled with my sin.
So please, be my lifeguard— save me from what I've done.
I wish you'll facilitate my spirit and help me because I can't live without you.
I know that it's better to be drown in abysmal ocean or to cut my wrist until I die down than listening to your locution that you letting me go.