I wish each blunt I'd smoke
would erase a letter of your name
from the top of my lungs.

You see, you've changed my name
to "C'est la vie, Darling".
My mother died later that year
so the phone calls addressing my forgotten self
stopped eventually.

Two Thursdays ago I had cinnamon buns with Hades.
He was such a flirt with
these benevolent eyes of liquid brown
mirroring my self hate
and bad dub;
casting me away
from your smell in my apartment
right before you wash the day off your mortal flesh.

He bought me scented candles
and invited me to where the roots are,
and there wasn't enough oxygen
to lit up my blunt.

She is raving and unfaithful,
judged to die of insomnia
but
I love her.

She dances four tangos
with demons in her mind
but the fifth dance is mine tonight.

Instead of singing her love songs
I scream in agony
"Baby, your blood tastes like Tequila",
but she pours me a cold Jager
hissing.

She was never a person of tender touch,
rolled up her sleeves and showed her scars
and bruises
like a warrior.

She is ******* and restless,
a street cat fearing strangers
yet chasing cars
and
I love her.

I build a blanket fort
and name it Olympus
with a wishful thinking of you coming over.

Smoking is forbidden in my celestial hall.
Take your shoes off,
I don't mind your stinky feet.
Let's play war-
I'd be your Hera and you'd be my Titan.

I would
bite your neck,
kiss you on your shoulder,
**** you with kindness,

call you Atlas
and make you hold my sky up forever and a day.

I pledge allegiance
to the genuine warmth down my guts
and the shivering drops of your sweat
all over my oh so lucky existence.

Philotes won't have mercy
on my sore knees and my thirsty heart.
"Acquire patience, my beloved child"-
he'd say as my ***** would beg
for one more lie of yours.

Your radiance whisked me away,
pulled the carpet from under my feet
and left me wandering the greyscale
of placebo love,
lust overflow
and polite embraces.

I like to lay myself on your sheets
for I can't stand falling for you
each and very time
I get up and leave.

I've done my nails, sugar,
so I can write a love song
down your spine.

At first I was a little effexor,
though my pulse hurried to get cipralex.


My dreams were ****** and clonex,
so trazodone I could barely feel my fingertips,
yet zodorm enough to wake up in a cuckoo's nest.


Pulling me out of my psychiatric diagnosis
was never as easy as pulling me out of my morals

and clothes.

My breath would love to have a randevu
with your lips.
It screams in every single language I know
"Obey me! Obey me! Obey me!"
and keeps my mental equilibrium
in a dungeon,
leading me to hunger pains
with no hugs and forehead kisses to feed them.

My heels keep on clicking towards
somewhere you might be,
wailing loud enough
for all the love deities to hear.

Just come here already.
I'll arrange us some fine hot tea
and buy your favorite bakery,
we'll keep it proper yet overwhelming
and I'll let you wear my house slippers
so you won't get
cold feet.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
At first I only wanted his words -
sweet and flawless,
warm like fuzzy socks and blanket forts,
simple yet adorable like those Dr. Seuss books.

As time passed I had become greedy
and asked for them lips
kissing mine.

Son, help me reaching him,
let my feet dance all the way to his porch
wearing my favorite dress
and perfume.

Tell the Holy Spirit
to guard my love tenderly,
to kiss him goodnight and
no sugar in his coffee, please.

I touch words:
I touched Azure
and saw clear blue sky and sunflowers and cows chewing on some chaff.
I touched Gentle
and saw my kitten's paws curled while he's asleep and fresh straight- out- the- dryer laundry and a long embrace.
I touched Heart
and saw its measured yet persisting beat.
I touched Wadi
and I saw me and my loved one walking our dog wearing sandals and the ugliest of hats.
I touched Horizon
and saw the sun kissing the soil.
I touched Bell
and saw a Sunday mass in my hometown church.

I need a good lawyer
for I am about to start a custody war, dear.
All the mess I make in them sheets alone
having those restless nights,
reminding myself of the Xanax era -
I've counted to 1575 trying to fall asleep last night.

Since you've filled my cup
and opened me at an unfinished chapter,
crucified my sanity and ditched a grave for my solitude
I've lost the vision of
where you end
and I begin.

Look what you've done!
You took my songs on my special playlists,
now my favorite sweets taste like your morning kisses
and my favorite dresses are now your favorite ones to remove
and my favorite everything is now yours,
even morning air and ice cold fingertips.

As soon as I get a good lawyer
I will have my favorite records, movies, house slippers, positions and pizza toppings-
only mine, at my place
on Tuesdays, please.

Look at you, an atheist addressing God,
a fairytale beast caged
and force-fed with Prozac,
awaiting redemption.

You won't let me spill some light
on your spectacular murals
that you've been hiding lately behind
"loneliness is a bliss" and "goodbye".

I want my "how was your day"s and "take care"s
and caressing mutual core.
I want my greyscale back
and all of my pages blank, serene and sober.
I want to peel you off the arteries' walls
as easy as I peel off my nail polish when I get anxious

unless I get to be
Goldielocks once again.

As a delirious soul in the Asylum of Wicked
I would measure my serotonin reuptake
by the times your name
was carved into my brain relentlessly
each time you sang your song.

And if Ming Dynasty would build
the Great Wall of Silence instead,
it would cross your mind
and pass by the corner of your smile
never ending.

I'd probably try to conquer it,
but my Ventolin would be defetead by them times
I'd fall from you.
I'd fall for you.

If you dip your naked self
up to your chest
in the Mediterranean sea
and you flinch and yell
sensing the burning salt on your scratched skin incasement,

would you die in pain
dipping your soul?