Grasping the wisps of dreams
Longing for the scent of hope
Chasing the ghost of whims

Gray clouds storm in as dreams shatter
the shards of glass cutting deep
with only pain as my friend.

No blood.

Just the numbing pain,
until I can no longer feel

The dull pain of what was
or what could have been.

Fighting that will to scream
or to agonize.

To fall on the ground for a demon
To imagine anything from then
Would that be weak?

To chase a ghost.
To chase the wisps of dreams.

To long for smoke.

y.k.

I sleep in the morning haze.
Wake in the jubilant night.
Die in the shadows of dusk.

We are nothing but chess pieces
On a chess board
Until we decide
That we are the player
And we set the stage
To the story that we have yet to write.

y.k.

After the makeup—
The thick layers you insist on painting—
After the jewels
And the fashionable clothes
As well as your glossy hair,
After all that’s off
You know what’s left?

What’s left isn’t the pimples,
The dark circles
The limpness of your hair
The unkept, unruly appearance you hide.
What’s left is a perfect image
An image that means true beauty
I can see the clearness
The fragileness
The humaneness that is you
All I see is someone
That I don’t need to chase
And that I don’t need to glorify
Under false pretenses


y.k.

Unmoving.
Unchanging.
Standing with claws in the deep
Running down
Cold and heartless.
I want out
But I want in.
Do I stay?
Do I stay
Knowing that I lost
Do I stay
Knowing that I have nothing.
Nothing left.
Nothing to see
Or expect.

y.k.