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She mistook the devils open arms as a warm embrace,
she knew no better
it was the first sight of affection she had ever known,
the embrace was not one of warmth but of desirable pain,
instead of letting go she clung on, inhaling the bitter stench of its flesh.
The devil dug its claws into her back,
breaking bones and tearing the muscle,
until she was its slave,
its puppet.
Slowing as it reached the most important part of her,
pulling her apart gently, touching softly, humming beneath its breath.
It reached into her soul; the warm glow radiating on the devils face.
It released its icy breath,
poisoning her from the inside, the warm glow fading into dark.
Her grip on the devil loosened and she lay back into damp grass, her skin wet with the dew.
Without the light from her soul she couldn't find her way,
she reached out frail fingers as the devil turned its back.
The grass wrapped around her arms and legs with dewy kisses, as she became one with the earth.
Let me know what you think!
 Jul 2016 Yusof Asnan
autumn
The only part of my day
That I look forward to
Is when I go to bed
And lay there making up scenarios
In my head.

I think of comebacks
To 8th grade bullies.
I think of witty retorts
To my mother's snide comments.
I think of intelligent things to add
To conversations I had months ago.

I think of all the things
I was too scared to say.

And in my mind
I say them.
And pretend how things would be different
If only I had the courage to speak.
I remember the sun hitting the white sheets in the middle of the day. I was getting up to clean, and she was still lying there. The natural light poured in from the window and drowned her face forcing her eyes shut while she sang along to her favorite song. She somehow managed to dance with her whole body while she was still laying down, and I’m sure those sheets had never felt happier. I wasn’t getting much done, unless you count memorizing her movements, and the impossible way her smile was brighter than the sun. I keep trying, but I can’t remember her face; It’s just her smile. That’s the last thing I remember, I don’t know how I got here, and I honestly don’t really know where here is… Why are you crying?  

She wiped away her tears, “I-I’m sorry. I could just picture her opening her eyes and seeing you recording her every motion. I can see you standing there through the sunlight motionless and mesmerized at the sight of her lying there, dancing in the bed.”

Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly how it was. Where am I? Where is she?

She starting crying again, but this time she was sobbing uncontrollably.
"You’ve been in the hospital; You were on your way to work and you got in a car accident. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks."

What? Are you my doctor? If you’re my doctor, then why are you crying? What’s going on?

Why are you crying?
I was about to make my bed until I opened the window, and this came to my head. It's the first thing I've written in a while and I think it's okay.
I fall to the ground
In a family of seeds.
Lying in the soil
Nature meeting my needs

Coming to life
Through the ground I will breach
Growing so fast
To the sun I must reach

On top of my stem
A bud it did form
Soon it will open
The weathers so warm

The time has come
For me to put on a show
I'm going to bloom
And let everyone know

My color is yellow
Like a lemon so sour
Never have I been
Such a beautiful flower

I smell so sweet
A magnet to bees
Just to get a smell
Humans fall to their knees

Soon my flower fades
The show coming to an end
Please don't be sad
It's just nature my friend

Then jack frost sneaks in
Not making a sound
Freezing my body
All the way to the ground

The snow it does fall
Quietly covering everything
Such a wonderful blanket
I think I'll nap till spring
 Jul 2016 Yusof Asnan
ayb
I. Tell her you need to talk. Look her in the eyes, and tell her everything you've always wanted to tell her. Tell her all your thoughts - the good ones, the bad ones, the nasty ones, the irrelevant ones. Find a way to make the nasty ones less nasty.
II. Unfollow her on social media, and defriend her on Facebook. Delete her number and all those pictures you took of her because you didn't want to forget. Forget. It's okay to cry over her.
III. Change your favorite color from gold with olive specs (like her eyes) to just gold (like sunsets; like it was before you met her). Colors shouldn't be all about her anymore. They never should've been. You can cry about her.
IV. Don't let the memories of her make you bitter. Don't drive past her house. Don't look for her on the street. Delete the playlist you complied with songs about her. If you see her, wish her the best but not to her. You can cry about her.
V. Don't regret leaving her. Don't resent yourself for listening to her when she told you to leave; don't ask her to take you back. You can cry about her.
VI. Pray she'll stop coming to you in your dreams and nightmares. Know she doesn't really miss you. She said it herself: she's happier now. Wish her the best. You can cry about her.
VII. When people ask about her, speak of her how you would speak about someone who passed away. Only speak of her with love in your voice; speak of her how you did when you were in love with her.
VIII. Realize you are no longer in love with her. You can cry about that.
IX. Don't ever go back to her. Don't live in the memories. Don't cry about her anymore. Drink your favorite tea again because you like it a hell of a lot more than her favorite. Wear the perfume you have that smells like hers. Pretend the comfort of her exists without her.
X. Repeat as necessary.
 Jul 2016 Yusof Asnan
Et cetera
I remember the day we met, I remember it clear as day
I can trace my joy back to it , the way I trace the lines on your palm
I can feel the early moments still, like I feel you next to me in bed
I hear your early serenades coast over my senses, the way your hands caressed my face this morn

I remember the night of rain, the one which drenched our soul with love
I can trace my joy back to it, the way I hugged you under the moonlight breeze
I can feel your warm embrace still, like I feel you inside my heart, I gaze at the stars, they form an exceptional constellation depicting our name, we're written in the heavens
I look into your eyes from distance, and I see myself, the way the immortal sky sees itself in the majestic ocean

I remember the eve of sorrow, which brought a tornado in our lives
I remember it like I remember the day the skies settled for us, and the clouds cushioned our fall
I can trace my joy back to that sorrow, the way I trace your jawline, with kisses all the way
I can feel the rush of happy tears now, as I reminisce the tears I witnessed in your eyes, the day I got to hold you close
I remember the eve of sorrow, I remember it like the way you kissed my cheek an hour ago
I feel the tingle of your touch every time, the way I felt that first time, on the dewy eve, as it solidified into our forever
A collaboration between myself and Hamid Khan (http://hellopoetry.com/overratedshakespeare/)
 Jul 2016 Yusof Asnan
BarelyABard
This world didn't abandon war, we just made it greedy and taught it to answer to the highest bidder.
We didn't destroy famine, we just pushed it far enough away to distract everyone else with neon lights.
We didn't conquer pestilence, it just grew tired of infecting our bodies, and grew hungry for our souls.
If the last enemy to be destroyed is death, then he will be waiting a long time because our enemies weren't defeated, just painted a different color and labeled "Buy one, get one free."
 Jul 2016 Yusof Asnan
Deeee
I pick it up. The blank page awaits.
I touch the sharp tip. It's sharp enough.
And I start to write.

I write about the things I know.
I write true events.
I write the thoughts at the very front of my mind...

But soon,
I start to write things I don't know
I start to write words I have neither heard nor spoken
I start to write thoughts that have never revealed themselves to me

My eyes only see the graphite on the paper
My hand only moves in ways otherwise controlled
My mind whispers to the pencil
And the pencil listens

Only when the mind and the pencil communicate
Do I find
That the wisest words are those that happen to be
My own
This is kinda what writing feels like to me
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