The ailing hours
Go drunk
On medicinal touch -
As a trembling foot
Connects with
The icy floors
That once entered dreams,
There is a solemn chant
Of how he used to feel,
How he was once held

The silence coughs
And suddenly a siren bellows,
The vase cracks
The petals are an unusual cry
For the thirst that waited
To drain and kill him -
Maybe asking for help
Was the right thing to do
Even if it spoke of
A threat

It’s a tough call
As the flowers fall
From the ceiling,
Prints of your shoes
Leave ugly trails everywhere

Words are senseless
The days rage backwards
There is no humor in the clouds
Nor the slightest grin
From an ever-present sun,
As the ride of life
Continues to suffocate us
The illusoriness binds us
To an applause, deafening
Entailed to transcending bliss
Just as you were about
To leave these
Playful, hopeful drapes 

Please don’t forget
To clean the sheets
Off of your body’s imprints,
I wish to breathe safely
Tonight 

It’s baffling how numbers such as bland dates on the calendar can send me on a long ride down memory lane. This is not a smooth bus-ride with open windows and quiet passengers evenly distributed inside the mobile space, no: ‘tis long ride I speak of is generously provided by a sputtering one-seater scooter on uneven, gravel-groomed course. It brings me back to moments like when I crossed a bridge and being soaked to the bone when I reached the other end, realizing my love for the rain was nothing but an infection from cleverly-crafted plots from books and being aware of the bed-sheets I’ve been sleeping on weren’t actually various shapes of marshmallow but faded Hello-Kitty prints.

These winter sweaters should have been kept under the bed by now but I like wearing them during summer, simply because my summers consist of staying indoors.

Staying indoors is heaven, which I pay for with my hard-earned money from waitressing at the coffee-shop for 6 days a week. It is a one-bedroom-space type-of heaven that has air-conditioning, a welcoming bed with a side-table piled up with books to read and a shriveled doodle-book for me to help myself with. Sometimes visits to the bathroom would take a while and yes, visitors would enjoy the handwritten connect-the-dot puzzles right above the toiletpaper-dispenser, making sure not to touch the tiles on the wall incase someone forgot to use the tissue first.

It’s been months since my grandmother gave up at the hospital. I refuse to use the “d” word because let’s face it, I do not wish to remember dates with the image of someone draped in black holding a long staff with a sharp-edged metal thing on its end appearing on the right-hand side of my mental screen, like a virus pop-up as a consequence of clicking a suspicious link off some chain e-mail.
I miss her. She was the one who took care of me almost all my life. Even though I wasn’t able to get through college, she still used her pension to send me gifts now and then such as acrylic paints, brushes of various sizes and a portable canvas that I could take to the park with me. I stopped thinking about my mother who left me even before I could figure out why the hell I was bleeding on my tender end.

My 18th birthday was like a scene from Audrey Hepburn’s movie Sabrina, except I am none of those things. I decided to compare it to that as a little comical treat for myself since I love Audrey Hepburn and it’s nice to dwell on such a thought, even for just a fraction of a second. I’m 26 now and nothing else really matters more than drowning myself in pages that feel more like home to me than the people I see everyday at work, or even having the occasional bumping-into with faces I’ve brushed cheeks with in the past.

Age is nothing but a number, but it does bruise a little when I ponder upon the tally marks it leaves upon my forehead. They say more than fifty frowns cause one long streak across the forehead. Was it fifty? Or was it a hundred?

It felt as if a big hand was over my sight, a giant quagmire of a shadow that made my eyes spill of unfriendly static and things. The windows were in flames in a blink of an eye - my palms were filled with painful cuts yet they bled nothing. As air exhaled from my frozen nostrils (I can feel my wrists turn blue), wilted flowers descended from my neck to gently rest on my feet. My shoes were nowhere to be found, a paintbrush was broken in two and the mirror in front of me tried to tell a story from my dried hair and quivering lips.

A thousand letters paved the cracked floors and even though a single word was never uttered, the silence enveloped everything in cold gray leaves. With a shiver down my spine, every tear turned to ice as you gradually faded into the sunset of broken bones and thieved memories - the only place you ever called home.

let me meet you in better fields
that reek of pastel strawberry sheer
maps make not the slightest sense
the compasses have gone astray,
the cement on the ground
that my feet step on
seem to shake me off
like water droplets on drunk fur

meet me in the clouds
where promises need not go
through holes as small as those
that are on grandma needles,
I’ll sail the oceans of sands
even the deserts of floods
just to seek the familiar voice
that once made me dissolve

I will let you meet me further
into the distance where time
cannot stop neither you or me
as we gracefully dance alone
across the floors that break me
with every turn, every trip
until I finally disintegrate
into you, my beautiful devouring 

To him, I’m like a deck of cards
Which he picks up when he’s bored
Builds it up and crashes it down
Bets on it and plays around

Shows it off to his friends
But throws it in the corner when at home
Cuts it with a scissors when angry
He calls it being manly

A collection getting too old
At some point will be thrown or sold

She was more than just a swift hand
I felt her warmth as she held me
In pieces I was, yet I gave my all
To be the best game for her

Using my blood to shine
Even if I’d get home empty and used
All to see if there was a smile
Waiting to tuck me into bed

Worn out and weary, still use me;
For you I’d cut myself open

(collab by
500daysofart and
artreture) 

I see you behind those lights working the wheel
A shine burst asunder to stars as I focus 
The stage would be nothing without you, 
as many the pieces apart make the light a whole

An ocean comprising the copious fishes, whales, octopi 
occupying the depths of blue-black space 
All pixels flickering shimmering seas aglitter 
to make up a picture 

You scribble away 
in sunshine the skies 
Your fingers to blisters 
and leave us your smiles

It reminds me of cheese and probably pie too
The way you wear your head, how your spectacles rest
Upon that thinking nose, it gives me shivers of delight;
Like an umbrella during a storm, you sheltered your greatness

A canvas of savage hue, with its intricacy in dissolving purpose
Bubbles pop and grow wings into the windowpane
With every brush, with every word
The wonderfulness grows louder

Utter more than a whisper
Blink more than just a thought
As I obsess over your lip-movements
I’ll hide your thoughts under my mat

(collab by
loqui and
artreture) 

I can’t keep with the trail
Of her effervescent spoor;
Star-shine and moon dust
Pleasant are the petals of her hair
That wave hello in the air

There’s a feeling of glory
Grasping the sunset’s giggles
Each time an amazement
From her secluded laughter
And spoken stories
Are shared beyond the fences
And into the windows of
Sleeping and waking children

I have a weary heart that beats
But she makes me feel young
The time of the day is at halt
I disappear into her mirrored
Paradise and rhythmic hums
She is a beautiful ocean
That made the universe envious
She is a magnificent heaven
That made lifetimes jealous

Never mind the loneliness,
Her golden wings take flight
To unfathomable distances,
Look into the chambers
Of my ready heart
It’s floral wallpaper
Are faces of her, traces too
Of her breath-taking fragments

Your scares gave you character
But they shoved you into a tray
Along with all the careless breathers
Even if you were meant for so much more

Taking in smoke from your tired cigarette
Your mind hurts and swirls
With all the useless faces you remember
And the worthless numbers you never called

You walk freely but you feel bars
Grasping at your bone marrow
You can barely move, muscles whine
But you soldier on, lighting another stick

Dinner is on the table by 8
Yet not even a shadow bypasses the feast
You snorted, these are pretentious people
Feeding stomachs of heartless bodies

Were you punctured by an arrow
Or the sharpest knife from a travelling caravan
I see your insides peep out
Even if you remain erect and proud

Ignore my voice if you will
I’ll let you scavenge through the nest
Of all things contemptible, but one day
I’ll come for you, Dear, I will

He feels strangely lucid;
the alcohol has worn off.
The night was clear
but his eyes seemed foggy.
The mystery has been told
but she didn’t believe a word he said.
He crawls at the floor
pulls his knees to his forehead.
As he sobs, choked cries too,
she gently places a hand on his back.
She whispered, “I can’t picture it
but I know it’s true.”
He didn’t owe her an explanation
or another tale to the strangeness.
She simply nodded as she looked at him,
for she desired to understand.

I don’t want
to see change
or any blessing.
I wasn’t a cause
or your purpose;
I was invisible.

It wasn’t
how I thought
it should be.
Listen
to who I was;
a lost spirit, gone.

Pouring me
onto your palm
I was no anecdote.
I was no cure,
just 2nd place;
an excuse. 

You raised
the sleeping demon
in me.
In your arms,
I was just, always
the second girl. 

You wanted to prove I could shine above the rest. I said no, turning my head away. I was fine being the mundane existence that trodden upon this prejudiced world. I was cozy in stagnancy and it didn’t bother me a single bit. Yet you prodded on and believed there was something else I could show. That I could outshine the world until it had to buy itself a new pair of eyes. You said I would shine a light so bright, it will melt everything, just so it could start anew into something beautiful, to be worthy of my presence.

You did all that it took, to make me believe. Like a matchbox, you struck every piece of yourself, just so you could ignite my old wick. It took more than several tries to kindle me, until we were down to your last one. I looked at you. You were weary, yet you still wore a smile on your face.

“Here goes,” you said.

Suddenly, the shadows disappeared. I could see clearly. Everyone, and everything around us came into view. I felt like a goddess. The sudden rush of warmth and joy filled every ounce of my being that was once dead. I felt like I was born once again. I looked towards you all smiles, to show off my beauty. To offer you all that I have, this beauty that I never knew existed. I wanted to thank you for believing. But as I gazed upon you, you were already burned out.

Your light was gone. But there was a smile on your face. I wanted to cry and scream your name into the painfully bright void but I couldn’t stop my light. A tear fell on my cheek as I held you close. Down to your very last breath, I was all that ever mattered to you.

While I laid in the dark, I was your world. Even though I once believed that I had none, you told me I was your light. Yet I was too blind to see that.

It was hours, days, months that flew by

Not a single dew of poetry-ridden madness

rushed through my glad tank.

It was like a parchment waiting,

For insertion of a witty word to fuel the rest.

The absence of such discretion

Intrigues the spaces in my mind.

Oh, was “inspiration” the answer?

If so, let’s rephrase the question.

With various crossmarks and indigestive scratches

I unfold dysfunction, not art.

It is my desire to rid of this thirst,

To glide with this song…

But it remains a melody with no words…

Like comfort in oblivious suffocation

Of love and its vomit.

In silence I seek to trace my way

back to my imaginative disorder.

I agree with a hesitant stomach,

That with love and its crud components

Anyone is made a poet.

Stings like poison bereft of anecdote
Skies empty of warm clouds
Tasteless like rivers of not wine but mist
A warm body with a beat-less heart

Giddy of gravity at its weakest
Restless like fish out of water
Aching of a bullet through a red chest
Bleeding to feel blood on skin

Gone is a chance overrun with regret
Stabbed with truth of a piercing arrow
Blinded of nothing but unworthy
Bust in please to forever hold me