Rose petals in the sand
My feet burning in its heat
I step over the crumpled red
Remnants of romance
Reminders of a love
Once expressed in grand
Romantic gestures, or
perhaps they fell with tears
Long after the roses had dried
When she sat alone on the beach
Holding that fated bouquet
Shaking petals off its seat
As she shuddered between weeps
But, alas no amount of tears could
beseech a change, when,
“He loves me not” has
already become
fact
We are not the same
where you’re a warrior
Victorious with life
I, a tired solder
Cant wait to end the fight
Weighed by debts
And the people I keep
the traditions I hold
The visions I seek
And every single breath I take
while thinking of your grave mistake
We are not the same.
For where I’d rather
Cry for peace and
Lose some sleep—
You’d rather lie awake
for friends that flake
And words that comfort
But have no weight
We are not the same
For beneath this smile
I have another—
A sadder, lonelier
gift to deliver.
But beneath yours
Is one reversed,
An expression too raw,
Too strained
to be contained by the
Many
You ask me why
And of what do I see
In your face, in your voice
In your physique
As if eyes are all the soul
uses to see
When in your gently
outreached hand,
I find a heart that’s soft,
but guarded by a cast
from a prior injury
from which fears prevent you
from seeing the light
It’s in the cracks that light seeps through
Without cuts from pain
It’d be dark through and through
instead of trying to seal them shut
I wish to pry and tear them apart
You may flinch and call me crude
But I’m not trying to hurt you
Rather I’d like to shine a brighter light
On the wounds you so carefully hide
There is no shame in wou
And
I don’t know what I said
Voice quivering
Words shivering
Like fools, cowering
When really my
cuss words were
stuck, in my
esophagus, and
it felt like wise little men
Holding onto the walls
Digging in their heels
while all up in arms
Wrecking havoc
inside; A civil war
Choking on anger
Hidden beneath
robotic sentences
typed out
by the Rational,
Pure and Theoretical
Emotionless
Mature
Adult
Me
It’s like wearing a shoe
That no longer fits
It’s like living with a vulture
That watches your every move
Awaits with a gleam in his eye,
A smirk on his face,
And a curse on his lips
Just waiting, for you to fail
To grow weak and frail
To slowly die
Because then
And only then
Could you mistake
Its black feathers
And wide wingspan
For that of an angel
Instead of a devil
Cleverly disguised
Cup
If your love were a cup
It’d be filled with a murky
Dark liquid of something—
Not sure what—
But it’s extra sweet
maybe artificial
With a bitter, gross
Aftertaste, that
I wouldn’t ever
drink from again
We fall into the piles of leaves
fallen from the withering trees
Once alive, and once refreshed,
now dried by the nearing death
We watch as the birds fly by
gliding through the darkened sky
Herded together, and in course,
leaving home without remorse
We sigh in sadness to this all,
mourning for the summer before
Gazing as we reminisce
the glazed summer losing to Autumn's kiss
The clocks disturb
the quiet night
with their tick tock tick tock
sounds of flight
The flow of time
so quick, so slow
holds our lives
as the heat the snow
The ring of life
spinning round and round
never does it stop
it keeps it bound
When the lurking emptiness sets in
Once I've finally been outrun
Like the end of a story, inevitably, closing in
I told her I'd wait for her end to come
No matter how many eons I'd live to see
I'd wait patiently as her lover should
Behind a closed door, without a key
afraid to enter alone--even if I could
But standing amidst this people sea
weighed down by their polluted sins
I flinch whenever they walk through me
My existence a mere paper thin
Their screams echo from the seams
withholding tears between gritted teeth
I cringe as I count the coming years
When will it be her turn for death?
Pencil
There once was a pencil
Without an eraser
It never felt complete
It wouldn’t dare
Make any mistake
Or ever admit defeat
One day it joined
A case of tools
Each different in its way
There were markers
Ballpoint pens, and
Ink pens in blue and gray
But instead of friends
The pencil spent
All his time away
Cooped up with
his sharpener pet
Who always could obey
The pencil spent
every day
Sharpening off
His shame
For only he
Was number two
With no means to erase
Until one day
An ink pen asked,
“L’ttle pencil, why
are y’so sharp
all the time?
Just rest, just play
An’th’r day w’ll be fine!̶
The self recedes to make space for the urgent,
To give room for the latent,
And to welcome the impatient.
His stature is confident,
His manner is matter of fact,
And his demands are absolute.
The self does not cower so much as it allows,
It does not matter, it thinks,
After all, who can resist a restful sleep?
But the self will not awaken,
It will not be given the chance,
For he is now all consuming.
Next time, it thinks,
And the self shuffles back to sleep,
He will die, and I with him.
Lovely is the day Grace braces me
Lovely would her scent be
Lovely is the smile she graces YOU
Lovely is the song she sings
Lovely would I be to Grace
if only Grace would look at me
Lovely would be our embrace
if she ever touches me
Lovely is the day
Grace takes care of me
She'll end my worries
For eternity
...But Grace,
Why is HEAVEN
getting lower, and lower?
Why is heaven,
so full of SORROW?
What if I gave you a name?
my chip in my shoulder
What if we played a little game?
Hide and seek. Hide and seek.
One two a hundred
Where are you Chip?
I'm coming to GET YOU
show me where you are!
Little chip, little chip
I'm coming for you!
Your time has come
And the clock strikes ten
One two ten
Doom is nigh
Little chip Little chip
How long can you hide?
Are you in my shoulder?
Are you near my back?
Are you where it's bony?
Are you where there's flesh?
Little chip, where are you?
How did you dive?
Digging deeper, deeper red,
My fingers are drenched.
Little chip little chip
How could you cry?
This pool is nothing,
to the name I could fi
In my mind, I am but a splinter of my ideal self.
In my mind, there is an everlasting battle between my egos.
My mind, is the self-absorbed existence called "I".
The battle is hot and cold,from
fighting blindly in the sweltering jungle
to a standstill in the cold trenches.
Sometimes, we seek an amiable peace.
Other times, we fearlessly abuse strategem
to the bitter end.
Success, to me, is always bitter--sweet.
Failure is unacceptable,and
the war begins again.
But lovely
is when war ends
Lovely
is the day I'm right
Lovely is the moment
I cry
Because in my wasted mind,
in my forbidden rooms
in my shackled heart
there lives Weakness.
Head
I searched to find a name for me the words that once pertained to me but alas it is just lost to me she'd long gone & forsaken me My muse--she's gone she's moved along no longer can she sing my song so now I sit with songs, unfinished with words I feel, but cannot say bottled, condensed and thoroughly punished please tell me there's another way for me to sleep, my sins repay no worse crime than dying today