rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

mementos and keepsakes

pieces of you—

scattered on post-it

notes, and cute stickers,

and bright polaroids

grinning at me every time

i have my head buried

beneath my terse hands,

sitting blankly by the table as my

unsteady life starts giving in

to the inexorable collapse…

.

i think it’s killing my mind

.

but i take these little

pieces of you, and i use it

to fill in the missing patches

within me that’s making

me crash and crumble

until they render me whole;

maybe someday i could

finally return them to you, but

not without pieces of me

still clinging on to it—

.

i hope you won’t mind.

Devotion Cuts

You carved out walkways in my brain

With a blunt-edged trowel—laboriously

Inch by inch by quiet inch until I felt like

I was losing my concrete mind completely

.

Only then did you decide to simply jump in

And submerge yourself neck-deep right into

All my secrets and have a taste, or two, or ten

Clinging like a dead bedbug on my worn sheets

.

But when I tried to shake you off, when

I shuddered enough to start earthquakes

Just to make you finally lose your iron grip

When I thought I could sleep soundly again

.

You came crawling back, wings crushed

Eyes blacked out, sharp pincers sheathed

Asking for all of our better times long-gone

My dried blood still on your pleading smile

.

And the sad thing is that I’m almost tempted

To allow you to overcomplicate things again

To let these faded phantom itches bother me

Enough to reopen healed scabs with dirty nails

.

But maybe I only really missed always feeling so bad

And I don’t have to fucking miss anything else

Because when you destroyed my heart for your own sake

I made damn well sure never to return yours.

arrival

the return

the final line

of empty trays

and sipped wine

.

of upbeat music

and listless smiles

we’re so close yet

we still have miles

.

the last call

the landing

of departures

and last wings

.

of blue skies

and goodbyes

we’re so far yet

it feels like the end.

Travel Thoughts

I’m not a fortune teller, I won’t be bringing news
Of what tomorrow brings, I’ll leave that up to you
I’m not a fortune teller, don’t have a crystal ball
I can’t predict the future, can’t see nothing at all…

~*~

I wonder sometimes, about fleeting things.

Sitting calmly and musing over tranquil thoughts on the top floor of a double-decker bus, watching tall foliage and even taller skyscrapers rush past my awe-stricken eyes, I’m basking in the excited beating of a foreign heart, a dearly beloved stranger, familiar yet unknown, warm blood palpitating fervently in a buzz of amalgamated emotions and hundreds of footsteps on the worn-down pavement. Yet I feel for my chest with a fluttering hand and find that mine seems to be dulled down into a quiet languor.

I dream of the future. And I dream of returning.

But the future tastes like a distant impossible nowhere—very much like this city that I’m currently traveling past—when the hands of my clock are still stubbornly stuck on the eleventh hour. I’m a broken compass with faded directions, and I’m never sure where the gravity is pulling the pointer towards, until I find myself lost without a second thought. I can’t ever be certain if there was even a north, south, east, or west in the first place. Maybe it’s just me and one big unfathomable plane of existence with no directions, no places to go, only nothing. And nowhere.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where to go.

I want to carry on despite all my crippling doubts paralysing my broken legs, but the crashing ocean in my tongue is salty and deep, and the drowned nightingale has ceased warbling melodies in my throat. I think of could-have-beens and come-what-may’s, and I try to make it sound comforting instead of terrifying, try to convince myself that I’m going in a path that I intended to cross, and I’ll make it somehow. I attempt to wrap myself around the steady beat beat beating of this stranger they call a city, and I let the static sounds and captivating lights cradle me into its metropolitan lullaby. This is only one of the million strangers I have yet to make acquaintances with. And only a fraction of my time.

And I dream of hope. And I dream that someday, I don’t have to dream anymore.

The future is fleeting. But, perhaps, I might just have one.

~*~

This feeling keeps growing
These rivers keep flowing
How can I have answers
When you drown me in questions?

six days of a kingdom’s downfall; excluding the sabbatical

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Calvary choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world…

~*~

i.

a carnation affectation

a wilted dahlia efflorescent

in the temple about to fall—

ii.

redemption in the fray

a sovereign right surrendered

a prayer lost to the demons.

iii.

who would i be if i failed

these chevalier discrepancies

and gave to defeat my all?

iv.

‘tis nothing but a feint allusion

a fiery sleight of hand with which

even archangels cannot summon…

v.

night cries; a knight is interred,

remains scattered to eventide mourn

and ashes buried under dungeons.

vi.

baleful messengers cease to return

as the crown is abandoned in rusted thrones

towers and castles—and a legacy long gone.

write and wrong

i’m a liar

and a faker

and i just can’t

say it straight

hide behind

this wall of words

and you can’t

read me so you

would hate

how quite vexing

i am, when i

think i speak so

honestly profound

and i preach

unholy gospels

like another

nameless sound

make a story

with a soft landing

like that would

help the blow

but all it does is

pretend i’m not

dying, that heaven’s

the place to go

i’m a liar

and a faker

i don’t know how

to be sincere

and i wish i could

change myself

but i blurred the

lines too much

to return into clear.

The End of an Era

Here he is, he saves a grin
He wants to be the one who doesn’t have to sink a level
Indiscrete, in his retreat
All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride
He held in her name…

~*~

Limits have their breaking pointss

And can fall in utter disrepair

What used to be bound with ropes

Now dangles by a precarious strand of hair

.

Mirrors have their cracking webs

And when they spread, it can shatter

No matter how hard you try to fix it

It’s won’t show the same reflection ever

.

Bodies have their wounds and sickness

And we’ll always try to slowly heal

But someday no medicine could cure

And we will then be rapidly killed

.

Words have an end to their capacity

Someday you might run out of meaning

We talk and take things for granted

And in the end are left silently staring

.

People have their gentle push

But sometimes it comes to a shove

And no amount of closing apologies

Can ever return the former love.

~*~

He’s in love with an isolation from emotion
Here he is awaiting sentence
A fool to think that anyone can escape guilt and anguish
A subtlety that can’t be learned, a subtlety that can’t be taught
He is caught in the lure of second thoughts
He might still care, as he settles down well aware…

going, going, gone

Why does it feel like home when I’m lonely?
I always found on the solid ground
I was tripping away from space and time
I don’t really mind that I’m slipping…

~*~

would they notice

if my eyes faded away

and i lost my way

to the beckoning light?

the constructed highways

and hanging bridges

i still have to traverse are

too treacherous for my feet

and i can’t drag it out

watch me fight back

my shoulders straining to

remove the weight of the world

from its teetering blades

and yet i fell off the balance

waiting for the end of hell

in the beginning of the creation

closing my open heart

in this faceless underwater

i’ll feel anxiety again if i resurface

so i’ll embrace the cold and let

myself sink peacefully

all the way to the bottom

soothing the burns in my tongue

and the wait that manifests

saying i’ll jump off if i’m far too lost

and no one could come with me

to the deepest end of nowhere

where no one could reach my hand

and pull me back again

into the chaos they call home

who knows if i could still return

maybe i’ll just disappear for a while

after all, no one would notice.

~*~

We could disappear for a while
We could disappear if we’re going far away
It’s not running away, we were never meant to stay
In the first place, we could disappear for a while…

Grounded

We’ll dive around and never let our bodies touch the ground
And right now I’m feeling like I’ll never go back down
Till then, taking flights around the corner ends and bends
I’ll soar up higher to admire when, fly away with me…

~*~

You used to be the folded

Pastel paper aeroplane

I threw over hanging

Chandeliers and ceilings

To watch my hopes soar

Past and beyond nightmares

And my fettered inklings

But I realised that you can

Be easily carried away

By the zephyr if you wished

You’re not tethered to my

Fingers, you may do as well

As you’ve playfully pleased

And this child can only watch

In melancholia as his dearest

Papercraft friend navigates past

Weathered clouds and cool rain

As his own toes lift from the ground

But pulled by gravity, always returned

To land, away from the skies again.

~*~

Fly away with me
Try a little harder to flap your wings
High above the sea
Get a little higher, follow me…