I’m tired and defeated
of holding onto every sentence
of empty words and feelings
of empty promises and schisms
of drifting into the abyss between

ideation
and
realization

tiring talks of keeping
but not sprouting
tired of seeding
just for your weed to eat it
tired of empty pity
just to be pitted against me

On a restless night, I caught myself carving in
my flesh another one of your sins.

My skin, splitting apart like the red sea.
revealing beneath, fraying nerves.

A thousand needles pierce through my mind -
no feeling could be this kind,
when you made me duller than my blooded blade
and wishing for nothing but to fade

Now I watch my reflection in the shower rain,
and the crimson drags the ichor to the drain.
these scars make me wonder -
Was it all in vain?

Trembling gleam illuminates her silk silhouette,
like the sunrise gracing the mountain,
and a blanket over my cold body

Her warm fingertips on my skin
burn her name deep within,
flickering light shrouding our bodies:
a new world.

They blossom in spring,
vulnerable imperfections,
each flaw a snowflake conjoined made perfect.

Wild hearts bathed in delight,
dancing desires united,
locked fingers as destinies sealed
by the golden candlelight.

to be left alone
in a crowded place

a bliss or a curse
see the world spinning
while you are static
hoping to be remembered
while being passed through
I just wanted peace
not to be forgotten
but it spins too fast for me
and I'm too slow to be recalled

if you would let me
be the air you breathe in
be the soil you step on
be the pain you ache
be the rapture you desire


or suffocate me
break me beneath your feet
mock my scars, tear me apart
deprive me of your fire
 

yet I vow to be yours
but you don't, be mine

What am I, but a drink spilled?
A stepped-on bouquet after a party.

A shredded letter of a broken love.
A stained long-distance memory.

I was supposed to be a flower
but I was trampled and neglected
by the one who was to take care of me.

What am I, but a cracked glass,
unfit to hold emotions inside?
Too much for myself, too much for others.
An annoyance.

What is this? A supposed poem?
But it's me trashing words,
or am I trashing myself?