He would rather,

Nestle in her tranquil smile,

Let her soft fingertips,

Trace his jawline,

Than sit with me,

On the thorny ground,

And pick up

My broken pieces,

Buring his nails

In the coarse dirt

And the soot

From my bleeding soul;

I blame him,




Shattered piece of glass,

Sunk in my heart,

You fought, defiantly,

To wound me,

Through my thick scales,

You failed;

Yet, today,

You found a way,

Into the troops of arsenal,

That butcher my soul,

As the gloom,

Fought the walls,

And the tears dampened

The scales.

As History Repeats…

On a Saturday evening,

On a black couch,

History repeated.


It was the same couch,

Around the same time,

The same you,


Except in my place,

Wasn’t me,

But one reformed than me.


Behind a glass,

With a heart-lost chest,

Was I.


Standing there,

Watching the smiles,

Screaming tears.


You wouldn’t turn back,

You couldn’t see me,

Or sense beyond your rainbows.


Where I was,

Was dark.

Noisy. Crowded with shadows.


Where I was,

Was a place in between

Your past and my present.


Where I was,

Was a groundless marsh,

Between memories and reality.


Where I was,

Was a wavy ocean,

Of stark choice and ambivalence.


Where I was,

I couldn’t break the glass,

And enter the past,


Where I am,

I dare not walk in,

Through the shattered glass.



One step further,

He said,

Holding out his hand to me,

Few steps ahead of me;

I walked,

Along his lead,

Then leaped,

And fell,

Head before heels;

He stood,

By the brink,

Still holding my hand;


I clung, on to him,

Trying to pull him, along.

The grip tightened,

He struggled,

To break free,

He loosened,

His arm,

And watched,

As I dropped,

Deep into a pit,

Of muck and thorns,




He peeps by,

As I try to heave,

My breath;


He’ll stop,

Lurking by;


I’ll stop,

Feeling myself.



You are the song that rings
Through the silence,
You are the air that floats around me.
I lay my head down,
Close my eyes,
And take in a soft, deep breath.

But you fill into my lungs,
Flow through my veins,
And burn my flesh,
My blood, my bones,
All at once,
While your words fill my ears,
Travel to my head,
And draw pictures of you,
All over my soul.

I scream at the top of my lungs;
Hoping that somehow
It’d put out the fire,
And shut you away,
Until I taste blood in my throat,
Until my voice is long dead,
Until I collapse with silent sobs,
And lay waiting,
For the darkness to take over me.


The enthralling darkness,
The music of the silence,
Of the nihilistic nights,
Gave me wings
To fly beyond the walls
Of impossibilities,
To dream
With the spirit of a lark,
With hope,
Like that clenched in a newborn’s fists.

The darkness hauls me,
Into the depths of morbidity.
Blinds me
With no sense of direction.
The silence of the night deafens me.
Plays your voice in my head,
Like that of a thousand crickets
Until the night breaks.
It’s a limbo I cannot break free from
Where there’s no one but me.

I tried to fight the darkness,
But it only thickens as I cut through.
Sucking me in.
I screamed at the top of my lungs,
But it only bled my ears,
Your voice never quivered.

I lay down every night,
And pray for the walls to crumble
And the tiresome world to reveal.
Where the noises are too loud,
For me to hear you.
Through the hustle of the people,
Who drag my body along
With the hands of time…