Weeping winds, gothic gusts
Overfilled pots refusing to puke out the rain
-stumbling vines, suffocating trees
Obsolete stones clothed in moss
Bygone leaves carpeting their beds

They; the lovers and the liars-
the rulers who swam in lakes of hope
They; the killers and the goners-
the dreamers who carved their own skies

velvet robes embracing their carcasses
vanishing bones stained with drying flesh
-rotting pearls, chocking gold
Wounded wooden skies coughing in dust
musical silence, uninvited mourners

So lovely do they hum,
     yet every leaf shivers.
So silent does she come,
     yet every dying hears.
So high do they soar,
     yet caged with dirt.
So loud does she roar,
     yet never heard.

Hissing hearts, venomous veins
Seductive starvation of ever shrinking skin
-calm storms, empty floods
Succumb souls clothed in charming chains
beaten masquerade guarding your soul

You; the painter and the poet-
the coal that blooms in pools of blood
You; the warrior and the war-
the saint who seeks his shadowed deeds

Devouring dress, scarlet bones
thirsty parchment imprisoned in sea
-whistling rain, blushing sun
Another day falls over the insipid pile
Dreamy night dissolves in sleepy day.

So when she crawls up to me,
don't shout out loud, let me hear her song
I need no tears, save them for your late-night prayers
I need no help, let me go for once.
So when I go still,
let me hold my hands, let me cross my feet
I need no flowers, let them live some more for me
I need no masks, let me frown for once.
So when I'm one in the earth,
let me spread my wings, let me take a flight
I need no name on stone, save it for the good you do
I need no visits, let me alone for once.

My anxious blood has come to a final rest.

I thought you might be there when I parted the bushes,
stepping into our bygone kingdom.

Remember when we were no taller than the rose bushes by the lake, we would run by the shining water until the sky turned peach. We sat in the muddy grass, not caring about our clothes, and you made me necklaces out of weeds and roses.
And when we danced around like clowns in some vivid circus for an empty crowd, I stumbled on the slippery ***** and fell into the water.
Confess I will how we were little enough to trust the serene waves with our lives for we had come to adore them by then.
It was then that I first thought that perhaps the beloved lake that we drew on our canvases and carried along in our dreams, merely ached for the taste of our flesh.
Choking in the calm tides I no longer cared to see the world where mermaids lived nor dive down to the dark cave to meet the old wise fish; I just wanted to get out.
It broke like that- a little girl’s fantasy that was almost invincible. I saw the fairies and tales drown before I did, I saw the glimpse of lake opening its beautiful mouth and swallowing them out of my sight; then all I could do was go along.
Remember when you threw in a branch and begged me to hold on. I clung to my last hope, to you, as, slowly, you pulled me closer to ground.
Remember when suddenly the stick broke into twins and I gave out a sharp cry- one last notion of a falling lamb. It was just like the tales we used to live; you a prince with an iron sword- plucked from a tree- slaying a dragon to save the imprisoned me. But now the weapon was broken and dragon was nowhere to be seen.
Your eyes glistened like moon melting over an ocean as my cries faded away into my congested lungs.

You knew it then and I did too that the lake wasn’t the dragon you ought to fight, that it was my despair that roared in my blood. But we knew not what to do for never had we lived a tale with the victim and the villain dwelling in one being.
I thought I heard you scream, saying that the embracing water wasn’t the dungeon, that it was my own body- my numb arms and scared legs- refusing to fight the defeat. I thought I heard you scream for me to not lose hope.
How I wished to shout.
How I wished to say you knew nothing about water squeezing your ribs and nibbling your lungs away; how the sensation of being gnawed away by the current was a story we couldn’t share; how when you drowned, all you could ever do was go on.
How I wished to scream but my voice hid herself into the deepest caves of my throat and my lips parted only to spit and gulp in water.

But then I felt a hand- your hand- and then an arm- your arm- and I saw hope- your face- and I was pulled out of the dungeon I was about to call my home.
You brought me out, placed me under the tree whose trunk was engraved with our names and you called on to me until the water above me focused itself into summer sky, the waves incinerated into the warm air and my mind stopped whirling.
I felt razer-blades down my throat, my tongue sewed to my skin, my lips busy feeling the lovely air; yet still a voice I knew came out my mouth like a shy gust of wind and you got it. You held on to my two words and promised to never let go.
And then we laughed. Laughed like we'd done before at the irony of it all because that was what you and I did, laughed our aches away. But I remember your arms holding me tight even as we joked about our fears; I remember the alarm in your nerves, the grip of your fingers around mine as if I would sublime away into the thin air if you let go.

Remember when we were taller than the rose bushes by the lake, we would climb up the arid tree carved with our names and mold our stories and worlds until the sky turned grey.
We sat on the reluctant branches and talked about ironic lands where no future, no past existed; where memories were never lost and regrets never returned.
You plucked out a red rose and gave it to me with a pink smile. I tied it to a low-hanging branch with a strand of grass as a token of our lives.
Each day you gave me a blushing beauty and I hung it along with its long-ebbed lovers. We danced under the hanging corpses that symbolized our lives until our feet ached and our stomachs growled. We then ate up our foods and talked our fables.
Remember when we looked at each other’s reflections in the lake and smiled. Remember when you asked me if I loved myself and I, puzzled, asked you if my loving you wasn’t enough.

Remember when you shook your head and I turned red; not the red you often saw when you stroked my hair or gave me a flower. The red that you could have seen had you been under the water that day; the red that flowed in my veins, that ruled the very corners of my being- the red that I loved more than myself, more than you.
Remember when you held my hand but I ****** it away. I got up and yelled in the air as you listened in silence. You averred your apology but simply to calm me down for the fire on my face freaked you out. You turned around to pluck a rose but the bushes were grey and the only roses left were the bald buds hanging on the tree above us.
You asked me to dance but I denied, you sighed in defeat but I saw pity- remorse for the poor girl who was stuck inside her skin- you smiled with love but I saw pride- reminding me how I owed you my life- you reached out your hand to tuck a strand behind my ear but I only saw a snake slithering to me- to pull me out of the cell I had come to love, to strangle me up along with the flowers that you killed for me and watch me wither away, petal by petal.

You hoped for me, I only saw despair.

And I wish I could use that as an excuse for the painting that I drew but the water that splashed around me was unmistakably black and I could help not but think it was prettier than all the hues I had ever blended.
Your cries for help danced everywhere and I thought I saw myself scream and break a branch to save you from the starving dragon, as you once had saved me. I thought I held on to my weapon and hope and dragged you out of the prison  onto the grass. I thought I clung to you under the tree, sobbing, telling you I was sorry; that I never meant to drown you, I just meant to push you away for you scared me with your hope.
I thought I heard your faint voice saying the exact words that I had whispered with my feeble voice, “never go.”
And I took that as a sign of forgiveness and I smiled and I thought I saw you smile, too.

I thought I saw you smile.
I thought I saw you smile.

But I only saw the lake. Its disturbed surface going back to peaceful sleep. I only saw the sky turning red as the last remnants of our sun drained away.
And when I moved closer, I could still see your vivid image smiling on- no, in- the water but your eyes were closed and your skin was pink and glossy; you made no sound.

You looked like a freshly plucked rose.

If you could look back you would see the faint image of a stranger that I had become.
I still search for you in the water that’s the same vacant color as you. Your smell lingers in every rose about me. I can still hear you telling me I’m the dragon; and I know that if I could go back to the day you wilted away, I would only stand by the shore and watch you go because I’d not know what to do- we never imagined a tale about the dragon playing the hero.
Every cracking stem reminds me of my unused sword. Every break of dawn comes uninvited. Every empty mirror takes me back to your face under the lake, every silent night reminds me of the empty tales we dreamed.
How tragic that the dragon imprisoned in its own self failed to play the hero. How lovely that once upon a time I tried to fight my despair and I was saved, and once upon a time I chose to let go.

I part the bushes, stepping into my bygone kingdom,
I hope to find me there.

You have stolen my mighty dreams,
my glorious goals and ardent aims
that I had set with such delight.
Came you in at night, through
a window left carelessly open.
Put you them all in a bag, threw
then them out the same spot.

You then ate some flowers,
drank their essence, gulped
down all my hopeful cookies.
Climbed then you out
the same way the same way
climbed you in.

As if you had just not plucked the life
out of a an arid apartment.
As if the mountains you climbed were
not the result of your own deeds
As if the snow coughing sky did not curse
you for the cold you emitted.

Now here I am!
This ramshackled mess hugging me tight.
Scattered bricks of my own thoughts,
broken cement that my passion has become
Naked foundation, a mere shivering skeleton
but they say they see no destruction.
No wall needs fixing, no glass is bleeding.

I haven't cleaned remnants of the flower ***
the echo of the essence still lingers around
the halls like a silent ghost of the dead
Cookie tray buried under the dust of dishes
has long since given up hope for a new life.

Here I am now!
Two hundred years later,
still staring I am at my self-painted sky,
wishing to the electrified stars, questioning
the dimly blinking suns.
Still wondering I am!

How you managed to come inside
when there was no window to begin with.

There are boys everywhere

If you go down the street
to buy some floor of wheet
If you walk up a school hall
or just stop by a shoe stall
Go to the moor for a walk
visit the neighbor for a talk
If you go to the store for pills
or run happily up the hills
If buying a dress for a ball
or some wool to knitt a shall

There are boys everywhere.

Don't ever go out late at night
Change the path at their sight
don't ever look them in the eyes
Even if you wear a disguise
Hide yourself in layers of clothes
Walk in chains you ardently loathe,
adorn your hands with rings, stones
Then cover 'em up like skin on bones
Don't question the tightrope or cell
You'll be protected in this shell

There are boys everywhere

When they play you the sheep
You, my love, are not to weep
When they pull out their daggers
And start bruising you to shatters
You, my child, are to stay silent
Or they'll only get more violent
They're stronger, they're all around
Walk, run, fly, you they surround

There are boys everywhere.

If you peek into their playful eyes
they'll hypnotise you with their lies
If you try following them away
they'll leave you alone and astray
Don't you even reveal your skin
Even if they call you their kin
They'll crush you to mere ashes
and then laugh at their clashes

There are boys everywhere.

Don't smile or laugh too loud
they'll follow you out like a cloud
Don't step out of your prison house
They're cats, you a mere mouse
Don't draw curtains to sniff flowers
You know not all of their powers
stay in, don't whine, cover up
Walk slow, hide away, quieten up.

There are boys everywhere.

This is how it all has always been
There's so much you haven't yet seen
they say we were made to be used
and then thrown away when bruised
Say they they'll show us the world
Stuff then our mouths at a single word
It is how it is, it is how it ever was
there's no reason, there's no cause.

There are boys everywhere.

But, darling, I've suffered it all
and you're walking the same fall
I'll give you an advice tonight
Next time at their sight, don't fright
Look in the eye and let out a laugh
Walk up to then, play not the calf
And I know, my baby, I know
how tired you are of folks, but go

Where there are boys everywhere.

Go there, a flame in your fingers
run, burn down their rules to cinders
Go there, a faith blooming in your heart
fly, aim and fire then your perfect dart
When they laugh, love, don't you fall
When they snarl, you bravely stand tall
Go, open the chains, help all of us out
If they talk and joke, lion, you shout

When there are boys everywhere.

It's easy to give up and play the prey.
All the myths, you and I will slay.
I'll pick you up when you crumble
You hold my hand when I stumble
We'll take together this barren walk
We'll be the ones to light up the spark
Darling don't you hide anywhere
Even if there are boys everywhere.

      They cut
                your petals
                             not your
                                       w i n g s.

Shallow ocean- empty yet going.
Hissing gusts, clouds roaring-
sky, a child dissolved in covers, trembling.
Sun- what sun? The placid air hides it all.
Stars, mere scattered leaves with
Stems, the broken ribs and
birds- fluttering heart beneath the mess.
Houses, firm as bones-
bleeding, sweating, melting.


Hold- Hold O dying tide
and never let lost!
You touch my skin
I disband to embers-
blown, then, out of the face.
pushed, then, out of the way.
Kissed in the hair, punched in the face
Licked on the neck and kicked in the chest.
O mighty wind, break and crush,
then take along!

Picked plants, chopped fingers.
Bleeding gutters, open lips.
Entangled howls embrace in-
Devouring shadow-less beings
whirling about.
Tear-stained sky, deserted abyss.

Gleaming streets- wingless birds-
racing litters- eclipsed countenances-
cursive rain- beautifying falls-
choking trees- coughing chimneys-

yet a dusty, dry I.

O lonely wind! Hold on.

Pull all the weeds away.
Rows of caravans- unwavering oceans
- cold, ****** tides; under and over
the wandering moons and the weeping stars
Grab by the necks and
pull the unwelcomed out-
this sacred dirt will have no more.
Pull out, like the sea did in-
Echoing, chocking, musical screams
Bloming, wilting, weightless beings

Once more yet once more!
Come! The hungry void will hold some more.
Once more then once more!
How many were not puked out on the shore-

Rugged beds stabbing the skins
pre-engraved with tales untold.
dripping canvas of bruised camps
Let the clouds bleed over; they stained our
streets with their spitting wounds.
Let the winds wash away, far from here.
Take them along, O draining sun!
These dirt-stained faces can't blend in ours
unborn shivering, tired in wombs-
newborn silent, still as windless skies.

Once more yet once more!
Come! The starving dirt will take more treats
Once more then once more!
How many were sublimed off on the streets-

Flocks of lambs, follow they, the burning sun
Broken glass- scattered shards- missing, lost
Snarling lions, waiting, in bushes- in bygone homes
Thirsty seas, desperate for survivors- forgotten shores
Tempted despair, devours and embraces the petite lives
Impatient death being impatient death ebbing them away.

Uninvited unbidden unaccepted unwanted-
embers roaming the vacant sky, searching home.

Pull all the weeds away
- this is not their home.

If I were a bird,
I'd fly over the houses, all around the world. Peek inside the windows, watch people live by their lives and stare at faces get old. I'd look closely at every face that shone and every that did not. I'd look for You in every laugh and then in every cry, In every excited child and in every insipid adult. In a person begging for an ounce of life and in a person running from it. I'd look for You in the drowned and the one dissolving in dirt.

If I were a bird,
I'd fly high above the skies, jump above the clouds to have a glimpse of Your light. I'd ask the moon for directions to Your house, I'd trick the stars into leaking Your address. I'd ask sun who he worshiped and inquire abyss who she feared. I'd ask the owls, the eagles and the vultures the secret of a high flight so I could reach up to You and knock on Your door.

If I were a bird,
I'd fly and fly as high as I could in search of Your Grace. Use all my skills to reach You, and even though I would fail eternally, I'd still try and try until my wings withered to ashes and my being blended in with gusts of tireless wind. I'd then visit the places with wind that I could not with wings, I'd look for You till the wind too got tired and decayed in struggle.

If I were a bird,
I'd look for You in all the skies and even above.

But since I'm not
and since I can't soar high above or talk to stars or even see the whole world.

Since I'm powerless and fragile, and finite;
I'll just bow down till my forehead meets the ground that You carved only for me, I'll just cry and cry till You open your doors.
I'll wince and sing till my being starts dancing on the beat of my own sobs, I'll dance and dance till there's nothing.

And when I'll close my eyes,
in the darkness of unexpected but fully invited light,
I know I'll find You.
I know I'll catch a glimpse of You.
I know You'll be there.

You're always there.
You're always here.

So here it is again;
a perfect being staring at a broken mirror
hoping to catch a glimpse of life
in those bottomless, unlit eyes.
Here I am, once again
lost in a fiction that's shattered asunder.
Maybe it's just my reflection that's damaged.
Or maybe just me.

Once again, I'm betraying the Lord,
begging Him for peace in my broken prayers,
in my broken faith.
No, my heart ain't broken nowhere.
It's me. Everything about me.
I am not hurt, I'm broken.
Damaged in many places;
my mind, a mere splinter
my soul, wilted and withered,
my being, decayed.
Or maybe it's just my vision.

Here I am, once again
staring at a dark roof that faces a starless sky.
I try to ache,
I try breaking apart,
and screaming my death out.
But nothing happens.
Sorrow doesn't come by,
no one throws me off the edge,
my voice sinks deep into my stomach, shivering
There's no hopelessness to bring me hope
no pain, no escape, all poetry in vain.

I let my eyes get lost in the hollow of the sky
that looks at me through the glass window.
I wonder how far I actually see
Wonder if there are sparks but my eyes are clouded
wonder if my soul strives to escape the arid of my body
perhaps that's why my heart keeps beating
trying to break the cage of my ribs and run away
perhaps that's why I feel my blood flowing
running and racing in search of a wound, a way out.
I wonder how long I'll last
without seeing a star
wonder how long I'll last before my cracks give in
and I fall into the depths of my own void.

Then I turn around,
Undraw the curtains
and in the dejecting darkness
I convince myself to sleep
for there'll be no whining tonight
there'll be no hoping tonight.
Again.

Yet again.

The first poem that I ever painted
but never wrote was not about a
pretty princess with a dress,
it was about a princess with a pretty dress.
Because that was exactly how I drew it.
I didn't make the cloth red so it would go with her pink lips,
I made the lips pink so they would adorn the red dress.
First I sprinkled the pearls and planted the laces
with great precision and perfection,
then I added one last stroke of a crocked smile.
Though I knew something was not right,
I let it be for it was all about the dress that night.

The first poem that I ever wrote
but never painted was not about
how pretty moon looked in the velvet sky.
It was about how she encircled the earth
and how all earths bowed before the sun.
How the sun too had a hero she revolved around
and how the hero too had a sun that he respected.
If each universe was whirling around something,
I wrote, each infinity was doing it's own dance.
And wasn't that what we all had become?
Infinities envying infinities trying to be bigger
than the others until our mere existences mattered no more.
Wasn't that what we were, I asked the words.
A million suns dancing about a million suns dancing about a million suns dancing about a million suns dancing about....
Though I knew it didn't end well,
I let it be incomplete, for that was all it was about.

The first poem that I never wrote
and never painted was about my Grandma.
I drew a short, tired figure holding a cane
to support her wilted body.
I drew her beautiful
because that was exactly how she was.
I made her snowy hair into notes of violin
and molded the wrinkles on her face
into rows of sunflowers across a moor.
Her hands, I adorned them with gems,
her lips, I filled them with flavor of her youth.
Her eyes,
her eyes were perfect.
They were the suns that encircled themselves.
The moons that practiced immortality.
I then gave her the usual battered clothes and worn out shoes.
Though people said they sensed something wrong,
I knew no one could look more perfect.

The poem that I'll never write
and definitely never paint is not about
how you look charming in that dress
but about how the dress looks charming
because it's on you.
How the thousand sumptuous suns
burn in the night sky for you to see
but you're too busy fearing the stormy sea.
I'll draw a million moments compiling up
for a single you to like them and
you breaking yourself up into pieces
for the worthless world to like you.
I'll craft your lips into a beautiful smile
that you used to wear back in the days
before the kids pushed you off the slide
saying you weren't invited and
the crescent of your face broke into two
as I watched from a distance, immobile.
I'll stir the bottom of your eyes where, I believe,
all your light has settled now, and
watch as life comes running into your placid eyes.
Though it will feel a little criminal and wrong,
I will leave it be for this is all I've ever known.

But that is just my wishful thinking.

The first poem that I ever wrote
and ever painted, I did in black.
It was not about the jet-black depth of your eyes
but weak bloodstreams that often
lingered there like spider-webs due to your sleepless nights.
I wrote about blood and how it knew
each part of you better than anyone else
and how, when it flowed, it could move people
to tears or screams, or laugh and cheers
I wrote about the blood because that was all I had
seen the day I had kicked open the door and
seen your being sail away.
I wrote about violence because that was all I had done
as I had silently watched you curse at your reflection
in the dejecting, clear surface of the lake.
I wrote about pain for that was all I had felt
when you had given me a bleak smile
in reply to my inquiry about your heart.
I wrote about death for she was the only one
you had missed and remembered and loved
in the last eternities as she lifted you up
and drifted away with your weightless life.
Though the honesty of my words took my breath away,
I let them be for that was all I had wanted in the moment.

How do I and where do I begin?
Every step is a shallow abyss.

Far right corner of the road flooded with people
There sits a muffled figure
so used to my eyes I barely saw her.
A drowsy woman holding on to a petite child
Her shawl covering her inexistent being
and the earth she rests on,
almost unknowingly
A boy sits next to his kins,
chews on his nails, eating them up
I do not blame him.
I imagine him staring at the crowded ice-cream shop
on the other side of the road
the aroma of cream and sugary flavour,
the smell of happiness calling out to him
circling around his being trying to turn him on
forcing him to cover his ears in his harsh embrace,
close his criminal eyes and force his tongue
into believing the fingertips are sweet.

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

How do I and where do I continue?
Every step is a hungry despair.

On the inviting ice-cream shop,
I see a girl of my age walk around the land
carrying a couple of toys as she shows their feats trying
to draw some worthless attention
I see her walk for hours,
I see riches dare not buy the cursed creatures.
I hear play-boys hitting on her
for her dusty shimmering face.
I watch as she closes her eyes
as if remembering the vulnerability of her being,
and quickens her pace, fear flickering on her profile
She walks. Her hands timid over the things,
her eyes active in the crowd,
searching for children to arouse
I watch as she walks and offers,
walks and offers, walks and offers
only to be turned backs on.
Folks, they wrap their children into their refuges
as if she were a wolf ready to ravage them apart.

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

How do I and where do I go?
Every turn is guarded by angst.

Where did the dog go? Oh, here he is.
His tongue sticks out of his mouth
like a dying man crawling towards a mirage
His eyes twinkle at every movement
like a pirate searching for ship in a stormy ocean
The women shopping for clothes, and
girls choosing their jewels
the guys gambling away their lives,
and winking at the youthful blooms
as they giggle with blush smiling down their necks.
The happiness holds no life for him.
He moves as his legs in front
drag the burdens behind
The scar on his back gleams
like the new-born moon
that people are celebrating tonight.
Every night I see him wander
but today he wanders with hope
in his placid eyes, and it breaks my heart
that soon he will wither away and we,
we will celebrate the break of dawn

How is it possible that a thousand people see you
and yet not?
How is it that the same hope awaits your fate
and yet not?

I could go on and on describing this dark
but it's getting harder to continue the walk,
and it's getting much tougher not to fall.
The pits are getting deeper,
as scars, they grow brutal
I fear the despair will raze my being.
So now I'll come to a hault.

And what good would it do,
if I went on with my words?
No one stops to listen anyway.

The woman will still be there
Poetry wont give her a home.
the child, still chewing his skin
poetry wont buy him some sweets.
The girl will go home with her toys
Poetry wont gift her some cash
The dog will curl up in a corner and die
Poetry wont bring him back to life

I went out to write of hope, believe me.
I do not hunt for death in the darkness of night
I went out to write of hope, I promise,
of the happiness and excitement of ponding hearts
for the Eid that this crescent had brought
But all I could see was death in darkness of night
And don't blame me for inviting despair

Dont you dare blame me for noticing the dark
around the moon and her dancing stars.
The crowd dances on the beat but the drum,
she screams and shouts in angst and pain.

The hopelessness of a lively day to come.

Today,
as I stared out the window
of a car taking a sharp turn.
Today,
as I was slammed back to the seat
of a car coming to a sudden stop.
Today,
as I mildly heard the driver say
his grateful prayer and then curse.
Today,
as I saw sudden glimpses of moon
shyly following me behind the trees.
Today,
as I stared a little too long at streetlights
and theirs colors melting on sweaty glass.
Today,
as I watched a car rush on the road,
slip on the water, then spin and scream.
Today,
as I heard lucky drivers curse at each other
for ****** dents on their worthless cars.
Today,
as I was drifted away with the vehicle
making its way out of the traffic jam.
Today,
as I looked at my insipid reflected
on the black trees lit by the crescent;
                                                       ­                    my eyes, cold and placid,
                                                        m­y skin, blue like the midnight sky,
                                                                ­         and my movements, slow,
                                                           ­                                     as if hopeless
                                                        ­                                           and extinct.
I thought I saw death
looking straight in my eyes.
I thought I saw death
give me a beautifully weak smile.
I thought I heard her say
that she had come for my being.
I thought I saw a moon
shimmer right through her face.

I thought I saw death
but really,
it was just me.
drowsily reflected by the cold glass.

The first time, at the age of four,
when I first peeked under my tongue
after brushing my teeth,
I got scared.
Frightened by the ugliness of it.
All the ruptured rivers of my veins and vessels,
the indefinite patterns of colonization of my cells;
a naked mannequin of the story I held inside.

It was as if someone had peeled the skin
off my tongue at my birth
and now all the prisoners were striving to escape.
It was as if someone had abducted the blanket
away, when I was sleeping
and now the monster under the bed was clawing its way out
asking if I needed a friend.

Scared that I would damage the fragile wires,
I carefully laid my tongue back in her cradle,
hoping that someday, the skin would be back.
That she had only walked around the corner of the alley
and she would be back.
That the vacancy in my heart did not mean she was gone,
she had only gone to the mall to grab some sweets
and she would be back.

Each day, I would steal a peep,
in belief that I might find her there.
Though foolish of me, sure, it was to hope.
Smart of me it was to stay away from despair.

I still get scared when I glance under my tongue.
But not because of the ugliness, no.
The darkness.
The darkness that, I know, flows beneath those streams.
The darkness that, I fear, resides behind my skin,
licking, biting and swallowing the hollow of my being.

I still shut my mouth as quick as I can,
sending my tongue back to sleep,
but not because I am afraid to cause damage, no.
The destruction.
The chaos.
All the words that hide inside my enigmatic brain.
All the demons that lurk around the shadows of my heart.

The beasts and ogres that I once crafted
out of the ashes of my soul.
They skulk in the void of my chest,
their laughs echoing around the abyss
where once cherished my being.
They drink and dance, and gamble away all my life.
They joke and sing, and rob me of all my hope.

I still check the cave in my mouth,
day after day.
Not in hope of arrival of spring, no,
but in helplessness of my desperate desire.
In temptation to split open a vessel,
and watch all the nothingness,
flow out of my mouth into the inviting sink.
In temptation to ravage the last barrier into pieces
and feel all my creations drain out of my body.

In temptation to see the corpse of my soul
sail away with the tides of my untiring blood.

--to be free.

I stare out unable to spot out
a light, a spark, or a sun on this starless night
and I start to feel the numb, hopelessness
arrive and take control of my insipid body,
I wish.
An act I stopped practising ages ago.
I wish that I could paint a moon and splash some stars
on the dead sky outside my glass window,
and watch it till dawn comes out.
-A fake reason to hope