Nocturnal Haiku

I can’t sleep because
You haunt every minute
Of my weary mind.

Our
       souls
                  are
                          the
                                 perfect
                      symbolism
                of
         tied
souls

I don’t wish for you
to fade like footprints in the tide,
to vanish like whispers in the wind,
or drift away like a ghost at dawn.

I don’t want to forget.
I want to sense you—even from afar,
to feel the hush of your presence near,
to know your soul
still dances with mine
in quiet, invisible threads
that time cannot sever.

This is the end, beautiful friends
Meet me at the end
Of the prettiest memory lane
There is where i pretend
To not bid you all farewell.
Since the day your souls
Have forsakened me on my own,
Our times have flown
Like moths when the light is gone
But know, i loved you all
Even when i am awake at dawn
Thinking about what is it that i did wrong
Inside of me a river flows
A river made of tears and i drown
Until i wake myself and get down
Down on my knees, i crawl
Through your sludges of sorrow
I hate
I hate
I hate what you do to me
I hate that none of you know
But i’ll still bid farewell to you all
This is the end, my beautiful friends
Meet me at the end
Of the prettiest memory lane
Where there is nothing to save
And there is no more to say
Except i loved you
There is where it ends

I laugh—
Every time I’m on the edge of breaking.
When tears slip down,
Uninvited,
From eyes that were never meant to spill them.

I laugh with all I’ve got,
As if the sound can drown the ache—
As if pretending
Can make the pain behave.

I wear a smile like armor,
A mask of joy the world applauds.
But beneath it all—
Is a soul quietly screaming,
Begging to be held,
To be heard.

To be told:
It’s okay to cry.
It’s not weakness to feel.
It’s not a sin to break

If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.