Peace doesn’t always mean
something good.
I’ve seen different kinda peace
some are worse than wars.

They say, ‘Eyes are the window to the soul’
And I agree
And I feel
Maybe
That’s true
Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision have become blurry
Blurred by love

Blurred to see any better
Blurred to find any new

I think it is a curse
But
Maybe it is not

Maybe I’ve found treasure
And it’s shine has faded my vision

But maybe it’s a curse
But
Maybe it is not

It’s only clearly when I see you
It’s only clearly when I love you

And I feel all belonged to you
And maybe
That’s true

Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision had become blurry
Blurred by love

Friend of a friend
Enemy of an enemy
Revenge and violence
Standard deviation
The root of all stasis
If you strike like a snake
No one will give you reprieve
Strangling life
From your own neck

I never want to see or think of you ever again
Enough to break a heart, but to share the story like a joke?
The Joke's on you
Would not want to see another like this
So we told the tale, no names
Time and place are different, but once you move forward, climb your mountain.
Never look down below
Here we go forward
Lessons learned and utilized

Her laughter and smile still taunts me
So warm and bright
I still hear her footsteps, wanting to flee
Trying to flee, into the broad of daylight.

I sometimes think i see her, still there
I can’t tell if it’s a reflection with red
Because if i glare,
I remember that i’m staring at imperfection with dread.

“It’s alright, i’ll come back soon”
She would say with a warm smile.
I don’t believe her, it was already June
Come back, it has been a while.

“You’ll see me, but i can’t promise i will be okay.”
Those were her promises that she made before going towards the light
I pray and pray
But she didn’t give a sign of life.

Pure red, like a healthy child has
It flows with a breath and nutrients
But with a flash
Her flow breaks out of its placement

I’ve died so many quiet deaths—
shedding selves that were never wrong,
just no longer true.

Each one carried me
as far as it could
before laying itself down
so I could rise.

Now that I’ve found healing,
I see it was always there—
a quiet knowing,
guiding me forward
through the dark.

But now I wonder—
was it the knowing that shaped the path,
or the path that shaped the knowing?
Did I become who I was meant to be,
or did I simply arrive
where I’d always been?

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.