how could you look at me,
with your bright green eyes,
yet so dark,
and so addicting,
and act like that look,
wasn't the very same look,
that you'd given to me,
when we were in love?

i was warned
i'd fall for you.
stay away from him,
they said.
sweetie, he’s bad news.

i laughed it off,
thinking i knew better,
thinking, that this time
would be different.

i always loved a challenge.

three months it took
for my mind
to catch up
with my heart.
by then,
you’d already
moved on.

i'm like when 2 am ferociousness met with 5 am alarm
smudged off the **** nuance off the corner of my lips in the dark

back home, drained, phone lighting up except it's not who i missed
make changes, perfect the scars — wipe out the traces that exist
feels like a music video, no cameras anywhere in sight
but i feel them watching, and with every reflex i hope to hide

multiple versions like blind spots behind the walls
were the masks always as potent as planned for them was?

surreal sometimes, watching it slip
i pull the cloak over, can't let it flip
for even a second, for it carries my whole identity
if they truly saw — saw truly for who i am
i don't think they'd even recognize me
faking pills, anti-calamides, the entirety of my existence
look at pictures on my walls, to lose grip over any remaining hesitance

it's in stages
when it happens
undoing my skin, zipping it down and stepping out to breathe
during the nights when it gets as real as it can
i look at my wardrobe, it's filled with masks
who should i be for the day? choosing is a dire task
one that i must achieve, tally all the previous repeats
and it's never the same — midway through, i have to tear myself apart to hold my coop

signs, watch for them
like ants leaving behind a trail to follow
dropping crumbs even tho all they wish to do is swallow
can't carry it all, no matter how much they can borrow
there's moments when it flickers
everything bare just for a second and the world seems to hold
as if waiting, hide it away — telling me — hide yourself whole
this is your chance, run, or settle down
wait, or burn yourself out
extinguishing a flame is impossible when you give the oxygen
give it all to aggravate
in the end, how dare u cry for all the mess it made?
can't kiss the flame, why get close to it in the first place?

there's rainbow fumes slipping through the blacks
the radio playing the album's sixth track
the board up says take right
but there's a figure standing right midway
vision turning bright red, it flashes white
x-rays me through, i can't see the eyes
but they tell me a tale i've long since held
been rotting in the prison for so long
even the wind seems to snap

your eyes speak
like butterflies held in watery imagery
like that one store open 24/7 for the hungry
resembling a payphone hanging off its cord
the voice echoing, "knock knock knock"
you loom in between the dimensions
almost floating, with dragonflies in your palms
stretched out towards me
there's a puddle of rainwater on the ground
a gas burner bright blue and white in the faded background
the screens flash with errors and figures
they walk past, like fishes swimming in an aquarium
the neons slip through the eyes
irises fading into a silvery crash
thousands of people drift by
barely a hundred holding hands
distance separates, time forgives
forgetting is like looking deep into the liminal
knowing there's no ending to this beginning

the streets aren't all too familiar
the buildings carry lives that speak
their windows tell stories — a dozen different endings
the sunshine falls a certain way
creating grey memories across the streets
do shadows overlap each other?
multiple questions — the answers to which lie in the mist

i could scan your eyes
find the me's that exist, see if u see me the way i do
check for pictures in your wallet, in your camera
in your feed, in your head — on your body, on you
but knowing i can't describe it all
describe them for you, i can't seem to stand tall
i'm afraid for you, seeing you walk out
is perhaps the best chance i can take
but a miserly one at that, it's a coward's mistake

should i count them out?
on fingers, i'd say just three
there's more — but facets to multiple sympathies
the major ones though, i call them the protectors

one exists — borderline deceitful
never aiming to hurt, keeping peace closed off
in a loophole, almost
living in boundaries
closed off, hiding in plain sight
having created doors, windows nailed shut
speaking in controversies
it preaches to protect the soul

there's another —
the publicised centre
lives empathetically
provides requests, hearing pleading
walking epiphanies
the bored, tired, sleepy version
meeting eye to eye
smile for smile
never faking, but never loosening the knots either
tie the loose ends just right

the remaining, the original
is a psychological art house
chaotic, musing, no doubt in the dark clouds
writing warfare of the minds
speaking soft, almost gullible
closest, truest, no boundaries like the previous
she lives as she breathes
grief filled in the soul
with a happy-to-go personality
i believe she's the one
except she hides beneath all that is dust
drifting through the mess she's become
it's calming, silent, wrecking havoc amidst
stench of sugar, candied crushes and humor
psychic tutorials, rafting rows of water
she lives in nightmares,
daydreams — almost as if there were none

/a k/
noun
1. heavy wind, cold rain, & yes the stars, & yes these hands of mine. a dream in my chest is melting. my dream sheds its muddy, thunder-stained skin & asks for a heart of peony fields this time.
2. & the nights get heavy like they always do. i am older which means when i think of forests i get stuck not on the robin eggs but on the fox teeth. in my head I am hunting for myself, but I come up empty again. the night grows so wide it could be a cavern & i am somewhere underneath it, inside it, lost. but travellers always leave lanterns behind & as i feel for the candle there arrives a memory of bronze-coloured light.
3. so i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallizes like sugar: hope.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder
but what if the one to envision it is blind?
i could approach you with a clean slate
i always do—writing things on a white screen—
except the older the ink, the harder for it to be removed.
visions of you in my head—just not anyone could write over.
and if they try—if i hear things again and again—every time,
it's written over and over and over
until i do not have any clean slate for you, any longer.


actions so cheap, the best of ink fails to meet my expectations.
perhaps there are too many,
but what do i do
when you tend to perform in disguise
every time you see someone come around?

i slip in the lows of being unhinged almost,
the gates of emotional purgatory open to welcome me aboard.
it's tiring—i'm drained.
speaking it in metaphor, trying to paint over.
it brings me to wonder:
just how long do i play pretend?

been wrung dry of trust,
perspective from the third person
who stands in the rubble of ghosted flirtations,
half-friendships built on the foundation of lies.
expected nothing,
but the hope still flows—
straight to my river of misery,
now reeking shades of disappointment.
got lesser and lesser,
and now it's barely there.

this is my final letter,
a sigh of resignation—
hopefully the scientific dissection of this feeling that i entertain:
of the almosts,
weird hope-hangovers,
and all the games
that weren't even mine to begin with.

to name it is difficult—
perhaps it's the hope fatigue,
the burn of being ghosted,
or a nostalgia born from detached attachment.
i mourn for things that weren't real.
hungover from fake bonds,
relying on remnants of connections
that echoed in fallouts.

i asked ai—what do i name this feeling?
in my own words, it replied:
choose your favourite color and give it to this burnout.

grey—
in the middle of extremes,
where hope lay on one end,
ache at the other.
the rope stretched thin.
my being glitches—
a breath, every failed text,
trying to match up the vibe.
i feel like i've fallen in between the lines.
i see it, hiding in plain sight,
watching people perform me wrong.
lowest of expectations, ridden lower and low.

fake affection tastes like sour frosting
on a cake that's been left uncovered in the fridge
for way too long.
the outside’s rough, dry—
nevertheless, i take a bite.

there's eerie silence
as i sit at the edge of the windowsill.
numbness lingers.
i pull at the strings.
raw evenings,
i tend to wonder—
write notes, only to surrender.

kindness—they tally manipulation.
flirting, i take as a weapon.
come headfirst—i'm no longer wary.
having given up,
you just add to my list
of why i shouldn't let people carry
me,
or the weight of what i've become.

i don't despise it.
rather, it's a maturity
i ought to carry to a life—
unless i find someone to share this feeling with.

do you feel,
having already expected close to none,
but being handed even lesser—
gift-wrapped in guilt almost—
just please accept it?
expect it the least,
find it dealt in a heist.

even apathy tends to feel violated
when you drag it back to the beginning.
there ought to be a specific hell
for those who tend to exist
and make promises
like they aren't bartering their own.
calling me honest—
with a mouth that lies.
an ache with no name,
a feeling with no gain.

i been known,
been breathing in the sighs—feelings forlorn.
lover girl by laufey plays on my phone,
disappointment of having lost myself
to beliefs that held me strong.

believe,
trust,
exist,
let go.

four friends turned strangers
sitting on the edges of an x.
the centre, i settle upon,
asking what do i name this feeling
that's been born?

how hard is it
to not wear a mask
and change it every time you bask
in a different one’s setting?
a rare emotional creature,
i tend to sit in the foreign setting.

i do not recognize myself.
holding onto things that weren't even present—
this reads like a séance.
funerals held for feelings that needed strengthening,
got tampered with instead,
burnt down to the very bit.

excuse me as i scream in silence.
look at you, with eyes speaking imagery.
build a connection,
hold the other edge of the phone connected to this wire—
one that wouldn't carry any signals.
but i hope you'll still hear
the music that plays this side—
all the unspoken
that i let bleed through my hide.

masks are unrequired.

i've got an inkling—
you do not understand.
and i do not put it in words.
this, like a myth—uncanny and impossible to uncover.

unless i've got a name to put to this emotion,
i shall drain myself of all words, irrespective—
if it's meant with relating,
or with mirth.

you can only add to my reasons
of why it isn't ever worth.

how much is too moved?
more than a light year
and less than an inch
you can't grasp it either way

but isn't it easy
to imagine?

how much is not enough?
i guess as much as i don't have
which is enough to hold on to
easier said
than done

how much is lost forever?
i don't want to say
i just want you to hold me
and comfort me
like another stone in my pocket

(it looks better outside when it's raining)

and as the day pours down
i ache for all that we have lost

and it’ll be as if it never happened.

and it’ll all fade away.

days and months and years
and nothing will be the same.

maybe you’ll be older and wiser
maybe you’ll be kinder

and it’ll all be a bad dream
something to shake you up from your sleep

and it’ll leave you to wonder
was it even real?

have i no wounds to heal?
the scars will thicken over
it’ll be brand new again

you’ll forget of love and war
and you will never mend

the tiny fracture in your armor
will create the same salt somber

that somewhere your heart is thieved
that somewhere, within me, your heart, it grieves.

You are my mind anymore;
In each fold and crack,
lies you and our memories