They, without a trace of shame,
painted their hearts with the crimson blood of their lovers’ lips.
And I… my only share was the cold blue of the moon,
spilled carelessly,
like a tear severed from the sky,
upon my cheeks.
Those drops sank into the ridges of my heart,
painting my eyes with a lifeless gleam,
and the moon’s quiet sorrow wound through my soul
at 3 A.M.,
before I surrendered to sleep.
I was fragile beneath the blade of the sun,
and the conqueror of stars
that dared not draw near.
Faintly the church bell tolls
On the hour, faintly she sighs
She cries out to the Lord
About the how's and whys
She's a women
(Some say she is scorned)
Most don't see the women I see
A lover with love she's adorned
She can smile in the sun
And hide in the moon
But when she has a sad
I feel our hearts rhythm in tune
She's not a ragdoll
Even if it is for a laugh
I know b'cuz of two hearts twain
She is one half
I look at her and think, you
Can take the old and mend'em new
A second hand heart makes do
(With all she's been through)
We cannot blame nature for melancholy of the autumn
Leaves falling down the ground
Decay to enrich the soil for feeds and the fertility of the forest
It's us isolated to our world of the human ignorance
Excluding needs of the world that food feeds us with love of the flavors and colors
And fantasy
Knitting is for grandmas
They knit colorful fluffy scarfs for us that say I love you
We wrap them around our necks and taking a pound dog for a day out heading to autumn forest
We smell wetness and comprehend processes of the nature
She teaches us this I need
I require
Dog strolling ahead and behind
Occasionally approaches us when we kneel near a interesting plant and touches our cheek with his wet nose
He makes a circle around us and signifies this is defended and safe
After a walk we return home and drinking hot beverage and eating kibble
We love when it rains this kind
I’m so tired of spendin’ nights alone
The test of time has left me like a stone
Drinkin’ time—I feel it in my bones
Feel so numb, I can’t pick up the phone
Drownin’ in sorrow, can’t find my way
Lost in the darkness, day after day
Tears fill my eyes as I silently pray
For a glimmer of hope to guide me astray
Should’ve known that fortune favors bold
Tried so hard just to go break the mold
Drinkin’ time, it got so uncontrolled
Now I’m dead, so far deep down below
Drownin’ in sorrow, can’t find my way
Lost in the darkness, day after day
Tears fill my eyes as I silently pray
For a glimmer of hope to guide me astray
They say blue is the warmest color.
So I fell in love with you.
They say blue is the warmest color.
But it tore my heart in two.
Dangerously Blue.
The waves are crashing down again its true.
Dangerously Blue.
The pleasure and the pain it comes from you.
They say blue is the warmest color.
So I fell in love with you.
Amid the fire of twilight sun
I wish I knew my way
horizon’s char and moonlight’s shun
has ashed my hope I pray
for dark cloud constellation to free
a cosmic steed for me to flee gunshot streets
for primrose to steal my yellow jaundice
and burn the itch as its incense in roadside stars
for me to follow scent and sight
and find forsaken door
to open with my key contrite
a waif who’s lost no more
but gods of dirt and sky refuse
this pessimist with optimist dreams
side-of-road primrose mowed as needle holes
grow my nebulae-scars of blown-vein bruises
a morphine horse runs dirty track
while stars in alley air
just stare and offer not but black
expanse —my nowhere lair
When love hurts its like a blink
when in need of full attention
when love hurts its like the birth
of sin still in need of redemption
when love hurts I sit under the moon with my insides turning inside out
with loneliness coming to rescue me again
when love hurts the only thing I see is us reaping our ending
when love hurts its like biting my tongue cause they already warned me about what you’d do
when love hurts I wonder if I still love you
one look full of longing later
in the glow of electric lips
a brush with the unknown...
those were the French films of your youth
your concomitant struggles for love
rambling through the summer heat
gliding in the seaside breeze
down in the deep dead blue
to yearn, to be strangely stranded
among the widowed twin tides
in your sleepy demeanour
still craving your only true friends
white menthol cigarettes and
the angels of the abyss
so follow me in my steps
my unfaithful dreamer
together we’ll disappear
in the groves between the floorboards
A chick plucked off its wing
Down the tall oak branches it sung
A song sung nigh free of yearning
Down the hazy amber elm til its life hung
Near the shore, a kindred spirit melted its last candle
Melted under the dark night sky, its damping light drew him closer
Resuscitating his clockwork, its hand ticked, he threw himself in the shore, without a single ripple
A short-lived sight of a light that chose to fly away, and away, further, and further
I took a stroll down an old park, visited by a dream ever so distant
With ideals buried asunder, I selfishly blew those old autumn roses, greenheads who lost their vigor
I dare not to turn back, a bent world was left with carvings reduced to a remnant
With time and life that will soon disappear, I yearn that lost feeling of fervor
She brewed it slow,
the thistle steeped—
a greyish brown
in porcelain grace.
Each sip, a sting—
a bitter bloom,
but she smiled,
claiming peace.
At first, a wince,
then less, then none—
until the taste
was home enough.
No sugar added,
no honey balm,
just thorn and grass
and quiet aches.
“How did she bear?”
they often ask.
“It’s the way I like it,”
she often says.
But bitterness
never just begins—
it’s learned,
one sip a day.
Until bitterness
becomes a friend,
and even the sting—
a kind of warmth.
It was the first time
I heard the dove’s low call—
three minor notes
stretched thin across
a motionless prairie
on a shimmering hot afternoon,
the kind where even shadows
try not to move.
I felt like I should be
in mourning too—
but for what, I didn’t know
or had forgotten.
Black Cats and Roman candles
found no customers that day,
just heat, and a solitary girl
trying not to feel too much.
And later that same afternoon,
bruises of unknown origin
started blooming on my heart—
tender without memory,
as if the heat itself
had pressed something into me
I wasn’t ready to understand.
I have been deceived all this while,
By all the angels cloaked in a dear disguise.
'Follow the way of light, my child, ' they all cooed,
For they knew too well I was never shrewd.
Off I went, probing for those lights,
Something to put an end to my wakeful nights.
But manipulation, oh my dear,
Sounds sweeter when it is feared.
I never found those lights, I never did indeed,
In the cruel footpaths of naivety and those angels' deeds.
All I ever found was a world so shadowy,
Lit up with lights that glow darkly.
The clouds have spread across the sky like a fluffy blanket.
Gloomy and sad, the clouds are filled with heavy despair, slowing them down.
One drop... two drop...
A downpour broke out from the gloomy clouds.
One might wonder, is this rain,
or tears from the gloomy clouds?
It’s shameful, the way I clutch.
Like a child with a broken toy,
believing if I just hug it tight enough,
it’ll fix itself.
I know people aren’t possessions.
But tell that to the part of me
that has only known love as something
that gets taken
just when I start to believe it’s mine.
I rot with envy when he smiles at someone else—
not because they don’t deserve it,
but because I wish I was enough to keep the sun on me.
I feel foolish,
needy,
like a vine growing wild,
twisting too tightly around something
never meant to hold me.
This isn’t love, maybe.
This is fear in a dress made of want.
This is heartbreak rehearsing hope
because that’s all I’ve ever been taught:
to perform,
to plead,
to be left.
And still,
I stay—
because when he speaks,
it feels like the walls remember my name.
Because being near him
hurts less than being without him.
I know I am wrong,
but I am honest.
And maybe that’s something.
The spices release their scent to ease my heart,
numb ~ yet tracing glasses brimming with tears,
aching for a touch of chamomile wisps,
beneath a sky that reeks of regrets
and words unspoken ~ too afraid to rephrase,
like smoke incensed with sulfur,
like blue cheese and old pickles,
tickling the curves of this melanin melancholy,
urging these fingers to purge forgotten rhymes,
as if there is no ingredient for healing,
when loneliness creeps like a slow poison…
But must I thaw the ice within cups of compassion,
infused with clovers of peace,
when I am a mere reflection of your mistakes,
a table adorned with plates of bitter weeds,
listening to the sagas of the rain and sun?
They taste not my pulse of patience,
as I remain, the feeler of phasing appetizers,
rotting in ruins ~ objectified and rejected,
by the twisted tongue of vanity and silence…
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