Wake up in breathless mourning glory
Cheat and blame the skies
Turn your back on the stunning light before you
Drift off and die.
The devil shows you a tease
So you go on and pry
Pretending it won’t hurt more to stain more
So you build up the gallows of your head with lies
Take the gray off the ashes
And let them burn again-
This is your foul way of love
Will anyone get it right?
Often, I feel like crashing into the sun when I forget
That I can just hover above the clouds…
Then I return to reality to gaze upon the beauty from where I stand….
And see all these that make the world go round…
Good and bad, through which all good can be made…
There’s no bad thing that can’t transcend to something good,
And there’s no good thing that can result to bad…
And when they say that hate had sprung from Love,
I say hate was always hate, or there was never love…
Often, I have felt, that I’ve just strayed into the moon
When I’ve forgotten that I could… hover above the stars…
Then I return to reality to gaze beyond the beauty in where I stand….
And understand why must the world go round…
So dark, the shadows in my eyes
So light, the hell within my burden,
That I may never say good night
In the calming presence of moonlight.
So vast, the barren spaces of my woes
So crowded, the only things that hold
That I may never taste more than defeat
In the cruel chambers of the obsolete.
I wrote poems that give out the state of my soul…
I wrote when I’m desperate.
I wrote when I had secrets.
My poetry is my secret garden…
And my secret hell…
And my poetry is something you just don’t care about.
It’s okay. Although
When I’d rather talk to you than write a poem you wouldn’t care about…
I find myself too lifeless to write about how frustrated I am…
That to talk to you…
I just can’t…
I’ve grown tired of the faceless
Ghosts of assumptions and masked rejections
I’ve grown tired of the love of the needy
All there to amplify their worthless disregard
The people who love you are the people who are there
Through thick and thin, for better or for worse…
Defenses are set
Maneuvers are heavy
But nevertheless, ready
Human nature orchestrates
The way a person waltzes away…
And you can never face it whole
While in preparation for your doom
It’s the coldest place you’ll ever live in…
The Chambers of the Obsolete
My cold heart prevents the flames from total consumption
And I tire just being their battlefield,
And I tire just battling being
Like a ghost to an incipient deceased…
I wish I could pick a rose
Without minding its thorns-
Oh if only I am allowed to bleed…
Together we can paint the town red.
Flames melt my cold heart instead
Like roasted marshmallow
But no mouth would skin its bitterness away…
No system could digest