gunshot

gunshot

blood bloomed

you talked

dead

too soon

six bullets

two from each

we agreed to

disagree

smile 

lock

load

boom

gunshot

blood bloomed

your smile 

gone

too soon

gunshot

gunshot

there are 

a million

deaths

to choose

from

lock

load

fire

gunshot

gunshot

dying isnt

the only

death

lock

load

aim

gunshot

gunshot

i wake

screaming

tears 

streaming 

1am

dreams

silence

there are ways

someone you love

can die

step

step

walk away

gunshot

don’t look back 

lock

load

aim

fire

his heart

for her smile

pull the trigger 

blood bloomed

on

my 

chest

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tonight

tonight he drowned

the third in a row

the dark came unheard

and the aftermath spoke

blow by blow by blow

black and blue and void

emptiness and rue

it settled within

tonight she saw an explosion 

a brief blinding light 

it ended soon enough 

but she realized —

it’s the chaos after that will break your heart

tonight he drowned 

the third in a row

the explosion was of no sound

but the chaos screamed for him

the dark has descended

disconnecting worlds

the explosion has ended

and there was a calm

but still tonight he drowned 

the third in a row

the bright light has faded

but there’s no afterglow

the calm is no more

the chaos cannot be seen

it is inside of him

as the demons reach within

tonight he drowned 

the third week perhaps

he is silent

but the chaos is deafening enough

She Thought

 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who thought that the world is a beautiful place.

 

She thought that it was made up of pretty, little things. Wherever she’d look, she’d see pretty flowers, smell the red and pink roses, and feel the cold breeze caressing her face. She’d hear the humming of the birds and close her eyes and revel in their sweet, sweet symphony.

 

She’d walked barefooted upon the soft grass, her pristine white dress billowing about as the wind gently blew. Her golden hair tangled upon itself, and she has to sweep it away from her face with a tinkling laugh. She’s happy, she’s comfortable, and the world is a beautiful place.

 

She lived in her own bubble of comfort, enjoying her pretty life. Her eyes are closed, smiling sweetly, arms wrapped around her feathery pillow, sighing contentedly.

 

The world is a beautiful place.

 

Or so she thought.

 

When the girl awoke, her dress was white no more. It was stained with mud and blood. The crown of roses she’d set upon her head has become thorns, cutting her, piercing her pretty skin. She can no longer hear the symphony of the singing birds for the air is filled with the wails of the damned.

 

She hugged herself as she tried to fight the angry lashes of the winds. The grass, before so soft, are now sharp under her feet, and the girl who once thought that the world is a beautiful place, sank down on her knees, tears streaming in her face.

 

She thought wrong.

Rapture

 

cacophony of sirens

clashing of the sounds

the waves are rushing in

drowning the damned

 

smell of gasoline

the rain droplets of blood

bits of flesh and bones

where do you hide?

 

screams rent the air

hands over ears

you can’t block the cries

scarlet clouds

 

it has come

for the righteous

the sinners

the death of chance

Asylum

the heavy rain falls

filling the silence, filling voids

teardrops on the pavement

sweet escape calls


eyes turned upwards

seeking absolution from constellations

eyes cast downwards

hell is the ultimate destination


where are the walls i’ve built

where are the protection 

from the cold

from the world


that’s the fucking problem

everyone wants to see your walls fall

everyone wants to see your knees fold

but to the wreckage their backs are turned


everyone wants to see your walls fall

everyone wants to see your knees fold

but to the wreckage their backs are turned

and expect you to pick your broken pieces alone


everyone wants to see your knees fold

but to the wreckage their backs are turned

and expect you to pick your broken pieces alone

they want you to be grateful for the “liberation”


but to the wreckage their backs are turned

and expect you to pick your broken pieces alone

they want you to be grateful for the “liberation”

but ignores the blood from your hands, dripping on the floor


your soul bleeds

your mind breaks

your heart beats

the price of freedom – asylum 

Danger in Your Eyes

The first time I saw you
I saw the dark glint of
Danger in those  brown eyes
I saw the depth of anger
Behind the cold facade
I saw the evil
Lurking
Beckoning
Calling
Seducing
You’re the guy
My momma warned me about
Made horror stories out of
Scars left
On your victim’s body
You’re the guy
My momma made me swore
To never fall for
Because there’s
Danger in those brown eyes
But
The smirk that comes
On those lips
That cater to cigarettes
Dazes my innocence
The poetry that comes
Out of that mouth
That exhales smoke
Captures my thoughts
Blinding me to the
Danger in those brown eyes
The rage and pain I took
As I press my lips on
Those tainted smile
Stood still as my body shook
As I felt the loving
You had to offer
Closed my eyes as the world spins
Yet in the shadows of my
Fading vision I see the
Danger in those brown eyes
Your love’s knives cut
Deeper than my blades
The wounds you left open
Bleed and stain the sheets
But my love
I still offer
Myself
Wholeheartedly
Doubtlessly
To you
Anything
Just to look at the
Danger in those brown eyes

Last Night

He was standing there, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding the roll of cannabis resting between his lips. The pungent smell of smoke emanated off him, billowing in wisps in the air. He was silent – his arrogant, lopsided smile on those lips, his eyes boring holes into hers.

She was sitting on the floor, exhausted, naked except for the blanket that’s providing her protection, her eyes bloodshot from her crying that started the night before. She was tired – she hasn’t eaten nor slept. And yet he has the audacity to touch her, to demand her body’s submission. How dare him.

He didn’t want to force her. He cherished her… but last night. Last night he wasn’t the man he is. He was fucked. He was stoned, and she started screaming about his “irresponsibility”. He snapped, angry that his buzz was destroyed. He didn’t want to hold tight her thin wrists in his fists, didn’t want to cover her mouth as she screamed for him to stop, to get off, to have pity, to please, please stop.

She didn’t want to beg. It was beneath her. But last night, she swallowed her pride, and pleaded for the man she thought she knew, to stop. Tears were streaming on her face, yet he ignored it. Something in her broke – she willed for her body to separate from her soul. She wants out. She wants to escape.

He knew it was wrong. But he can’t stop – she was like a drug, and he was hooked. He had let go of her hands, and she was thrashing, writhing, against him, her nails digging in his back, raking, drawing blood. He was travelling between pain and pleasure, he was hooked. And he wanted more.

The pillows swallowed her tears as she submitted to his domination. His hands were rough and hard on her. She’s already sure of the bruises that will appear on her hips, her thighs, her shoulders, and her back. His lips, though, were a contrast of his hands: sweet and feathery kisses travelled through her skin. Until they reached her nape, and bit hard. Another bruise. She felt him pull her hair, and she prayed he’d pull hard enough to extinguish all the oxygen in her brain, so that her heart would do the thinking.

Her whimpers sent him over the edge. As he lay on top of her, kissing her back, he felt her heart hammering. He felt her struggle to get him off, but he held his place. He kissed her shoulder, rested his head between her shoulder blades. He knew he was hurting her, his weight too much for her thin body. He knew he hurt her.

She felt empty, dirty and tainted. He had never done this before; she’s now questioning the love he said he has for her. She struggled to get him off; he did, after a while, feeling her discomfort. Her tears started to fall again as she turned her back to him. She felt his arm pull her close, and as he rested his head on her shoulder, he cried his apology.

She felt his tears on her shoulder, sliding down. She felt his body shudder as sobs wracked his body. Her heart clenched. She knew she shouldn’t forgive him. She knew this is wrong. But at this point, she doesn’t care anymore. The hazy smoke has clouded her judgment perhaps, but fuck it, she doesn’t care anymore. She turned to look into his eyes and kiss him on the lips. As she moved atop him, savouring her slow descent, his hands strong yet gentle on her waist, she kissed his tears away. This is her, this is him. This is them. Eyes locked, fingers intertwined, together they knew, this is right.

Bad Love

Tick tock tick tock

Hear the ticking of the clock, sweetie.

It’s counting down your life.

Listen to your heavy breathing.

Is the adrenaline rushing through your veins already?

Tell me, are you deciding – fight or flight?

I see your trembling hands, and I can’t help but laugh.

You’re feeling fear.

Good, good.

Now you know how I feel.

Now you know how I’ve been living for years.

Now you know how much effort I have to exert every time you come near.

Now you know how I have to stifle my cries every time you hurt me.

I’m black and blue, body and soul.

You’ve ruined me.

Yet you stood there with blank eyes, pretending not to know why I’m breaking down.

It’s payback time, love.

Run, I’m giving you a headstart.

Let’s play hide-and-seek.

I find you, you’d feel my vengeance.

You escape? No worries, I’ll still hunt you down.

Cry now.

Shed tears for your life.

Listen to your heart beating.

Feel the pounding.

The glint of my knife will be the last reflection in your eyes.

I Self-Harm

I self-harm.
And no, it isn’t about creating dramas for attention.
No, I’m not doing for the sake of popularity, for coolness.
No, it isn’t romantic.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to die,
But because I want to live.
I self-harm.
Not because I want to get hurt,
But because I want to be relieved.
I self-harm
Because I want to feel
I self-harm because the bite of the blade
Into my flesh is the only
Link to reality that I have
I self-harm
Because I am so damaged that I need to see my blood flow
To convince myself that I am still alive
That I’m breathing
That I exist
That I am still human
Warm with flesh and bones and blood
Not the dead rotting corpse I feel inside.
I self-harm
Because I am a destructive force and
I don’t want to leave debris trailing in my wake
I’d rather hurt myself.
I self-harm
Because it’s the only drug I can have
To keep me sane me as I continue to breathe.
So..
To the person who thought that cutting her wrist and showing it off
To gain the sympathy of others is the
Sure fire way to be popular and cool
You never fooled me.
That isn’t the face of depression.
That’s a narcissist hiding behind the mask of self-mutilation.
Do you want to know how it really looks like?
It looks like blades and cutters hidden in the back of the drawers
It looks like clothes stained with blood and tears
It looks like long sleeves in the summer
And pants in the beach
It’s the shame you feel
Every time you think of how weak you are.
It isn’t about your boyfriend kissing your wrists
Telling you how beautiful you are in his eyes
No. You are not beautiful.
Not in the way they say anyway.
Because you are scarred with your lost battles with your demons.
The only way you can be beautiful is when
You survive and look back and glow
With pride as you think of how strong you’ve become.
Don’t get me wrong.
You are still whole, you are still unique, you are still wonderful
And believe me, your wounds will heal and close
But the ugly scars will forever stay
In places only you can see.

Rue

What would your life be today if you only did what you didn’t?
Has it ever crossed your mind that you could be happier than you already are?
If you only…
Took that single step?
Looked back before running away?
Given than chance?
What if that single choice could take away all that pain and regret?
If ever you’re given the chance to go back in time to change the past, will you take it?
Will you exchange your experiences and lessons learned for that single thing every soul, including yours, is searching for – happiness?
But what if your happiness would mean someone else’s sorrow?
Will you be truly happy then, knowing that while you smile, someone will cry?
You are aware that for every action you make, every step you take, will affect the lives of all the people around you, right?
Knowing so then, will you still change the course of your life for your fulfillment, at the expense of the happiness of everyone else around you?
Will you be selfless, giving way for their sake, sacrificing your personal contentment, letting go of the promise of hope?
Or will you be selfish, putting them aside, fulfilling your heart’s desire, grasping what you regretfully let go of a long time ago?
What if everything hung at the blink of an eye, in that split second you’re given to decide?
What would your choice be?