It is 3 A.M. Your headphones blare a similar tune into your ears. Your eyes involuntarily swells up as your mind travels down the lanes of memories you have tried so hard to get over from. And in midst of all the agony, you are clutching your chest, as if physically sheilding your heart from the pain it still recalls and feels with just the sane intensity. You close your eyes and sink in and tonight you don't stop yourself. You let everything in and feel it all. "There, there, you will end up okay",you whisper to yourself and then close your eyes again to believe it.
The wind wafting towards me; Carrying your scent: The cologne of your laughter, The notes of your memories My eyes close. The notes and chords and the music Align themselves in a symphony: Which grows louder; And louder, Till they echo in the empty lanes Of my being; Expanding, filling up the corners, Till all I am is you; Till all you are is me.
A translucent barrier opens up, Between us, it looms In agony it blooms; I move forward to traverse it Yet I am kicked back, I fall and look up at you. Buckshot of pain later; “Help me” I whisper Your silence crushes me, Your eyes are flat silver; Shimmery unflinching moons. You start to move back, Your limbs are atrophied bones; And they become smaller, Till you disappear into the Same emptiness you had risen from.
I stare into the nothingness, The barrier has melted. You are gone with it; Like you never existed. I clamber up: The asymmetrical walls, The rugged carpet, The imperfect yet powerful current Of thoughts and feelings, Have taken their leave. Day 295 without you, Your voice still loud and clear: “I cannot, I am sorry”; Another day of deciphering, How can all that a person can feel; Is ‘sorry’.
How much do we give up for the people we love? Sometimes, we give up on ourselves.
I am , but a barren land Of deserted longings, And forbidden hopes. Whisper you not; Because here we say, "What falls out lips Falls into the holy ears", So , we keep our whispers in check; Till they echo like a trumpet ; Thumping Sound waves, reflecting around the edges Of the blurred existence. So , in midnight I collect stars And with dust from celestial realm, On the parchment of ink blue sky I arrange my words. In a bleak wintry heart, snow flakes each unique Forms a blanket. And a warmth arises reaching the edges of my staggered silhouette, Mending them. And they reveal the truth That to keep you warm I had to freeze my soul.
Some days the words are a deluge As a summer afternoon thunderstorm The morning quiet no cloudy clues Seen, though emotions can swarm Some days the words are a deluge
Clouds burst and the ink runs and flows In torrents washing rivers of pain Hurts hidden in a sentient gale blows Releasing pressurized feelings again Clouds burst and the ink runs and flows
Afterward petrichor lingers in the calm Written page of heartbeats outside of the chest A rain dance of rhythm kind of balm Soothing to a soul now expressed Afterwards petrichor lingers in the calm
Impassioned thoughts can play the blues Some days the words are a deluge The heart swelling its own prose Clouds burst and the ink runs and flows Into a masterpiece of poetic psalm Afterwards petrichor lingers in the calm
IC: Pinterest / Wendy Ng (non commercial use only)
Revenge betwixt ornaments of my body, My mind wages a war with my heart, Winning, every single time. Erupting volcano tears and lilac bruises, The scent of citrus, deafening the alliteration of words, Noises consuming the warmth of the sun, Stripping away the moisture of my skin and I watch, As people walk away into daylight, And I, stand beneath the miracle of light, Stammering to gain strength and courage, To stand up to myself.
I feel alienated in the world of numbers, The reds and the greens, I feel incomplete. My heart locks itself in cages, quenched From the thirst of creativity, of writing, of words. But I don't want to disappoint my younger self, Who's wanted to step into the shoes, Of a young businesswoman, But that's the funny part about dreams, Often, they refuse to evolve, Promising a life, of unheard profound limitations.
Momentum of life, and the lexicon of love, Fade away into daily routines and chores, Stumbling across the white collared job, My naked eyesight, wishes to drown In the magic of mesmerizing shadows Of metaphors and similes, Smoking proses and wiping the dusty remains Of heartache and constellations of daydreams, Forming a smile, in my dull day, Short-lived.