my dreams have been torture,
living out the suffering which sleeps in my waking world.
for when I sleep my mind is its own enemy,
flailing about and shouting into the darkness,
answering it’s own cries like a madman in the fields.
still these angry dreams and be at peace,
for I may as well be asleep in death with dreams like these.
my dreams have been torture,
this city is a model and the people look like ants
staring down from space, I’m 100,000 feet in my seat
it’s really been forever since I last heard your voice
carried away by the colour of the seasons
my body aches for every inch of your skin
before I can begin to live again
swallow me whole in your melancholy
drown me in the ocean of your tragedy
smother me in the tears of your broken sorrow
my sunset, let’s fall apart together
can you hear the riverboats?
their pilots pulling their little universes along
one bamboo pole into the canal
one after another
through the green grey they push themselves pass
the silence of the water was never so sweet
I am love;
I am that knife that twists
and that fire that warms the heart.
I am life;
I am that journey with no end,
the quest to become something real.
You are poetry;
not the words or the ink or scribbles on moleskine, but what ties them together.
You are peace;
You are what I long to find, what my raging bitter soul desires.
I am death;
I am the beginning of rebirth, I am my own unmaker and remaker at my own choosing.
as if you
are a drop
of rain slowly
falling from the
grey, sombre sky
you break the mirror
of the midday silence
with the gentle pitter
and pattering of your
beat, falling from
your chest to
I’m sure that the moment we meet will be uneventful, inopportune, and awkward. I’ll likely run into you (literally) on campus, because I accidentally swatted my glasses off, thinking there was a bug in my face. Or we’ll be introduced by a mutual friend at a birthday function. We talked about cats, and dogs, and food, and art, and all those wonderful things. You made me laugh out loud with your deadpan one-liners, I snorted gin and tonic out my nose (it burned like shit). I didn’t get your number for another month.
Maybe we’ve already met, but haven’t met this side of each other. Maybe I met the girl who had to leave 10 minutes early to make her next class. Maybe you met a suit and tie rushing for an interview. Maybe we’ve known each other for years.
I’m sure that our time together would be wonderful. I brought flowers to your office when your neighbour’s dog died (he was basically your dog too). You made cake because well, I fucking love cake. We traveled. Saw the world in five different time zones. We chased the sun and kissed the sky.
When you/I left, it was hard. We swallowed back tears like rocks down our throats. I’m pretty sure we ripped each other’s hearts out, though we held them up for each other in open hands. We remembered that love and life can be temporal. 99% of good things come to an end. We just wished we were in that 1%.
I’ve never been good at wrapping up letters, it’s always as clumsy and awkward as I am. But _____, rest assured. We’ll find, complete, break, and leave scars in each other’s hearts. The pain so bittersweet in reflection, like cocoa on the tip of your memory. But we’ll still enjoy every moment it contains.
your ghost sits heavy on my shoulders
and the weight of the world wants to come crashing down
a voice echoes through the corridor
and calls me to come home again
the bedroom door creaks open
a whisper like a mourning wind
and I look to find our chamber empty
save for bedside daffodils wilting with the waking sun
I am marketed as
rugged. flexible. durable.
but my contents are listed
one by one on the slip taped
to your airline ticket.
I am fragile.
don’t drop me too hard.
I am perishable.
don’t leave me waiting.
I am oversized.
don’t take me too lightly.
but despite my frailties,
you will move heaven and earth
to find me if I’m lost.
and with a sigh of relief
I take your hand again.
and for that,
I’m eternally grateful.
note: this is an edit of a poem I posted a while ago, added a title and a few extra lines for someone i’m going to miss
faster than the speed of sound
leaving me behind
in a trail of vector art
and avant-garde décor
New York seems
like such an alien world
but what business do I have
to speak about dreams
when mine still escape
my wildest imagination
so from across both
coast and country
may the lights shine bright
and bring you home again
Let’s drink it off
Until colours blur the room
We’ll raise our spirits with some spirits
Poured from a bottle of who-knows-what
We’ll forget the pain of yesteryears
Failed relationships of our youth and tears
That stained our favourite shirts
I raise my glass and toast
All of our personal catastrophes
And the broken hearts that still linger here
Hoping that 40-proof poison can dull
The knives that still lie planted in our chests
your love is a tiger.
she sits in the shadows cast by the bamboo,
imposing like iron bars,
but they can’t cage her fangs.
I know them too well, last time I stepped
out into the wild.
frankly, she scares me
stalking the mountain, her roar rebounds
off the cliffs for hours at a time.
while I, the scampering marmoset,
swallow my fear
and hunt tigers in the night.
I walked through the woods
behind the house
lost among the ancient ones
I spoke to the boreal ocean
and it answered in emerald rustles
but I still can’t bury your voice
that followed me here
and still haunts me every time