Digging my nails deep into skin—
as if trying to exhume a forgotten coffin.
Memories drift like smoke in a glass—
close enough to haunt,
too far to hold.
Like objects in the mirror—
closer than they appear,
but never close enough to touch.
The Museum of Memories calls out my name,
careful—
with each step, I reek more and more of pain.
The Hall of Despair has light at the end-
all I have
is some time to lend.
As I remove the dust from each exhibit,
a familiar ache
grasps my heart, bit by bit.
A torn photograph hums in its frame,
the edges curled like secrets in flame.
A laugh, half-heard, behind the glass—
a moment too fragile to ever last.
I pass a door that never stays shut,
behind it:
a room filled with things left unsaid—
each word suspended in golden dust,
each silence heavier than lead.
I leave with the scent of old paper and thunder,
my shadow longer than when I came—
carrying pieces of silence
that now know my name.-
I stand in front of the door of happiness,
tracing its edges with my fingers.
There is no lock to turn,
no handle to grasp,
only the quiet certainty that something waits on the other side.
I knock once,
the sound dissolves into the air.
I knock again,
but the wind carries my voice away,
folding it into the corners of the night.
Maybe this door has always been here,
standing still as time flows past.
Maybe happiness isn’t something to be entered,
but something that slips through the cracks,
only seen when you stop looking.
I press my forehead against the wood,
listening for echoes of laughter,
for footsteps of someone who has made it through.
But there is only silence,
a silence so deep it feels like an answer.-
There’s a cloud on my shoulders,
soft as a whisper, heavy as regret.
It follows me through neon streets,
through silent train rides where no one speaks,
through the bookstores where no one reads.
I try to lift it,
but it seeps into my bones,
filling the cracks with something like gravity.
My feet sink into the pavement,
and I wonder if the earth remembers me,
if it waits for me to dissolve.
Sadness is not loud,
it does not scream or break glass.
It only lingers,
like an old song stuck in a cassette deck,
playing the same melody, again and again,
until even silence forgets how to breathe.
And yet, I carry it.
Through cold coffee mornings,
through the nights where the moon turns its back.
Not because I want to,
but because I don’t know how to set it down.
Somewhere, the sun waits,
perhaps behind the corner of tomorrow,
or in the pages of a book I have yet to read.
But for now, the cloud stays.
For now, I walk.
-
on silent nights,
we sit in the corner of a deserted bar,
smoke curling
like a secret language,
whiskey melting our troubles
like ice.
life’s a goddamn mess,
but with him,
it’s a beautiful kind of wreckage.
we are poets of the gutter,
lovers of the absurd,
finding bits of hope
in each other's smile,
knowing we don’t need saving
because we have each other.
he’s my person,
the one who stays
when the world walks out,
who sees the soul behind
the scars,
and calls it home.
-
Between the lines of night and dawn, I dwell in shadows, neither light nor dark.
An echo in a room with no walls,
A whisper in the wind's silent bark.
Too much, my thoughts flood like a storm,
Drowning the quiet of my restless mind.
Or nothing, an empty vessel adrift, Lost in a sea of what I cannot find.
I am the fire that consumes the night, Or the cold ash that remembers its blaze.
Caught between the thunder and the calm,
A fleeting dream that memory betrays.
I am either too much or nothing,
A paradox within a fractured soul.
A story untold, a silent scream,
An endless journey with no final goal.
-
we sat in the dim light
of a nameless bar,
two broken souls
clinking glasses of cheap bourbon,
smoke curling like forgotten dreams.
your eyes, haunted, searching,
my hands, shaking, tired,
we shared stories of lost battles,
of nights spent on cold floors,
finding comfort in mutual misery.
you spoke of love gone wrong,
a heart shattered into dust,
I spoke of dreams crushed,
a life derailed, a mind rusted.
we laughed at the irony,
two lost souls finding solace
in each other's pain,
in the wreckage of our lives,
beauty in the broken pieces.
the world outside, a blur,
didn't understand our silent bond,
we were fragments, remnants,
but together, we were whole.-
Maybe this ache never dies, but rather shifts into its own realm, much as we did.
I wish I could walk through that slash in the ether where time ceases to exist...
Maybe if I could, we'd find a place where we could see beyond the mountains of grief that love was always there, only that we had lost sight of it. The thought is both excruciatingly painful and infinitely beautiful.
-
Something inside me turns from ash to tulips as you slowly pull me closer
I run my fingers from your temple to your lips and STOP
I draw violet flowers all over your lips as I feel the mask on your face slowly melting away with each stroke
Words drip from your blank mouth, eating through space and time
My body longs for your warmth, my eyes writhe in the absence of your heart.
There's an Autumn in me that cries for the Spring in you.
Winter is the language we speak.
The south pole in you brings closer the north pole in me and it breaks the universe within us
Shattered constellations
A fallen star here
A broken heart there
You were my destiny with no destination.
"In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?", Neruda had once sighed!
You call out my name one moment
And I find myself drowning under the weight of his words the next
Maybe the absence of signs is a sign
Or maybe we meet again. Someday.
Somewhere in between my longings and the ever evolving regrets
Somewhere in between your suppose and the unsaid-
Broken but beautiful
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Our love is the star dangling in the night sky admiring the imperfections of the moon. Like the cool waves of dawn kissing the sands at bay. Like the horizon embracing the sun as it sets leaving behind traces of it reflected in the sea for the horizon to keep. Like the soft blow of the wind to a falling of an autumn leaf cradling it gently until it reaches the ground. I will always understand that our closeness is so far apart. Like how Icarus stared longingly at the Sun wishing that he'd be able to touch her and feel her warmth. Like how Romeo's stars never aligned with Juliet's no matter how hard they drew a new constellation. Like Jack and Rose watching the sinking of Titanic never knowing they themselves will be only memories of wreckage at the end.
[FULL DESCRIPTION IN THE CAPTION BELOW]-