Senseless.

There's an excruciating pain in my gums
forced me to grit my teeth.

Feeling disgusted over unfinished sentences
that used to be an infinite vortex
flowing over me like a river,
and drowned me in;
healing antidotes for infections in me
over faces, space, and time.

I am now numb. Exposed. In a fucking open season.

Good to go.

Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, unclenched. Clench, uncl..

With the tip of my finger
I began to draw an imaginary star on the surface
of a white wall.
Slow and intense.
One onto another,
until the whole constellation connected.
The whole fucking cycle.

And for a second,
I am glorified
and humiliated
by my own shadow at the very same time.
Staring back at me.

At the present moment, I am a second rate me in my past.

Save Me

I am the world.

The world that is paved with cracks and droughts
and deserts on the surface, with few little oases.

The world that is oftenly mistaken as paradise,
a shelter for broken souls,
a fair for uncherished minds,
and those who have lost their way home.

A world that people come and go,
with marks and footprints left behind, waiting to fade in time.

A world that needs to be saved, rather than a saving grace.

Halo

I know of a pain
that stains the fabric of the heart.
A heart that once loved and loving back
on the same tempo
of two heartbeats, beating for one another.

Pins and needles.
Pins and needles.
Pins
and
fucking
needles.

I counted the streetlights
of every pole that passed by the window
on every lonesome night drive,
cruising as the heartache lurks on every
freeway on my mind.

Every stray of light,
that reminded me of being an undeserving soul each time,
so unworthy to even ache from missing a free dove that flew away,
and will not come back.

Because if "you deserve so much better" is how it supposed to be when
every time I thought that I have already found
the missing pieces I've been looking for,

I might as well
don't deserve anything.

And if freedom is the thought,
when the reality is shackled tightly onto the ground,

freedom is somehow too good to be true.

Because while to the contrary of happiness, is impermanent, it is also certain.
And certainty never lies,
like pictures.

And to deny certainty,
is suicidal.

On this very day,
this very day,
this
very
day,
I wrote your name with
every drip of blood
that runs through my veins
as the ink
- for every unrequited hope,
that will never come true -
before I mimicked the honesty
with thousands of counterfeit expressions,
to bury the excruciating pain.

Don't you know that
underneath the facade,
of these thick layers of smiling masks,
there's a face that's bruised and full of scars,
and severed hopes,
and broken dreams,
that misses you?

Exhale

I may read a book

from a different page

and being different from everyone else.

But I can still summarize the whole book,

because at the end of the day

the whole story is still the same

when you've read every page.

And I choose to silence myself,

over words that slips

through the rubbles in me

- not because of I am afraid, nor scarred, nor torn, nor tattered, nor not appreciating.

But solely because I don't need to justify anything.

I never in fact had anything to justify.

And for the reason of my words are worthless, as always.

On which I rely on my actions and deeds that speakes for the whole of my situation

and it's up to the world to judge - where at the very end, truth prevails.

I don't need the clovers of rainbows,

to cleanse up the fog in me - because everything is temporary

and far from the harshness of assumptions

that I am seeking answers

from the dusts of white ponies and blue buttons.

Because I don't need answers to questions that turn out to be rhetorical.

And to be mistaken that I never acknowledged,

and never will, the beauty

of memories that will always glow through our darkest moments

is far more hurting from the damage done.

Because no matter how stark the reality is,

underneath the bitter tastes

of burnt Winston Lights on the surface on my lips everytime,

I can still find the sweetness of the memories

and facts that was buried under,

that you never know.

I am still

the same person

that reflects

in your mirror.

16th.

It was 12am, and the phone beeped out of the cold air in the night.

I took a glance at the notification popped out,

and for awhile, my heart stopped.

For awhile I haven't thought that this date

can be embedded

deep inside the core of my bruised and

scarred mind

a date that oddly enough,

would strech an unnoticable tilt of smile

onto my face.

As a slow, cold breeze blew

My clusters of memory seemed to shuffle in between them

Like a picture album

that holds firmly

our haven

our moments

our hope

our eternity.

So I seized the chance,

and stood by the wind,

to feel it twirling around my fingers

while whispering my feeling of missing you.

Missing the moments missing doing the popping sound missing your poking teeth your moles your hysterical laughter your grin your tattoos your scent your cruel sense of humor your bright eyes your soft hands your slender neck your hair your necklace your favorite sleeping position your grips your fear of cockaroaches your trembles towards moths your wide yawn your footprints on the car windshield your voicenotes of nagging and moaning your wide smile and sparks in your eyes when you wake up your everything

your never ending beauty.

And missing the moments of being the person who would

whisper

you

peace

when

you

shed

your

tears

in

grief

while

clenching

onto my body

and being the

healing

hand

on

your

rib.

The immortal flame of memories that can never be extinguished.

On this day,

this very day,

I begged the wind to wrap you and make you feel safe

and asked the flickering stars to watch over you.

While I will be here,

in my very own special way,

missing you.

The Unmovable

I had a dream,

that an old man came to me, and told me,

that I am indeed an unmovable mountain.

He told me that I am a hypocrite;

as shook me badly and grunt,

and screamed at me,

telling me all of my flaws in a list,

and my weaknesses.

At the very end of it, he said.

"You never ran away. So do not pretend".

And I woke up, to the sound of my alarm,

cold yet sweaty.

I took sometime to think,

but I guess, I have to take that into my account of subconciousness.

In fact, he's right in every way.

I never actually run away from problems.

I never took a turn and turn my back against anything.

I'd make up

words

and

phrases

to tell the world "I am alright",

whilst they were all a cover up mask of a frowning face, gritting teeths, a broken soul that's trying to hold onto whatever he has.

And I beg my heart to have mercy

on my shattered and scarred soul.

In seconds, I took a breath,

and made peace with the morning sunlight and breeze on the window.

Because somehow, I know,

I am already shackled by my wits and guts to the earth,

that would not move me,

because I am me.

And to wonder why,

I always know that somehow,

I can never run away.

I will not, ever, run away.

From you.

I will always be here discreetly

under the wide sky

with widely opened arms,

in case

if you need a soft plain to land,

if one day somehow your wings

will be broken again.

I am here to stay.

Dreams

People say,

that in the realms of dream,

everything is possible.

I once dreamed of having the power to walk on the water,

and fought a Leviathan.

And drowned at the end of it.

I once dreamed the very impossible thing a year ago,

almost every day.

And some of it happened.

And it was beautiful.

But as always, dreams are never made to last.

And to wake up,

cold and wet by the bed,

into the reality

- bearing unbearable pain

and

gasping for air in my chest;

I know now that every clenched fingers of mine

gripping the bedsheet

telling me to hold on to it.

Telling me that it is okay to have a little hope inside you

- that things will go back as the way it is,

or it will bloom into something more beautiful in the future.

But also at the very same time, to embrace the momentary peace and to raise your foot one another and keep on walking.

Because nothing is permanent in this ever changing world.

And the future,

is always changing.

A blow of wind may halt a snail on its slow journey, but never bend its will to resume its path.

I am no Moses.

I don't have the power to divide a sea

and to walk through it.

But somehow, I will swim.

Until it drowns me at the end of reality.