Broken Candy Canes

There were forever a million and one reasons to
why I saw butterflies and blue skies
when I looked in his eyes

Because lies were what he lived in.

Every story of millipedes and thunderstorms just
gushed through his body like gamma rays without halt
for he never listened to my cries because 
he once told me
he was in love with my laughter.

I freeze myself in moments handpicked by him
and replay them like broken recorders 
but it never sickens him because
he was in love with my laughter.

A million and one reasons to
why I saw butterflies and blue skies 
when he looked in my eyes
because every time I cried
he closed his eyes

and drifted away to dreams of
my smiles.


i've been pouring hot water onto my fingertips 
for exactly 71 days
sniffing clothes biting tongues chewing nails slamming doors tearing letters eating junk
it's become a habit to rot away per day
when my mind slip in
to thoughts of you

you think of me, too; i can tell
by the way you
beg me to do things to please you
to keep my promises
to smile right
to talk right
to eat right
to sleep right
to live right
to kiss right
to treat you right
only to wonder if I love you when I fulfill all your demands
while you break rules
that I never even made;
the same mistakes
- shouldn't I be the one asking?

you give me a hundred excuses to leave 
while I give you none, but somehow you're always the first to
walk out
with each step I take towards you

you'd smoothen every line on my face and kiss my 
roughed up fingertips
without asking why
without knowing why
oblivious to how much i dream of you
71 consecutive nights

for you're always the one saying you see me in dreams.

it is like you still portray me as
something you can't touch because
of the way you
fantasize on just how willing i am to
carve my heart out for you

and you get annoyed when the best I can give is
a drawing of my heart; because you forget the inconveniences 
on my side;
simple facts like how
giving my heart to you
just because i have to prove myself
once more

would take my life away - and it's not worth it because I'll soon have you

begging me not to leave
for dying somehow becomes my fault because you're so self-indulged you 
failed to see my heart in your hands as a wish of your own

but as a doing of my own
asking me 'don't you love me anymore?'

for the 71th time.


your actions do nothing to you but to me to me
they kill
they rip
they tear
they rape
every promises vowed

you were making a plaything out of me when you 
asked me to leave asked me to stay
said hello sorry goodbye while
hiding away
made me a sinner for 
loving you when you told me to hate you
loving you now when by right i 
should hate you

for your actions do nothing to you but
everything to me
from the way my fists are clenched over my chest as i 
try to stop from suffocating through
clogged throats and dazed eyes

your promises are still words i cling on to
therefore i am now
shattered across the floor like

your actions did nothing to you but to me to me
they did everything to me


I catch myself conjuring reasons for
days ending too painstakingly sudden and
beginning before I am ready to face
another life. I cross out dates on my calendar
without really moving forward, running out of time and
living on procrastination until I am
sorting out yesterdays during tomorrows.

yesterday I lost my future.

I am alone under spotlights 
and reality shines down,
projecting beside me, the million smithereens
of imperfections contaminating my 
every intake
sometimes I just want to be the one backstage;
in control of everything and 
away from it all

for I am losing all perspective
when I am center stage and the lights are blinding.


'i don't see any hope left for us' he sliced the words
across my heart and
i wanted to ask him if he still loved me
so i could say 'if there's still love,
there's still hope'
but i took a turn and ended up
crying tearless cries croaking
'please don't leave me' down the
phone line


i used to have him
around my finger
and never realized how deeply i 
fell for him
while doing so; his twisting away now
makes me want to twist myself around him
never let go

don't, don't, you promised


i spend my days scraping pain 
into my head - i don't do it intentionally
there are just too many things
going wrong like
the way my mother gets weaker every day
and we keep fighting over stupid things but I 
don't care much because my mother will
never leave me - no
i am so fucking selfish.

but him and i, we can't fight
the fights we have on a daily basis 
because he's willing to
let go of all the 
sacrifices we made to
make us who we are

i need him to blow on the wounds i
filtered from the weight of 
my father's authority

and those are just a few
recurring examples of my


and this is why i can't breath
why my heart is pounding too fast
why my words come out desperate and
senseless; full of needing him

in plain truth,
i really do.


i am writing a thousand words
trying to illustrate how i feel 
as subtly as i can
sometimes i wish i can just go

it fucking hurts because everything is dead and killing me inside in ways i cannot explain i am fucking dying every second i try to whisper through my tears the things i want to say so badly but somehow sound useless by the time i get around it fucking painful with every intake my breath is stale from regrets and mistakes i unintentionally make my heart is fucking exploding bit by bit like tiny fireworks colliding with each other on every nerve pounding in my chest i can't fucking breath i am falling why isn't there anyone there to fucking catch me i need something someone to hold me tight and say everything will be alright though everything is fucking dead and killing me in ways i cannot explain.


i believed in hope
like how my nephew believes in Santa Claus
because every Christmas he sees hundreds of them
granting him wishes
and it looks so real

it looked so real.

i used to stand on top of mountains and
claim the sky my own
loving how the wind would 
pull my hair back
off of my face
an unnecessary annoyance
i could live without

if only i knew winds could
flip directions.

i believed in hope because
it was sickeningly tempting
to be able to freeze my brain away from
'what if's and
subconscious warnings i give myself

but it was foreseen that my nephew would
one night wake up and see his parents
around the Christmas tree
trying not to wake him up from his
naive reveries.

but sometimes things are so wrong they are
hard to resist.



It's just a typical one-on-one;
we get over these things, right?

I didn't have the chance to say
sweetdreams and I love you,
& tomorrow things will be back to how

kiss each other senselessly and laugh at our flaws,


Maybe it's too early,
maybe you're busy,
maybe you're still sleeping in
sweet dreams.

Maybe you need time,
I'm just being irrational, here.

But maybe, you're gone.


I feel like I am slowly getting life in control,
I look through all the work I managed to complete
today, and just for a second, I am
feeling accomplished,
So I decide to test my luck
a hundredth time today,
but regret the moments I, again,
switch on my phone
your name would be etched on the screen
like it is on my heart
like it is on my hand
like it is on my table
like it is on pages of my books
like it is on everything I have to face

because your name is a meaningless 
waste of ink
if you have
disappeared, you know?


White noise, white noise, 
I put my ear to my dying radio,
my only comfort today, and try to deafen out
the beating of my heart, because every beat is
every whisper of your name
because if it wasn't for you,
it would be a deadbeat today
and I don't need your memories right now.


I tell them I am fine
but my plates are left untouched because 
I eat when I am happy,
but I am not, quite obviously.

I laugh at how pathetic I look;
it is a bitter laugh, and I momentarily wonder
if I have successfully
locked my emotions into a place that is cold,
a place where my heart does not beat.

It is only a momentary thought, for you are
suddenly there again, in my mind,
laughing bitterly at me, too,
and it all comes back to me when I stare down at my hands
clutching the sides of the sink for support
like how I would used to hold your hands;

I am a very good liar, sometimes, 
even to myself.


I fall in and out of sleep,
trying to see if you will be here
in my dreams or in my reality,
but when you are in neither,
where can I go to?

I count down minutes to nothingness, and
the ring on my finger burns.


Clutching to his clothes,
I spend dead mornings breathing his scent,
whispering 'come back to me' - not really waiting 
for a reply, because none had surfaced so far.

Desperate. They say it's not good
to be desperate, -it's a turn off;
but I desperately need 
someone to realize my heart is not a punchbag
and needs stitching up from the misconception -

Maybe it's a turn off, but it shouldn't be
to him, for he once fell in love with my vulnerability 
when he had put together pieces of my heart
& resurrected me.

Perhaps he lied, when doing so; perhaps he was just 
one of those who enjoyed 
putting jigsaw puzzles together
without framing up the final work,
and just crush up the pieces once
done with it.


I hate waking up,
not that I was even asleep -
let me rephrase.

I hate opening my eyes because reality hurts too fucking much.

Has something happened to him, it's impossible he can
stay away this long

We're inseparable, remember?

Come back to me and help me breath, please.


Time is like a Mini Cooper
racing a Ferrari.


It hurts less when you forget things around you matter.

Earplugs, sunglasses and
scotchtape-on-lips help,
and maybe when I wrap myself in layers and layers of 
I can become part of things that don't matter
and just,
stop existing.

Zenith and I

we are frozen constant 
at moments where
i leave as he enters and
he sleeps when i wake, chasing a nonstop;
we never flip the pages at equal pace for he is 
forever verso when i am
recto; but oddity works sometimes like when
he reminds me of our
pasttimes and i 
whisper tales of our future.
i have multiple conversations
with the sky, i like to lie down
bare like sacrifice
with a wont to wait on lightning bolts
while he would grasp tight on umbrella handles, 
busy averting his eyes to
counting the number of grass he might have trodden on.
zenith & i.
nadir & him. - he is always staring down
and we can't help but see
things differently for i always
face the back of his
head as he runs forward searching for
me; a vagary 
i sometimes wished he never knew.