tearing the nightsky down

she used to stand beneath gray skies
with glitter in her eyes and stars in her smile,
a round locket of happiness tight
to her chest, where no one could touch
which no one could falter,
she was the glow in the dark,
an everlasting surge of
pure joy.

there were miniscule things, yes,
that would loosen her smile, but never did she
lose her appetite for laughter
and laughter was forever in reach,
until he came plunging through her heart
with a chainsaw of rage and his
inhuman darkness broke her into
pieces of
self destruction and distrust.

there were many things that led her to
a depression that tasted like knives and
ripped like dark red wounds
but only one tipped her
too far. Until now,
she cannot recall reasons to why
she had woken up one day
with scars on her arms and the taste
of nothing
at the back of her throat.

precise images of him playing about
in the hemorrhages of her mind.

it was a desperate attempt, there after,
of searching for laughter and forcing glitter
into her eyes until she went blind
to reality,
and all the while he loomed above,
chainsaw in hand, ready
to ruin every hole in her heart
he pretentiously tried to show
he could heal.

and then he was gone.
but she was here, still,
searching, ploughing through memories
of a long gone euphoria,
when she used to wake up to a small piece of heaven.

and she is still here,
no more glitters in her eyes
newfound chills in her smile,
trying to find perfect excuses to fit
a shattered locket of what was once -
to reason out why she is now this way.

because he is the one memory
she wants to forget, but the one memory
and she denies, how one memory is sometimes
all you need, enough to burn
brighter than the sun

and make her as gray as the skies
that once bowed to her shine.


hail storms in my mind
a thousand stones of frozen thoughts
never melting
stagnant in the ice-box of
a forever perturbance

i collect broken liquid of
what was once a whole reflection
of me
trying to hold on
trying to hold on
but they aways seem to slip away
a simple science i cannot face

the air tastes different now
warm and moist on the graze of my cheek
a touch of something worse
much worse than before
when all was rain
and thunder
drenching me until i was too weak
to break
and my lungs gave in
and i succumbed to my state of humanity

clean air

my ribs ache with a certain pseudo
an unseen pain that engulfs me
and blinds me from every other
pounding.slicing.tightening pain
i feel
when i am physically fine -

but i am never physically fine, really,
my mental state
a solid block of weight

i clench my fists and hold my breath
wondering what has happened.
these minutes, precious minutes
when i wake up and see a life
i no longer recognize -
yet live it anyway

for there are no other reasons
for me to
fall back to.

it is this realization
as clear, as stark as
an afternoon sky burning me dry
that pulls me back to the rest of the hours
when i am consumed in a self-created
slumber where everything just...


broken promises to self

it has now been 225 days
of remembering the numbers
the alphabets, the full name,
his full name,
the dates, the places, the moments
when everything felt right
when everything was, in fact,
since the start.

225 days of midnight consciousness
where i crawl back in to hide
from you, the pain and the unwanted thoughts of -

it is now 225 days from the day i realized i will
have to learn to live with
broken pieces of a strength
once mine, now tattered
and briskly patched together.

i still spend every pending day retrieving
shards of a broken heart i shattered and
threw to the world like ashes of
a loved one

because it was a precious loss
i couldn't stand to keep inside me

it has now been 225 days
of avoiding certain places, people
lyrics of a song

because things are just different now,
simply said.


my hands are cold.

it is an ephemeral feeling
of turning to stone.

emotionless. empty.
a weird sort of free.

i clench my fists,
embracing the cold on my fingertips
and thank god for plunging me into darkness.

i accept this side of me
though no one else does.

the hurt will fade, they say
but healing is no longer my attempt.

i legalize this pain
as cold as the palm of my hands
that never receive enough bloodflow.

i am a new me
unsure of who i am
but sure of a situation
i know i will never escape from.

waking up from suicide

the wound becomes a part of you
you sting and hurt
a cut open and drying into ugly, infected scabs.

nobody will know because they will tell you
to hide them scars away
so you hide yourself away.

the world is red
and you open your eyes to
a different life;
months hence
you will look back and
wonder where the old you went
now replaced without a soul
that once lit you from within
and taught you to live.

because being saved against your will
is a torturing way to take in
another breath.

the only explanation to who i have become.