breathing

the pain recollects behind my eyes

and waste away;

frozen tears for somebody undeserving

of the extent

of intense emotions i puke out

for you.

i read poetry similar to mine

and feel the sharp of your memory

stick into places tender from

abandonment;

a heart i refused to touch

ever since you failed to fix

but succeeded in tearing it

into a project of your own;

lungs i have forgotten to care for

but merely fill with choked up

feelings clinging to smoke and

filth.

i intended to numb the bitter wounds

ripping apart with every breath

but the sickly cluster of your

shameless words and

everything else i swallowed

still burn me like

a rotten carcass.

there are still days when i ponder on

alternatives

to this mess i built as

protection,

and figure out

no matter what i choose

i am still

already gone.

and so are you.

world records

there is a clamp in my head

tightening for what seemed like weeks

and will continue for remaining days

until i reach the second my heart and soul

turns one year old.

it feels like an egg cracking, these

unwanted, murky, irksome feelings

leaking through me

spilled and unable to fix

as the day edges closer

and closer

and closer

like reverse, a reverse effect back to

when i died and was reborn

as nothing; a blank paper, torn and crumpled.

one year ago.

-

feels like quite a while now,

many things i have forgotten beyond

that night

except the incidents that led me

to living this new, semi-unwanted life.

recycled.

i partially enjoy it

the new lengths i push myself through

measuring how hard my cover is

and the lowest temperature of my heart;

the many times i can look at my arm

without crumbling.

-

i took a huge risk allowing the wounds

to be wiped clean

knowing from then on,

they will never heal, dirty as ever,

and will never heal

and i could no longer live the way i did

because i woke up the next morning

with no recognition of life

and its definitions.

i started from scratch

without a purpose or a scrape of hope

screaming for some incomprehensible need;

no one understands the language

of a newborn.

one year ago.

-

i am breaking my own world record by:

:testing my limits.

:raging multiple wars within myself.

it was always a war between peace of mind and pain,

but fighting for peace never really works, even in the news.

:lastly, having two birthdays to celebrate.

one for my life and

one for the loss of it.

the city is hollow

back to a coldness where

lights shine empty

and stars are replaced by the

clog of smoke

and empty air

where things remain choked

and there is no place for release

no wind to chill and

excite

no trace of freedom

no space to breath

nowhere to claim eternity

i stare out at blocks of

man-made construction

material things

we can lose

scents that pass

and never linger

prodding like painful memories

it is a city of

reality

no place for dreams and

no place for somebody

like me

Three Cigarettes

i get scared. my lungs

clog up

and i forget how to breath

for a second.

moments when i wake from

hiding the small of you

and your inflictions that taste

permanent

pretending i am finally

finally

finally-

it all aches again

i forget to look at the time

because the date looks

foreign

and unexpected.

knowing everything is moving fast

whilst i am too slow

is no comfort,

reminding me again

of how i have forgotten

how to press play

after i had paused

at the scary part

to refrain from screaming.

it hurts to see new faces

replace what was once-

it hurts to see everything

go

but i.

me and my forever memories.

it was like somebody else

tried to move on for me,

branching out a whole new world

before my eyes

when i still had them shut,

to hide

to protect myself from

the accidental babies of my mind

that will never grow me

a new life.

big giants

it is a brittle and deep ache

injected in me, a feeling i

involuntarily succumb to

because of the many times i look up

towards the eternal and find

a blank stare returning my gaze.

nobody but i will comprehend

how much i have tried to perfect

the circle of all the hope i had in me;

they said circles are better shapes

because they are harder to break

but nobody ever told me

how hard it was to mend one

already cracked.

it is as if the whole world is

crumbling at my fingertips

and the disaster is too beautiful to fix

so i resolve to sitting back

and learning how to let it eat me up

without feeling the blow

when i hit rock bottom.

new and familiar

the feelings are unreal.

they taste like the past

and ache like a thousand years

i am trying to stay strong

but there is no strength in

tearing up at every glance

and every precious breath.

i hear time fleeing.

stay.

please stay.

mother

there are things i wished i could've done

at a time when i was much stronger

than this

like hug you

and say you are the most

i have ever been given

and the fights were only lessons

to learn from.

but i am now at the peak of falling

and i

do not have the guts, i stutter

trying to say i care

and i really, really, really

hate

myself for all the moments you spend alone

aching over my words

because i know how it feels

aching over yours.

i was, in your eyes,

as precious as my favourite home-made soup

you'd make when you had enough strength

but you are, in my eyes,

- though i may never dare

to tell you this -

golden.

like every breath you take

when you are sleeping soundly

because i am safe beside you

watching.

distractions

there are no more poems that make them

smile, no more words that

flow from my mind to exert

some sort of sweetness that show people

how happy i am

because i am not happy

as simple as that.

i am now at that stance where i

result to

drawing squares on my deodorant bottle

and making beautiful faces on brochures

ugly

with permanent markers

because the thoughts crowd in

in.in.in

until i have to find a way

out.

recollection

i am frightened by those who

talk to their reflections

or the palm of their hands

certain scars they try to scare

away

because it reminds me too much

of a person living inside me.

i predict a death by lightning

because i am used to having things i find

most precious

kill me.

i try to push in the cutthroat

emotions that haunt the

messages my mother forgot to erase from her phone

sent between those who were

at a time

fighting to protect and

keep intact a girl who crumbled at the sides.

you do not need to believe in

timewarps and

magic machines to see a picture perfect

vision as clear as stark light

of what used to be.

one nightmare is all it takes

for the deepest memories to resurface.