mental morphine

For a flashburnstrike of a second,
I am widened to senses that
Share your pain,
As your nightmares paint a picture
In my mind
And I scare away my own demons
Because I feel the bareness of yours.

I feel brave, though
To touch something once
Strange to me, and I
Embrace its familiarity.

For a flashburnstrike of a second,
I shudder and face your fears
For you.

And I feel alive.

For Us, I Dive, I Soar

These vulgar fears I let take a toll on me,
they discharge like unruly, sticky pleasure
from the barbed wired coils of a certain
chip in my soul that remains
discolored and out of bounds.

I tread carefully and gamble my release
on stepping into a place I once escaped,
hoping to conquer where I once was

In there lies the knots of memories
I wish to chop away and
never learn to untangle
for the better of my sanity
and the sanity of my present.

I try, I try,
to never horrify
but I horrify myself with my thoughts
at specific reflective states of
where I know I can be
as beautiful and you make me believe,
but I am too exhausted
to make the final jump, so I dangle
mid-air instead,
because it is sometimes a
much more comforting thought
to know if my feet are never on the ground,
I can never lose my balance.

But the comfort shakes
in the center of my nightmares
clawing at my mind
as I claw at your skin
until my wake of stretching inwards
ad screaming a muted,
familiar sound. I recycle
all the dark in me whilst I
still try to shine.

I try, I do try,
to never horrify, especially you,
but there are certain things that will
never rub off
from under the calm of my mind.

I just need to feel
that the language
of the past we share so
can help you understand
that these scars of time do not mean
we are not healed,
and there is nothing wrong in
learning to live
because we finally want to.


Oh, these wretched waves of black,
Drain away from me,
Pull back into the currents built to
Wrench me further and
Stray away from me.
I do not want these curls of,
Tension and whirls of asphyxiation,
Plaguing me again,
Like the last time,
And the last time,
And the last and the last and the last
and the last and the last fucking time.

Oh, these wretched waves of black,
Do not drown me,
Not when I have finally learnt
To breathe out of water.



One day, I decided to
stop painting the image of
a world I expect,
beginning instead,
to paint over existing flaws,
learning how to keep their charm of
imperfect beauty,
learning also to morph their ways
to the best of my perspective.
There are days when grey skies
become grey moods,
but I decided to
look through such narrow blinds
and accept that grey is at least
better than black.

I laugh when they tell me love
is selfish
because my happiness is not for me
but conjured from seeing it
reflected in your eyes,
knowing it is because I am here,