Crooked Love

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Please stop it.
Please stop complaining
and raining on my day before it
even starts. Sure, I’m a part of your
life, but you might as well drive a knife
into my chest, and forget the rest. You love me,
you hurt me, more like impale me, breaking the frail
me, then you hail me with affection, the very definition of
a crooked love, and all above, it’s even more messed up that
I kind of love it. It’s total shit that you’ve drugged me into thinking like
this, like I’ll miss you being control of every damn thing.

Stop it.
Your touch is the most
magnetic thing in the world,
should I keep it in my heart forever?
And if ever you stop hurting yourself,
I’ll return it, and you’ll finally discern it as
love, like that way it should be, no cruelty, no
misery, just love, in the middle of chaos, that quiet
pause we both need, you and I, away from the cry and sigh
of pain, away from shame. You won’t need to contain the way you
truly feel about life, you can shoot at the sky with a rifle, smile and laugh
without stifling like you always do, me and you, in the center of chaos.

Just stop.
Stop doing this for me,
you have to see that you don’t
really need me. If anything, do this
for you, and get through with the biggest
grin, like you’ll win the lottery because someday
you will, but still, do this for yourself, never me, you
should love yourself instead of me. I’m a tragedy, but so are
you. You can still turn this around, walk proud and be happy, shine
in the light I never got to see. If anything, do that for me. Please.

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The Melody of Healing

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Sometimes, there is this
melody that plays like a remedy
in the distance, reminding me of
hope, rewinding me to happiness.
I have never wanted so much for something
to last, and that’s all I ask for, I don’t need anything
more, so is it okay if you brighten my day and play that
song, see my misery long gone, away like the wind, redeeming
the sinned and broken, stilling the shaken, awakening the sleepers
and calling unto everyone who will ever listen to hear the melody of healing.

Here I am, broken but
not useless, hopeless but
not lost. You can still find me
if you want, I won’t taunt you to do
better, because I know what you give is
the best, better than the rest in some way,
making everything a little more than okay,
chasing away sadness, bringing and shining gladness,
taking fears and drying tears, making everything a little
more than okay. Can you stay one more day? I need you.

There is a beat to my heart
that you play a part in, drumming
my veins, reigning my emotions, tying
your devotions unto me, shaking away misery,
your lovely little tendency of making things better,
without meaning to, you make it a lot better. I don’t
know what I’d do without you, you are my reason, my
melody, my light, you make everything alright, days brighter
and the weight of the world a little lighter. Please don’t go away.

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To Be Alive

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Humans are insane,
who are not islands
but the sea and sky

We will be gray
and we will be weak,
but cease today,
for tomorrow is too far.

I want to go home,
where people talk
about braless women
and Hans Zimmer, and
where people don’t make
fun of my sophisticated thoughts.

One day I will see
Japanese and Italian
mountains, then decided
that sushi and pizza were
never for me.

There is nothing
I yearn for more
than to live my life
as if it was poetry itself.

I love my mother,
and I love my father,
yet on most days we
act like love never
existed in our lives.

My passions burn
brighter than most
stars undiscovered.

Love is a crooked moral,
love is a desperate plea,
love is what runs inside me.

I want
to be alive.

My eyes burn,
begging for tears to fall.
My arms hang,
begging for the blood to stop.
My legs tingle,
begging to be cut off.

To never leave is to never live,
yet to stay is to keep faith and pray.

I like to believe
that I am here by reason,
and not merely by chance.

You used to
share endless goodnights
with me.
Now we’re finally sleeping.

My dreams sometimes
make me wish to never wake up.

Hold my hand,
let me hold you close.

Skin to skin
is like
soul to soul.

we break,
but as we mend
we grow stronger.
If we are smiles,
then we will never
be fixed, for broken
smiles never heal.

I will be your
choice, not your
purpose. Please
learn the difference.

Joy is not a coincidence,
it is a choice to be content
and forget that gravity is alive.

Tell me your secrets,
and I will try to listen.

I will break
my sleeping routine
to make you a playlist;
I must truly believe that
somehow, I love you.

My siblings are my
angels, and my demons.

Here I lie,
with written truth.

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Unhealthy Hope

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And here lies
every single lie
that you ever tried
to tell me, loving me in
your arms, then leaving me
to undeniable harm. You are the
thorn in every rose that you have given
me, the bitterness in every chocolate you have
let me taste, the crack in my heart that you can
never erase, and the childhood joy that you can never replace.

You are my midnight misery,
my surrounding sadness,
my desperate destruction,
and my unhealthy hope.

For love, and perhaps everything in between.

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The Epitome of Broken and Used

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Don’t talk to me.
Oh, I’m mad at you,
isn’t it easy to see, how
can you be so stupid, I mean,
you ruined me, trashed and ruined me,
and eventually that garbage you made me
believe that I was became me, so basically, I
am your frayed creation that breathes in the stench
of unwelcomed insults and annoying silence.

Don’t you dare talk to me.
Oh, I loathe you,
because you are the reason
why I feel so awful, how can you
be so full of yourself? Not sometimes,
most of the damn time, and you have crossed
the line many damn times, too much for me to count,
and I don’t  doubt a single moment of it, the shout that your
sins let the world hear, mostly my world. You leave me cold, and raw,
skinned for all the treachery in my surroundings to surround me in, sick and
trapped in the words you once vowed. But now I’ll never believe you, you ruined me.

Don’t even come near me.
You are the reason I am in this misery,
because you thought that I can possibly be
your companion for a few, but you knew that
sooner or later, you wouldn’t love but hate my presence,
and seconds into that realization, you left me, hanging by my
fingertips, my lips quivering at the words you last said, and I am
dead, so fucking dead inside, and this is all because of you. Because
you knew that I was vulnerable, disposable after you were done with me,
now you left me a tragedy, hanging by my heart strings, and all I feel is this sting,
ringing in the very vicinity of my rotten, hanging heart.

Don’t try to come back to me.
We will never be what we once used
to be, now a misery, the very epitome of heartbreak.
You used me, okay? Can you just stop trying to break my walls,
and then leave me crying for no other but you, because this is what
you do. You win my heart, over and over, and then you cover your tracks,
then start breaking it apart like you so skillfully do. So, stop already. I will
not be free unless you stop coming to me again, because I know, deep within
me, that I will welcome you back, with frail arms, and fragile warmth, ready for
you to break me and my heart once again.

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Decomposing Symphonies

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I am sorry
I ever loved you.

This is one of those moments
when all I want to do is find the
nearest tower and throw my body
down to the oblivious world below me.

Heaven is the center
of tattered bodies
and battered hearts.

Humans celebrate
pity parties with
fifty year old bottles
of scotch.

The abyss calls out
my name like a symphony.

I once wished
on a ghost star,
and I’m still haunted
by my forgotten dreams.

Sing me a song
about star-crossed
lovers and a deadly
illness that divides
them into half of a
pathetic whole.

I feel as though
every single passion
I have harbored within
me is decomposing on
itself as we break away.

I want people
to take the blame.

We are not
angels who
walk this earth,
we are sinners
with rotting wings.

The effects of
suicide are different
from the effects of

Draw me like
one of your failed

I want to watch myself
burn under the melodies
that we once shared.

Navigate the way back
into my mind’s eye.
I am blinded.

If I shoot myself
tonight, will I be a
sacrifice to the gods
that you might believe
in, or a little space to give
the very crowded human
word that we breathe in?

Will you shake or shatter?

Will it quake or matter?

I expect to break
a little more over time,
until I reach the ultimate
dust of a masterpiece.

You will never
understand the
void that riots
within my anatomy.

Dust, rust, soon to combust.

Describe the inner workings
of your decomposing heart,
and maybe I will understand
why you’re so cruel to yourself.

I wonder what’s stopping me
from shooting myself in the

Maybe my lifesaver is
scattered within my limited
timeline, and if I don’t make
to the next one soon enough,
someone will finally cut my lifeline.

I swear,
I will do
for poetry.

I want people to ask
themselves what they did wrong,
and let false pity erupt from within
their spines to haunt them for the following weeks.

I shot myself
with finger guns.

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Social Suicide

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I get that
you don’t
get it, but I
can’t help
but hurt.

Something about the
way you talk makes me
want to open my veins
and stare at whatever
universes hide inside.

There is a slight
difference with
being lost in
loneliness and
then being lost
in yourself.

Within my bones
are tandems of
storms and tsunamis,
pleading me to
crack them free.

Flowers are stunning
and varied, some more
common than others,
while others rarer than
some. Humans are stunning
and varied, yet others are
shunned by some, and some
are shamed by others for
the same reason.

My hair
and my
face  deserve
to hide and
crumble behind
a well-constructed

I feel like a
trapped in
a human

You pour acid
into my eyes
and my sight
is intoxicated.
Your image
is pain.

Loud people
are dangerous
when they
choose to be

I am so sorry for
not changing my
perspective into
yours, but you have
to accept that we see
the world differently.

You can’t expect me
to care about you if
you yourself are not
capable of caring
for others.

Is it worse
to think with
your heart,
or love with
your brain?

Sharpen thy blades
and prepare thy knives,
for you shall face the world
once more on this day.

We speak in different mother tongues,
wherein your language is standard, and
my words are novels and poems that
you can never comprehend.

You surround me
with an illness that
strikes my brain and
tells my body to destroy
my heart.

When I see the light,
you see my shadow.

Your words are comfort,
but upon most minutes
they are gasoline that drives
my nails deeper into my skin.

They are deafened by

Cutting my flesh
helps me feel big
in the small body
that harbors my
soul and mind.

Whenever I fall in love,
I recall that I am underground,
and my heart clips off its imaginary
wings, never to flutter again.

My hometown
is a ruin in my brain,
and what’s left of my
sanctuary is peeled off
its colors.

You encourage me
into cutting my heart out.

It’s one thing
to be broken by another,
and another thing to be
broken by yourself.

Let me go,
let me drown.

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