No Saint

sometimes I turn
afraid,
when my mouth
forget its name,
and spark tinders
of rage that
spread the smoke
all over the
windowpanes

I’d bite my tongue
and wish that
my bones would
end the rattling
of the heat of
my spirit;
as I hold my breath
and beat myself up
to bottling up
my wounds

I’d crack under
pressure,
and smoothen
the creases
of my excuses;
I turn my head
the other way,
and held my
shallow ground

I’m no saint.
I’m far from the
good that
this life requires
to be canonized
by people who
has the same
sharp pen
as I do

I’m no saint;
I am a darker
shade than the
world, I am
my lips,
I am my tongue
I am what I
want to say

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Necessity

 

necessity.

reaching to a point where

breathing is necessary to exist.

Where it’s nothing more but a

quiet action that fills silences and

gaps of the unknown.

 

Companion.

reaching to a point where having someone

is just a leisure. A miracle of a perhaps

great mishap of fate. Having the wrong thing

insert to the right lives of people, intertwining,

tangling their threads into something so beautiful

and yet destructive, it could pull their lives over

their heads.

 

Tears.

Reaching to a point where this liquid is

just a trace of apathy, of numbness,

a perfect definition of suppressed emptiness

and words too strong to be quivered between

lips. To be heard or to be understood.

 

 

Necessity.

Reaching to a point where everything

is in its last exhausting energy,

like a train running out of coals,

where I only wished that everything would

stop.  Ceasing life, ceasing the travel, the

faces passing by, the wasted time, the

long nights and longer mornings of senseless

conversations over stale coffee…

 

Stop.

 

 

 

 

 

Slipping Away

 

 

I induced my martyrdom to

my sweaty palms, trying to hold

life as it is, taking each blow,

each punch in the face that leaves

me bruised and scratched…

 

Fooling myself that everything

has its certain purpose,

or I am just talking on walls while

trying to console myself how miserable

I feel a this time with nothing to

do but to hold on.

 

The tough exterior of this physical line

is giving me rope burns as thick as my

fears of what will happen to me next

and as I see my mother cry ,

for the world has forsaken us, I cannot help

but question the depths of someone who is

more powerful than our minds….

 

I cradled the tragedies on my arms,

embracing each one like my own,

I balance the burdens on my shoulders

as I catch all from my idols..

 

and I don’t mind slipping away

because I’ve got nothing left to lose…

 

 

Midnight Child

 In the morning I walk on auto-pilot

mimicing away the lives of the normal

the norm-bound souls of this earth

and tries to live quietly, and steadily

in a world where I was born…..

I pull myself into a trance of normalcy

and indifference, and let the river flow

within me, a river that flows to infinity

like time wasted in nothing but rules

Though in the night, I am alive,

like a nymph I dance for the moon

for the Luna who gave me life

to my mind I went to a celebration

of freedom, and unexpected perfection

of curves that are imperfect and creases

bluntly on the smooth surface of the

judgemental

I take hold of the night, like my heaven

with its darkness my bounding blanket

of protection and a spinning abyss

of beautiful memories and untold thoughts

that I fear would lose its magic if I share

it with the light….

for the night can only be illumined by

the thoughts of my mind that

cannot be spoken with open ears

and vicious hearts with weary eyes

that criticize the existence

of mine feelings so brutally honest

it cuts through their wrists and

swallow the words that escaped from

their throats…..

I take hold of my absence of color

the darkness that surpasses my soul with

comfort…my standing confidant as I

shed tears on pillows that heard the

history of my cries to the same

creature I long to behold until this moment

this time, where I should write my misery instead

Boldly stating how much more time

should I cradle this pain of mine

in this body that is longing for rest

and more sleepful nights and boundless

days in meadows and preludes and

nocturnes of new lovers…

But no..The day is not like that,

nor the night…for it betrayed me now

the time where I should use you,

my pain..in this brilliant piece of glass

that I’m carving for centuries, to lessen

the obstruction and desolation of my youth,

but it never did….and I am a fool