Even in my nightmares I had a home, I had the warmth of my own love-yearning heart whose selfish haunting was more powerful than the sorrow of the world itself. Even when the night came and killed the song of every bird. Even when god abandoned my shadow, even as I dreamt the eyes I loved drowning in blood, floating towards my end. I could live, I could still write poems under the light of my pain.
the eyes made of glass stare at us with its kind open clutches held out. the eyes made of forgetfulness and remembrance in equal measure – they are beautiful. they sing of the most beautiful fear, the most hurting hope. and we sing back. me and my brothers – we sing like we have never known death as we hand over our hidden skin folded in half.
folded in half, we sleep in its arm and we invent love, invent warmth, invent meaning. we hear it breathing. we hear our lung collapse. we have brought something to life again. this machine of fear and ends – it breathes, it tears up and cries. i feel an ocean flowing into my eyes. the suffocation ends. and just like that there is nothing of us left with us.
somewhere we will open our eyes and stare at lips that sing of giving, we will feel our hollow insides echo with the memory of our own lightest steps we will look at the saddest sweetest children of this world and we’ll know ourselves through it again. we will know of the ocean in us when it leaves our eyes. and just like that we will be all that we couldn’t bear to live as.
There hangs a painting of a window. There is nailed the dream of a tree. There is… There… I lift my fingers to point at one more thing that feels like me but there are now no opportunities to make me understood. A beak picks at my bones. A dove enters my toothless mouth and in the darkness snuggles as only life can with death. Yellow dahlias float in my mind now free of its calcium cage. I flow towards a place where there is no need, no use of me. I have reached a mountain Now I have reached a gulf I have reached now at the only moment where I can be myself, a second before I cease to be, a second before I become something else.
You took my breaking hand and told me stories of a world where humans can be built again, where all that darkness that has seeped into me, into you can be cast away with a kiss and mornings with warm breakfast, a hunger of two. You placed your old sweaters beside mine and that dark cupboard became a symbol of an enticing spring that would never end.
Within all that beauty and warmth how was I to know that you were meaning to leave, willing yourself to make that exit, even when you welcomed me into your arms. How was I to know that this darkness in you, in me would continue to only grow in new directions making us fear not the breaking, but our breaking to be seen by each other.
I remember you waking up early and trying to put the clothes of “forever”, ironing out the new folds in your skin so you can continue to love this life made of dreams. I remember you placing my name on your tongue, in the body of your thirst in a whisper and then crying silently knowing you cannot love this anymore.
Yet I kept my eyes closed thinking of springs, and sweaters, and a home filled with two of everything. I kept my eyes closed giving you time enough to find the strength and the numbness to embody the person you were long ago. I feel your weight at the edge of the bed, I feel your sigh and your hands still filled with care thoughtlessly placed on me. Love is so beautiful, isn’t it, even in its end.
We both were people looking for blood. Looking for the vessel, a flesh to fill our favorite story of the most sorrowful love. All that we dreamed of was hurt at first sight. This was never about love. This was never about us. The moment, the feeling that could outlive us after taking our lives, we have only yearned for it. How wonderful that we are finally here. Here to start this spectacular thing that will be the end us.
I have a thing about ends- I cannot do it, it has to be done to me. It must happen. Things must continue till they rot and bleed. First in places where no one can see and then in places where no one can look away from. And words must be said – cruel words. They must be said by someone, but it won’t be me.
I rush up to the jar of those colorful wrong words and choose first, all the words that seem like hope but they aren’t, while purposefully leaving behind in the hand of others only those words that seem like rage, but it is not, it is more of helplessness, but I do not tell them that. So now, in my tears they see the new monsters that they are made of, the monster I can’t bear to be.
Even as they become problems that they never wanted to be, I must remain good, I must remain kind. I must remain the one that held on. I must save my illusions at any cost. I won’t give the excuse of my weakness, of my broken heart, of the fragile thread from which my existence is suspended, of how I am already clawed open and torn apart by life, or how I would rather at the end of it want someone to hate than to mourn things that died with all the good parts of me. Or how I have always loved everything a bit too much. I won’t give the excuses even I cannot believe in.
I refuse to give up with spite and with malice even because how can I ever walk towards any goodness in world again knowing the feeling of the dying pulse of a miracle under my hands. I am ready to suffer. I am ready to break every heart including mine. I am ready to paint this world with monsters and be the evil one but I refuse to do that killing.
A crowd fills the river now. The winds wears new streamers, new sails today. There is a festivals of flower with a funeral of spring. There is something in the air that wants me to live, though there is something else in my heart that cries for an end. But the festivals go on and I keep walking in the crowd. I smile till I forget the weight of that smile. I keep walking till the crowd fills my heart, till I wear the world on me. Till I feel the hand of wind embracing me as if I am also one of its dearest kids. I am ready to give up my hate, I am ready to believe, I am ready to be good if I am held like that once – like I matter, like I have all that I need to live, like I can be loved and be hated and be nothing to someone and yet worthy of this world.
so my blue dream is not even mine now. i am just a mesh of people who hate me. their fingers are my fingers now poking my skin, endless railroads of red are built with their nails that they do not even cut before they sell me their fake love-filled eyes. their eyes are my eyes that wants to smash every reflective surface where i fall. every reflective thought is just a poison. a poison, a gossip, an untrue version of me running wild in the minds of those who look at me. they gossip about me so i gossip about myself , whisper my secrets into the air or better, into the ears of lovers who are chosen especially for their talents in indifference, vulnerability, and emotional violence. lovers who can break me – are all that i want. i need someone else to do this breaking for me because i am coward who can’t move towards the end i want, and also because my hands are busy. i have more things to do. i need my hands to tear my talents apart in the name of value, tear my feelings apart in the name of my worthlessness. i need my hands to paint again and again. paint indifferences on my insecurities that come a bit too often to the surface of my skin now, paint laugh lines on the bleeding corners of my lips, paint dreams of love, moments of hurt, grand betrayals on my otherwise lonely mind, paint humans that match the shadows in me, painting causes and assurances. i must paint. i must paint a reason- a reason why i suffer so, why this world works like how it does, why i must break as the world breaks, why i must break even for fixing this world. i must paint a face so that others don’t break at the sight of my face. i clip my nails everyday so that when i become someone’s ghost when someone suffers because of me at least my hands won’t leave them scars.
on the sunlit lips my breath finally rests and death is what i bring to you and to myself. what do you wish to kill? there is an ocean filled with marvels and horrors inside you and me. there are voices and monsters. there are mutated versions of us hiding from the light of our eyes, hiding in the caves, hiding in the breath of mermaids. hiding, always hiding in most beautiful places, guarding the breathing corpses of us, killing our worlds with our every breath. this is their power over us. this is the say we will never get to have. but today, what do you wish to kill? hold this poison. hold my hand. tell me what you dream of. tell me of something that can be begun only by finding a end. tell me a story that only starts with us.