The dead world lives through her.
Her escape is a door left open
for the violence to spread,
or so she always believed.
When she saw someone who reminded her of love,
saw that the fragile bird of happiness
would choose sit by her window and wait for her to sing back,
when all that could make her feel safe and somehow better
smiled at her and asked her name.
She would remember how from her skin and her mind
grew trees of fear every night.
The flood that has left her land
loomed above this forest.
Anytime the cloud would burst,
the past would burst through her smile,
and all would be lost.
Today, tomorrow, day after,
on an afternoon when she would forget about it all,
on a beautiful day like that
she knows she will find sorrow again.
So she stays quiet and writes a softer tragedy
of a girl who could never tell her name
to anyone who chose her hoping for happiness.
Tag Archives: sorrow
The dead world lives through her.
The lines are drawn.
The teams have been split.
Now I must show loyalty only to “my kind”.
Now I must learn by heart
the roads that I am not allowed to take.
Your heart probably lies on one of those roads.
That’s probably the reason, why my feet won’t walk in your direction.
What is it like to live in the better half of the world?
My limited imagination sees you as only you
and that’s why I know that I am going to be hurt badly.
A friend tells me with sadness, “staying away would be kinder love”.
He plays me a beautiful tune, a melody to replace you,
a consolation of sorts, a very poor (though thoughtful) consolation.
The sun is a quadrant setting only on my half of world,
although no one has yet tried to split this moon.
How fortunate are we to share at least this sorrow, at least the night.
On every night sky you are my hope written in neon.
Every morning, you are a dream that I force myself to forget.
But no words, no consolation can make me forget you.
I close your heart.
I stitch you back
in a same haphazard way
I do almost everything in life.
The same way I knocked down
every clumsy fragile landmark
that could have actually helped me at the end.
From your mouth I have come to know
that my hopes are tied to the throats of my saviors.
That you are disgusted as you see me
sitting on top of sleepless nights
as I help myself with another serving of self-pity
that I won’t be able to digest.
That I laugh a little too long at the every joke
that the world plays on repeat,
all the while the cruel thread that I am
I cut the skin, I cut the voice, I cut the air.
“this what i am, change me in an easy way, see this is how i am hurting, why won’t you look at me when you said you wanted was the real me”
I say as I try to crawl back into the hide of your love.
“i will stitch you back, if i have hurt you. if you want to hear goodbye, i will say it a thousand times. please, please stop crying. please for once hesitate before you ask for the door out. ask for once if it was easy to take in your sorrows, your demons, your cold shoulder. ask for once how i have fared, how i have come this far, how am i letting you go, letting you be, after loving you so badly. “
are my loneliest dream.
but you are a dream nonetheless.
i am bound to find my skin stuck to yours.
i am bound to run through darkness
sometimes because you, sometimes for you.
and when the clouds part,
it is fated
that i fall for your smile lit by a certain sorrow.
even as you burn me,
even if you try to find someone else in me,
someone that I is dying in me,
i cannot help but call what i feel for you as love.
here, i can call it love.
i can bear to be so close to you.
I walk past houses
that are too silent to be there.
Another drop of tear
lands on my hand.
I dare not stop and look.
I fear I might end up finding
my own home that I had left.
In my eyes I might end up holding
the face of the one
whose sorrow I can’t still bear.
I once lied,
“I will love you forever”.
I fear I might now find the love
that I didn’t have then.
I fear I will ask you
for everything that I do not deserve.
So I lie once again,
this time for your sake-
“though my heart is cold,
love is not the fire I need”.
all the folded boats
spill out of my empty books.
the trees are on fire again.
my mind is on a another wild chase.
my hands light some more branches.
“the world is too cold for me”,
is all that i can say.
today, i am less sad than yesterday,
which makes everything that much more difficult.
today my sorrows have become facts.
my childhood reduced to folded boats in a trash can.
is there any other way to live than this?