“Art…”

Art,
My sweet devil,
Save me.
I’ve
Gotten so comfortable with falling apart.

Emptiness,
Like the dried up stream,
I run from.
At times I’m fooled.
The stream is still dry.

Love,
A quest to find some spark,
Somewhere,
Some life.
My loving tears
Can’t turn a wasteland to a park.

Passion,
What is it?
Books, songs, dances,
I see nothing.
Sometimes so foreign,
Just like laughing.

Purpose?
I’ve erased them.
Nothing really worth it.
No difference can be made.
Living to live,
To what?

Continue reading “Art…”

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“I don’t feel, but I do think”

I don’t feel,
But I do think,
And thinking can be a terrible emotion.
After time and love have passed,
Though betrays still a devotion.

Why it’s taking me this long,
To forget your fingertips or the fact that you exist,
I cannot explain.
I don’t feel,
But I do think,
And it drives me quite insane.
Insane to know that for some reason,
You’re still messing with my brain.

Nights, maps, songs,
Rain, postcards, telephones
Command my thoughts to go to you.
I tell them,
I don’t feel,
But I do think.
And they laugh,
Because there is no such thing.

“Name’s So Sweet a Word, Yet Poison to My Brain”

Your name’s so sweet a word
Yet poison to my brain.
It’s endless nights of knowing
That you’re waking up and going
On your new day without me.
And in my mind you’re smiling,
And laughing with new friends,
While I lay awake,
A prisoner of my thoughts,
And wait for them to end.
Again.

Then when I wake up,
I might hope you sent a message.
When I see you didn’t,
I’ll get strength to be a better me.
But if perhaps I check
And I see you’ve wished me well,
Darling, you don’t know the agony,
From your care,
That I’ll be bringing to myself.

They say first love scars,
“Get over it.”
I should really listen to my friends.
Friends who aren’t you of course,
And they’re hardly the same.
Because,
I like you,
I trust you,
I love your name.
And I know I love you too,
but we can’t play this game.

“it’s going to hurt until one day it doesn’t.”
That’s my wisdom of this year.
And I say it every day
Followed by the phrase,
“Does it hurt?”

Even in the sunny days,
The answer stays the same.

But no.
This cloud is lifting.
Even if alone,
My heart is freeing.
And when I’m not tired from thinking of your name,
I start to notice my own,
And it’s something I will claim.
I notice the people around me,
still foreign and distant,
But alive and human,
Just like you.

I’m surviving this insanity
Marked by the pretty word “love.”
I owe it to myself.
I deserve to be conscious,
I deserve to be sane,
I deserve to be living,
Even when I think your name.

(From the unpublished archive 2014)

Happy [New Year!]

Wishing you all a happy new year! 🙂

“HAPPINESS, except that it is always subjective, is primarily indeterminate random event. From a mathematical point of view, is a stochastic process, expressed as a function of random variables, defining the events which affect the being of human. Therefore, even the best-conceived code of conduct is not able to ensure the man, that complying with established rules will make him happy.” -Jean-Marc Kania