Saturday, April 2, 2016

confinement

'Falling down the rabbit hole' is known best as a figure of speech but Alice wasn't just a fictional character. Alice is real and she tried to seek solace in her darkest hour by chasing the moment as it slips away.

Like Alice, my mind ticks to chase the next layer of darkness that lies within your soul. Let's make a deal, you can bring your poisoned cakes and purple creatures and I'll invite myself to hit this rock bottom gladly.

I don't know how many shadows I've wrestled with in my way from there to you but it should last me for three lives and half a decade.

Being protected from the dark won't necessarily guarantee safety, it could mean a stale confinement with no exit doors and endless hallway.

but goddamn it, you're worth the fall.

Friday, November 21, 2014

Dust

Hunger is purple, like the coldest spark that precedes the flaming ache.
It's a carnivorous animal that feeds on a dead bird inside my no-where land.

(I call my body 'no-where', because it has a gaping hole in the middle of it, enclosed by a regurgitated barbed wire that got stuck in my chest from swallowing too many warnings signs.)

Hunger is craving to gulp the sharp edge of a knife to feel something.
It's chocking on a muffled scream at 6 am. to show them you know how to breathe.

Hunger is dreaming of a downward ladder into the deepest edge of dust to master the art of denial.

Hunger is 2 steps of disintegration, starting with eating your own bones, followed by gnawing at the leftovers of your soul only to watch them eat your cake while you have its poison too.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Blur

November 6th, 2008

You're wearing khaki brass-buttoned Tshirt, the one you bought the day you dropped out of med school and decided you're gonna settle for community college because you can't stand the idea of another cadaver being cut open by amateur limbs. Your shirt's fabric is washed out, yet you could care less since it works nicely against your honey-hued hair and flawless skin.

Despite the loud beach's noise behind us, I somehow hear the sound of your laughter and keep wondering if the sea waves were fighting one another attempting to recruit you as the next mermaid addition to their underworld.

I can't take my eyes off of the hazy shade of blue sky above your head, pastel colors always remind me of beautiful Monet paintings and my mother's kitchen.

I feel the timid breeze brushing your hair and I see you trying your best to hide your tremors by maintaining fake calmness to avoid being told you picked the wrong sweater and I wait for you to ask for my jacket but you hate asking for favors.

Novembet 6th, 2014

I wake up panicked and I start to recount one by one the hairs of your eye-lash in my head but I get stuck between 156 and 165, also I can't recall which lipstick color you wore, was it coral or naked Peach?

I'm terrified of losing more details of you. What if I woke up next year and forgot the hazel eyes that sent shivers down my spine? What if I stopped associating bad decisions with you? I must write it down to keep you alive.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Theft


Like the thief you are; stealing cigarettes from my mouth when I'm not looking was your specialty and I was your shop-lifting spree from that moment until I wasn't holding back on being your most prized possession. But when you were away, I stole rough mattresses in rooms that stank of piss and smoke, buried words you left ashen on my stomach, stashed each sunlight that slipped through window-cracks on days that reflected your smile in my eyes.
I learned from the very best for I snuck up, every night behind your head to whisper sweet dreams of redemption with a combination of shadow language and your favorite instruments.

You don't wake up until I say so.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Pieces

It was the year of tarmac, the year everyone got their knees bruised on the newly paved lanes and had their knuckles injured from punching hollowed out walls, sprayed with graffiti of religious slurs and sexual taboo. It was your idea to burn it down to recreate the Berlin Wall effect and we smelled like gasoline for the entire night..

These days, I'm numb from tripping on your memory, so I bandaged myself with the prospect of a better tomorrow where I get to see my favorite smile, I've been replaying it in my head ever since I saw it on you.

I remember incidentally meeting a tattoo artist and asking her for the shape of your birthmark to be inked on my thighs and a hint of your skin was stitched into me.

Flashbacks of your Parliament-soaked shirt burns my nose whenever I pass by smokers huddled up outside my building and a dose of your scent lingers.

The asphalt road has gone stale.
The shameless wall burned to the ground.

I yearn for gasoline.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Wishful Thinking

Were you sorry because she died?

Where were you when she was lying on the ground dragging each last breath from her own frail lungs desperate for someone to hold her hands? 

Where were you when she wanted someone to tell her it's gonna be alright? that she doesn't have to depart this world alone?

Are you apologizing to her everyday until the memory of her face stops to interrupt your slumber and the sound of her laughter ceases to visit your brain?

Are you forever distraught at the possibility of having been there to brush her hair off of her cheeks? or because you wanted to make the last moment she spent on earth belong to the two of you and only you two?

follow her.


Placement

Put me down
I've been fighting for too long
the walls are whiter
the cracks are deeper
the edges are sharper
the ants have come out of their hiding place
they're crawling on my skin
I've become their prey.