Thank you for holding on

Oh Love,

I could not sleep at night lately, and sleeplessness is ordinary.
And mine eyes are blurred by such exhaustion: blinded, slowly.
But you are my beacon of hope, and hope is more than scarce to me.
And it’s nothing else but scars I see, a pattern that decorates my body.
The pain that I feel, so plenty, it fades away when you come close to me.
And when mine eyes and yours finally meet; two souls leaving their bodies.
Intertwined by fate and neglected by time. Far too much pain, yet we never cry.
And what is it that could stop our plight? For the heavens is the very thing we deny.
And even though how hard we try, we could not, would not, accept that time still flies.
But what is more to life then to lie and wait? For everything goes away, and that’s okay.

Oh Love,

I could not sleep at night, without wishing that you’re here by my side.
Two very small blots of Chinese ink, travelling at the speed of dark light.
You come forward with no promises, nothing else matters and that’s alright.
Each and every kiss is an heirloom we pass down to every blacks that has life.
And our nights are far more lonely than what it used to be. It’s nothing to me.
You and me, we were never here and we would never hear the screams of our fears.
We would love, and loving is too short. So if we would love: it’s either that or mort.
And our stories are not at all short, we build them up just to see them get destroyed.
But without love, joyful hatred appears. And that too would one day cease to appear.
So what is it that we hold on so tight too? What else is there, for us, to even hold dear?
It’s nothing more than our complete and utter failure in comprehending all the lost tears.

Love,
We have no where else to turn.
And we would, probably, never learn.

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age

old news papers
with old news
of long famines
and massacres
there’s nothing new

old news papers
fathers dying
mothers crying
children killing
there’s nothing new

old books
old poetry
old people
with their old thoughts
and their wrinkly skin
covering their weakly bones
talking about
old news papers
and old news

there’s nothing new

I. Dread

Some of us are divided inside, and

the two sides are at war, with

each other.
They are in an age long deadlock,

and both sides refuse to

surrender.
The battle ground is the soul, and

while the warring sides feel no pain,

the soul always suffers.
The battles could last for days, months, or more;

It could also be so short, like how night falls in the

summer.
And we know wars lead to nothing but blood and tears, devastation and destruction; it is everything we fear, but denial is pretention.
And we all know the pain of losing friends, and maybe losing lovers; but the dread of this war is far worse than anything we could imagine.
This war rages on even through rain or drought,

through heat and cold, and through anything in between; its continuous, this I have no doubt.
Some see pleasure in destroying, some weep, and mourn, and grief; some fight with all their might, some flee and never to be found; but in the end all would break apart and crumble, like old leaves on the ground.
Some of us are divided inside, and

the war between them rages on; but

whatever happens in this war, whatever

the outcome maybe;
I beg of you to carry on, for

[soon] we would all be free.

no one realizes this

no one realizes
that they get younger
as they age
by the years

they start to reminisce
how it feels to be a kid
while in front of them
are paperwork and staplers
all the while they’re
stuck inside of cubicles

“how i miss being a girl”
a lady says to her daughter
and her son walks into the room
thinking he’s already a man
and the husband curses the tv
his favorite team is losing

no one realizes that
i wonder why

i want grandkids
someday in the future
so i’d have a friend
to play hide and seek with

17.04

My love, calm yourself.

My love, calm yourself. 

You are not what you think you are,
and you would not become
that which you fear the most.

Listen to my voice, I am here,
I would not leave you alone.

You demons are strong,
but they are not invincible.

Deprive them of hate,
and of fear,
and of anxiety;

They would start to weaken,
and finally cease to be.

If they ever come again,
and you’re too tired to fight,
remember that I am here for you;
in both joy and plight.