Monday, January 30, 2017


From the brink of existence
life spills over,
you started collecting all the pieces
that are once again shattered— withering.

You started to look at him
through poetry.
Because staring him in the eye
feels too bitter, and it wrings your heart. 

The good and the broken things are showing itself in silence.
You are every shades of blue, that aches
that only recognised violent
that forgot tenderness. 

Because sometimes, it's not about brimming in confidence.
Sometimes, you just need help to remember
as you tend to forget about all the good things—
it's nice to remember, doesn't it?

But you're just a girl,
strangling out the flowers,
that stinks with desperation and loneliness,
inhaling the bittersweet scent of love.

Too much of your time is spent looking for love 
in all the empty places, 
in all the wrong people,
at the wrong time.

(It never seems to be the right one.)
The earth started to laughs in flowers,
you started to pray so hard your bones break.
You understand, but you don't— maybe you never will.

Friday, January 13, 2017


a subtle kind of fear,
a subtle kind of insanity
hidden beneath a lifetime of masks.
there are cries of a wasted, forgotten beings

being muffled by the world.
what is left is just blood—
blood and broken poems,
and broken minds.

the walls are trembling and bleeding out,
as i tried to set free of all the burdens i've been carrying
by knocking the doors of heaven down
one poem at a time.

yet there is a normalcy of being wounded,
because we are perplexed by gentleness and tender beings.
silence is a shattered glass you carry within
as it became the craved intimacy.

but oh, how unfortunate
that not many hearts can see
there is a resonate grace in wreckage,
how unfortunate.

if only they are willing to go in.
if only they are willing to stay...