Love and Death.

I tried writing letters to you,

But my fingers are sewn together with grief.

Gaping wounds and untidy sores –

The birth of forever scars.

My thoughts are wrapped in thick sheets of pain.

My spirit, sinking into the abyss of agony –

The very heart of seven hells.

Even speaking is impossible.

My throat is clogged with trauma

Faint mumbles resonate back

into my belly like tiny shreds of glass.

When our finger slipped under the lightless moon,

Our thousand symphonies snaped into

A dirge for lost love

Memories of you became

A living curse.

Like pepper paste

Smeared on my sorrowful sores.

All I am left with is the

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Memory of your last breath –

The cold warmth of death’s gentle kiss.

And the reverberating silence of the wind the

Night I died with you.

I will sit with my misery

At the edge of dusk and dawn, and

At the center of noon

Till death brings me to you.

But until then,

I will relive your death.

Life is Imperfection.

What did mother tell you?

“You are special”?

Only if you could see the lie through her eyes.

The world was born premature,

Same as you.

Your bones are weak.

Did she tell you they were made of iron?

Your skin, was it also made of leather?

Don’t they crack in the night

Of endless turmoil?

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Don’t the bones melt in raging agony strife?

What was the story behind your birth?

At first, it was magical.

An innocent life in a belly.

A seed of a thousand expectations.

But not until the night you came forth.

She was dip in pains.

Her sweat burned her.

Her gentle skin cracked –

They were not made of leather after all.

She bruised herself and gnashed her teeth.

This is not perfection at all.

Water is life and also death,

Fire is death and also energy.

Imperfection is life

And life,

The bane of imperfection.