I am famished yet avarice for your love, it speaks in my inner psyche when a single teardrop falls between your words whenever you speak.

Your words would dissolve in my tongue, it would make an accent like raindrops dropping and I would cradle it in my palms for it reminds me of your warmth.

You would ran briskly in my core using your jaded fingertips and it would leave a trace of lava streams that ushers me to wilt.

Your fingerprints are painted in my name, so that's why your presence is still remembered in those creaky floors drenched in dust where you left the door.

I may not be a pocket full of cash, but I am still in your arms, cradling me to death.

The wind sketched your name in paper leaves, I would water it and it left wet memories of our accents that I breathe in my lungs once more.

I ponder your words like insomniac lullabies in gnarled nights, cause you breathe fire and you burnt my limbs when you said 'Goodbye'

Your love for me is like a knife left in my gut like death whispering again after it goes blunt, its palms swallows me and turning fragments of my existence into ashes like a flame

Was I stupid to give you power over tears?

or are you stupid for seeing me as made out of gold and not made out of wishes on shooting stars where it lands on the empty void where longing waves swallows it like an ark.

You cradle my fears and turn them to wounds that colors our colorless arguments with blood, it heals the rotten taste of torment you have in me in my soul.

You were a kid that plays dolls at first, then buried it in the doorstep where you'd live the rest of your life chasing others shadows and to whisper them your wishes in their dreams.

I was a house never been a home to people, instead, they would abandon me in their hearts.I am an undone drawing,

your lines are jagged enough they

leave an immortal scar.

I am a flower petal blanketed by decay,

only wisterias bloom in the

darkest nights of wilt,

the oxygen of sorrow

only kept drowning me,

not helping me to breathe.

Perhaps, it is true my frostbite

still aches after the past winter

lymph of distilled motion

on every freckled

snowflakes of treachery.

A cosmic flesh that always

burns is a clumsy cupid

that needs no helmet,

love is twitching on

each steps that

we took, carrying two

cups filled

with earthquakes

and you saw

how the mountains

leave their body

and kneel to you,

every air particles lost

in translation after a

tilt of such corroding

aplomb that made

'goodbyes' a phantom

sensation even if its in the

past that i already sold

my ethereal fingers

to a cross that made death

a plague with no cure,

nail these bites

on the edge of

webbed corners of

remnant supernovas,

just one sin burned

and i already found myself

in a heaven i don't deserve,

i was forced to say yes

to your 'no', to which

i draw constellations

on your burnt metal

neck of galactic

filaments

and voids.

I was built

like a rusted metal,

i called you oxidation

ever since i met you.

I tunneled in a bed

made out of your

sword of lies,

though i was not cut

once with a scar of lust.

My mother once taught me

that you need to close

your eyes to see,

and that i don't

need to be afraid

of the darkness

it holds, because

it always comes

when we've held

the light for

too long,

but, i'm still here,

sitting in a

affray of my own

wrong doings,

epicaricacy opened

a new hell for

others, kiss the

solstice goodbye

in this vernal equinox

of September's

birth of dawn,

where aubades are only

meant for the unsent

howls in the early

morning sky.

I was built like

a rusted metal,

i called love

oxidation

ever since

i tasted

its penance

poison clawing

on my purging

cassia casket.

I once experienced the wind

of words coming up to the

curtains of my windows,

playing a thousand words before

it turns into a hailstorm,

because, poetry,

is clay, you can shape

it however you like.

Events are sculptures of

my words, i can live

up to the word 'trauma'

forever and create

poems with it.

I've experienced

a nightmare before,

one that made me afraid

that the monster in the closet

was already in the bed,

whispering sleep paralysis

in Chlorosis.

'You are

the

monster..'

I hate sleeping with

the lights on again.

I have experienced hell

under your heaven,

though you have seen the

biggest of demons

being the littlest angels.

Perhaps, your words have no bones,

but they are strong enough

to break my heart pieces by pieces.

I sought solace in a bizz-art

of my loneliness, yet the sound

of an apocalyptic flashbacks

breaks the silence,

almost like a lullaby

sang to me each night.

I might say i already

threw the weight of

a haunting past in

a lost land of regrets,

but i'm still making a

boulevard out of those

bad decisions, hoping it fills

the asphalt cracks you

made along the way.

Versatile, miniature responses and declines made queens

independent of their selves in

this patriarch society.

Yawning serenity, a hurried heart

made from an angered galaxy and

cursed supernovas.

The slippery wind of your breath saying 'goodbye'

makes me look like a deceiving skeleton, believing in love.

That unkind reply,

that unscrupulous commitment,

musing on liquid promises.

That vehement conclusion.

Maybe i was too easy on you to

let out a feathered effort.

I regret the day i allowed you to burn down all bloodthirsty photos you have that screams memories and love, memories are stuck in the deafening house of my heart, perhaps i was just missing the good ol' days.

Wrathful hush,

fragile hands i've held.

Your love has an outstanding taste of both

sweet and bitter, a

dazzling drug.

Modest april,

a black world,

a trapped argument,

a hungry psycho

sinful talks,

your comfortable fatalities,

your old self's decent death, the wistful

grave you used to visit,

your well-educated confessions and alibis.

I was just a devoted doll.

Salty agony,

cheerless skin,

caged autumn,

that unaffordable knife disguised

as one of your fingertips.

That rusted record of your voice is still

playing in my car,

over and over again.

Worshipful remorse,

lost conversations on lifeless nights,

enigmatic accents,

that suspicious pressure,

your skillful trouble,

that plucky swallow of words.

Your enlightened courtesy,

how you said 'ma'am' and 'mister' reminds me

of my brother trying to

impress everyone.

I bet you can still smell my scented insecurities.

Useless dress,

that fabled girl

who's face is

full with lively pulchritude.

You tried to stay sober in your

blushing drunkenness, just admit it.

You are the first teacher that has taught me love in a

technique i've never been introduced to.There's a wound cloistered in my seasick eyes that holds lachrymose fragments and astronomic figures of my wilting melancholy, under your eye bags holds my prominent blue veins, to you it is a bridge where lava streams down to my crestfallen flesh inside of my tormented soul where past flaws and errors are buried.

My existence to you is like uneven threads on denim, while my life with you is like dried leaves getting washed by the warm, palpable air, they say in autumn you'll be burnt down to cinders, but in spring you'll gain a cherubic flush and heal like the florid skies yet the scarcity in those wooden corridors came to bask my doorstep and I am now swaying in the deserts, cradling my doe-eyed reflection in the desert mirrors, i'm one of them, but I'm stained, smudged by your dusty fingerprints, like rust forming on ivory skin, perhaps that you haven't wore my shoes to explore my earthy core.

My presence roams underneath your pockets, I would find dark clouds instead of dust, I would find your shadow as I explore the tarnished seas and getting my splintered bones drown in the calamitous and perpetual waves.

Perhaps being a warrior is useless when you are just a tarnished and defenseless shield.