Tuesday, 16 February 2016

When Last We Spoke

I can't remember the last time we spoke.

But you passed my line of sight today, online
Posting photos of your now older, but familiar, smile
Living what appears to be an eventful, joy-filled life.

I can't remember the last topic we discussed.

A hot flash of bitter something scalded my chest
Indignation at the thought of you enjoying precious moments
Without even a single thought of inviting me to join
Or a fleeting wonder of what I might have been doing that evening.

I can't remember the last fight we had.

Then I realized, going through my own timeline
And my own fair share of smiling nights out
That maybe you have, on a very similar evening
Sat bitterly staring & scrolling
Through all of these recorded hours where I, in turn
Paid you no mind.

Thursday, 17 December 2015


The memory of you comes to mind
And I feel the immediate urge
To shower you off my skin
Instantly trapped and stained
And try to find a way
To vacuum whatever is left of you
Out of me

Hindsight is a cruel but useful tool
Painful when realizing the damage done to those who truly cared
Useful when steeling against making similar fatal flaws in future
But ultimately just simply
Seeing what was,
What could have been,
And what became.

I'm consumed with regret
I'm haunted by my mistakes
And by my wish to rewrite
Those years of fucked up prose
Wasted ink
And desecrated, yellowing paper

I've now come to accept that this will forever be a mark upon my history
Your taunting face forever burned into my retinas
And I'll always have a smile falter on occasion when your memory does come to mind
(While rapidly trying to fill the void your memory brings with objects, fancies, and drinks)
But I know that I'll be okay
And that you'll never be happy
I know this because I knew you
And I think you deserve it.

Wednesday, 18 November 2015


It's a sad state of affairs
It's a morbid set of circumstances
Like a stain on a bedsheet
Of a regretful, blurry encounter the night before
A night that maintained for years 
And the smell still lingers to this day.
Like trying to scrub the marks out of the delicate fabric
As trying to soothe the wounds on those who deserved them least.

Allergic to the memories
Like a swollen visage in the Summer
Recoiling at the sight of a Daisy
Whose petals unfurl to reveal a mangled mess
Blackened & tainted to the core
You disgust me.

Whichever path could have been carved in the road ahead
I do wonder which contained anything worth keeping
Something unburned and full of life
And if one could have ever existed
The thoughts serve as placeholders for the present
As we push on through the patches we'd rather forget
And pray for slim chances of another meeting in the distance
For another glimpse of that face could mean a cursed life
No matter the circumstance.

We push on towards the light
We bury the past in the dark
In their graveyards,
We leave fragile warnings for those behind us. 

Thursday, 29 October 2015

In Recent Days

This time I'm
Giving up the ghost
Living under the illusion that
You were here
It hurts less
To be angry
Still in the dark
But running blindly in rage
Seems easier than in grief
Both fuel my art
But in different ways
In some years
The butterflies will die at your name
And the numbness
Will wash away the words
Carved deep into stone with our fingers
And the ink & paper
If deemed important enough
To pop culture
Might stand the test of time.

Tuesday, 13 October 2015


How I write these words down
With a numb sense of calm
A faint but strong sense of "it's all gonna be alright"
After all that's happened,
I have no idea
I do not yet know how to feel about it all
But can already tell that the anger is resolute
And final
And boiling beneath
Yet controlled and well contained
How you can bear to look into your own eyes
Is another question altogether
How you could douse the lights again
So suddenly & without care
While eyes try to adjust to the jarring dark
Falling & picking up the fragments
Found on the struggle back to the door
I don't know if I ever want to turn the lights back on
To see you again
But if that day should come
Should I find myself thrust back onto those barren grounds
I will not shy away
I will take my medicine without flinching
For it is what I deserve
And I will look away for the last time
After one more sweeping

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

That Future We Used To Speak Of

That future we used to speak of
In excited tones
While passionately running through the lyrics & chords
Of our latest creation
That future in which anything was almost effortlessly possible
Where no feat seemed too grand
And nothing was out of grasp
We spoke of meeting famous & beautiful film stars
And the possibility of having even our own reputations precede us
Having our own work recognized by those whose work we saw as leagues above our own
It felt like fresh air
It felt like lifeblood
But even as we sat smiling
Cracking jokes and conjuring scenarios
I could tell that your heart
Never truly let them in, but for a brief few instances.
Far too out of reach
Perhaps you thought them merely dreams
Or perhaps feared to allow goals of such grandeur to sink in
Believing they would never be attained
I think, my old friend
That this is the stark difference between you and I
And why we diverged along the way.
I walked on at the same pace
Frequently turning around to stare at where you had set up camp next to the road & began to build
I called out for you to join me
For many years
We can't stop here! I said, confused
With an amused, comfortable expression, you said
But the road doesn't go any further?
He gestured towards, perhaps, a great crack in the earth, or a barrier blocking the road ahead
Don't you see?

Sunday, 6 September 2015

On Days Like These

On days like these, I like to ride the line just before the point of falling apart, just to see how long I can before I do.

On days like these, it's like I'll never see another day without melancholy again. Like the sun will never again be able to permeate the thick layer of fog above my head, softly falling down in wisps around me and inducing chills as they float down to the ground, freezing it upon their light landing.

On days like these, it swells so deeply within that everything in reach brings some form of pain; in remembrance; in longing; in loss; in regret; in shame. It overflows and collapses in great splashes, staining the walls with an unsettling shade and removing all remnants of comfort from the place.

On days like these, I become cold and empty towards those who have been kind enough to remain behind to drag me along, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of guilt for otherwise leaving my body behind to watch them fade into & out of the fog, while I sit and stare and do nothing and say nothing.

On days like these, I like to, in moments of momentary strength, feel my way out of the hiding spot I'd been seething in, and search around for scraps of joy being enjoyed by others around me. I'll tentatively share and taste it, carefully watching the faces of those around me and mimicking their expressions of satisfaction, almost replicating them perfectly.

On days like these, I like to ride the line just before the point of falling apart, just to see how long I can before I do. I have not yet bettered by best time.


Soundtrack to days like these: