kaleidoscope

I was wondering when was the last time my heart sounded like a heart. One morning it sounded like footsteps, or door banging upon your leaving, or blackouts, or sobbing and throwing. Heartbeats became the projections of my self-created wars, i called myself martyrs.

I do not remember what stability felt like. I'm used to the way of running that without constant rush, life felt like nothing. Pumped until empty. Carved until hollow. Racing thoughts are meals. Sitting down felt like dying. Laying down means i have to think. I do not want to think. So i am used to blocking out feelings. Did i ever know boundaries upon sanity? I probably do not. These thoughts are lawless, and ungoverned. 

I have not taken a rests for a few weeks now, these are a kind of defense mechanisms. I keep myself busy with papers and people. Medicated. Write the thoughts away. Thinking and theories. Just to keep a small part of you from going rampant in my mind. Anxieties taking over my body. I run blindly exhausting everything.

And for what reasons?

And everyone has addictions, mine just come in a pretty package and a brand. So on-brand that people cheers. These are compensations for all the ways i'm hurting. These are a facade so well done i call it achievements.

If i were then what i was now, would we survive?

december air

airport became a witness to how love left your eye

the last time you see me

witness how dreams turned to ashes upon our feet

words turns black and blue and bored

you began to see how young love is supposed to stay young

now you’re older and love sways

but it happened in the midst of anger and tantrums

and whispers of regret

that you watch love become unrecognizable

with every syllables per second

you then learned distance is everything but numbers

and love is everything about letting go

Heartbreak Requiem; part I

Doors

My mother taught me the way of locking in. A woman in this household, she said, does not weep. We simply stare, and continue living. The way of martyrs, she renounced.

Do not let emotions fail you, an iron clad-rule behind this door. A woman in this household, is built to be strong-willed. There is no room for weakness here. My mother shows so. Play before get played. Abandon and be desired. Pick yourself up and dust off the softness. Vulnerability is a sin.

I soon became the master of my own escapes. I do not admit. I do not administer. Tried being insatient and inanimate, I release myself from the satisfaction of intimacy. I do not need what is unnecessary.

That's why when i met you, it was some kind of salvation, a world of unknown to me. I'm still not sure how i ended up falling, but, falling into you feels okay.

We sat in front of McDonalds at 4am half drunk. Life was airy and we were exploring steps. Heavily intertwined, we tweaked and burn. You were there outside of my class, a breath of fresh air to the boredom of coffee shops, and late nights lonely became lunch partners.

For once, i dived into a mind not mine. It felt liberating. Burden of locked words and emotions were laid off and melt in your existence. Heat and skins and everything otherworldly merged, it was ocean, it was the sun.

Yet, in my mother's language, i was utterly defeated.

Before long, i found you filling my ribcage. It was full and crowded, pressing my lungs. I find myself blaming cigarettes for the lack of air. And words, they were blooming in and out. Every touch of yours in my soil is fertile, it covers my entire body, i became something else.

I no longer knows the world outside the grasp of your fingers, and yet i was exhilarated on being wanted. I was stripped naked down to my core and out of my own independence. World became ours. World became you and me. We peaked and reached.

You see, the thing is, my mother never teach me about the danger of addiction. She was an addict herself, on principles and ideals. She did not warn me about being blind, nor warn me that heartbreaks comes with pretty eyes and soft words.

I ignored all the red flags because your fingers were dripped in it. I became fond with red. As the color of your lips. As the color of the clothes you wear when we first met. But being stripped means being sacrificed. Dependant and high.

Is loving you ever the right thing?

Amydgala

I would choose you in a heartbeat.

A beat in which i hums your name. A vow i swore by, in my blood, alive. Trampling down my neck, under my breath. It lurks like shadows, biting me so hard i won't be able to let you go.

Is it a curse?

In a dazzling sea all i can taste is salt water, alike with the ringing in my ribs the day you said your goodbye. It bubbles trough my lungs, foaming deep in my throat and yet i was still able to beg for your presence. Am i asking for too much decency?

You see, i forgot when my heart sounded like a heart. On most days, it sounded like footsteps. Sometimes little walks, runs, or even the sound of running trough stairs. The day you left, my heart sounded like closed doors. Ramming and jagging. I feel so empty yet i make more space for the void. I began to normalize the darkness inside your belly, swallowed by the empty promises and broken memories.

Am i not worth scarring for?

I still would choose you in a heartbeat. In a heartbeat that tastes like bloody wrists and swelled tears.
Still salt in every atom. Maybe i'll grow another heart.

One that is not yours to drown.

go ahead,
ask every pages about my downhill
it's wrote down loud and clear,
that i love you still