Fireworks.

You’re like category 3 pyrotechnics, 

must be viewed from 25 meters away… 
for safety reasons, of course.

Yet here you are, just inches before me, 

in all your nakedness, 

serving up a firework display in my mind,

my body erupting lava.

The heat so intense, it burned.

And then it scarred.

You left a mark so profound, 

no amount of denial could conceal it.

What happens after ‘Goodbye’.

Your eyes are the verses of the poem I will never write — 

straight lines and I Love Yous with nowhere to go.

Your caresses have long been forgotten, 

but tattooed on my skin are the maps to where your hands have been.

You are the book that I will never finish reading —

pages with dog ears and chapters ripped out.

You are the story I will leave unfinished to collect dust in the corners of my mind —

hanging, ominous.

You left me yearning, hungry.

I am melancholy in a bottle, 

and there are no answers at the bottom.

Hot mess.

As you struggle to part with your sheets,

you look up at the ceiling

and danced with your thoughts.

Found so many things to do

so young.

You push yourself up,

stagger across the room

dizzy with the peaks and valleys

of your moods.

Your dreams are but light-years away.

As you pour yourself

a cup of stale coffee,

you wonder if you’ll ever get there.

Ten years, you tell yourself.

Ten years and they’ll see.

Reaching for the stars,

your heart grows weary

from all the NOs and MAYBEs;

from all the lives you’re not living.

Silent, starving

while the room keeps spinning.

You’re too high in the clouds

and you yearn to come down,

lest you crash and burn

from coming too close to the sun.

The day just started

and the light shines through the curtains

you bought at too cheap a price.

Your dreams come too at too steep a price.

Your lonesome self

assuaged by empty kisses

each night.

The void filled with far too many

handsome strangers who

wouldn’t give you a second thought —

not after they’ve had their fill

of carnal bliss.

Nightmares keep you up,

leave you gasping, aching

for air.

Tears fall

as you wash off the night before

from your hair.

Doormat.

You have me

at the soles of your feet.

I am the doormat

you wipe your dirty shoes on

as you make some place

your home.

Every time you close the door

behind you,

I am left soiled

and bruised.

Yet I greet you

everyday

with a brand of welcome

that only I can give.

So you look at me

with such familiarity

and warmth

as you enter an abode of rest.

But you never once

looked back

each time you leave.

Honey, I am home —

lay your tired bones

on me

when you get locked out.

You may think

I’m replaceable,

but I will still wipe

your dirty toes clean.

Honey, you may not think about me

all the time,

but under me

is where you will find

the key.

Unlearning.

How does one truly forget?

How does one make amends?

In the dying light of day,

I caress the parts of my skin that knew you;

the parts of my skin you once touched,

kissed, ravaged.

It still remembers the hunger

that manifested from the longing

in your soul.

We were lonely.

We were bruised.

With our bloody noses

we soiled your sheets

like it was what we

were born to do.

I struggled with your silence,

while you fought to keep me out.

Tumbling and wrestling with

what-could-have-beens and

unrealized potential,

we lie blinded,

weakened by empty promises

and regrets.

It was apparent that the victims

far outnumbered the dead,

and that I was the main casualty.

You are incapable of change.

You are incapable of love.

So how does this go?

How does one

become truly free from you

when all I have been doing is cry

behind this smile?

How do we unlearn the truths

that we have come to know

like the backs of our hands?

Darling, we were never meant to soar.

With a weary heart,

I have come to realize that

you can never really fix a person.

but you can love the fuck out of them, or

fuck the love out of them.

And so this is the nature

of all great romantic tragedies —

that the Romeos and Juliets die,

but their stories

and their pain

live on.

Forever.

Heartbreak and Wine.

Like shards of broken bottles,

you pierced through

the soles of my feet

as I walked through the dark alleys
of my soul

towards the light.

You were a beautiful idea.

But words of promise 

offered through prison bars

lose their charm.

Our destinies

have been entwined,

but never joined.

Love looks even 

more lovely 

under a veil of melancholy. 

Heartbreak, 

my muse. 

Wine, 

its enabler.

Heartbreak and Wine.

Like shards of broken bottles,

you pierced through

the soles of my feet

as I walked through the dark alleys
of my soul

towards the light.

You were a beautiful idea.

But words of promise 

offered through prison bars

lose their charm.

Our destinies

have been entwined,

but never joined.

Love looks even 

more lovely 

under a veil of melancholy. 

Heartbreak, 

my muse. 

Wine, 

its enabler.