My heart is numb.

My mind may wonder what to do next, but my heart is numb. That same heart that followed you along the darkest paths and into the dying night full of wolves, that lied to sleep in a bed of thorns, just to be close to your soul. And my mind yells at me to stand for what is right, while my anger points out all the reasons why I feel so numb inside. So what is right? Every time I look into your eyes I forget how to smile. A truth may hurt for a while, but a lie? Well, lies are the sort of things that create serious types of scars.


She admires the reflected sunlight
and thinks of him. She thinks of 
his touch, and that enchanting
smile that captured every part
or her soul… deeply.

He is hurt.

He cannot quite place his finger on it, and doesn’t exactly know why, but a part of him is. Deep down, he is.

Maybe it was the harshness of the truth in her words, intended with the sweetest form of sincerity. Maybe it was the fact that she never truly chased him. Perhaps the decision itself hurt him, even though both knew not much could be done. 

Maybe his prideful self never thought someone could resist such words, such form of admiration, discovery, and adventure.

Perhaps the aftermath wasn’t of his liking; She always kept far from what was expected.

It thrills him, hurts him, and amazes him.


What has her drug 
became her antidote.


Thinking through my fingers

Here I am, once again. My mind a pandemonium; on the verge of tears. Here I am trying to think of every possibility, and trying to decide if I even want it to be real. What a foolish way to be. Tears will now start falling as I finally stop distracting my mind from it, and let myself feel. Let myself fall, let myself drown, die with every falling tear.

What the fuck is happening? Why did I allow myself to become this person in the first place? The past me would have never allowed this stuff to happen to her, to her core. She wouldn’t have allowed it to get infected, broken… taken away from her. Infected.

It’s getting so hard to write… or think straight.

My mind is going crazy dancing around assumptions, but it still hasn’t reached a conclusion. I don’t even know how to feel. I’ve cried, gotten angry, I’ve ignored it and tried to tell myself that this is what the lack of trust does to people, they make you paranoid. But when misused the idea of paranoia can be turned into just an excuse to make you doubt your intuition. I am tired of this. I am tired of being this person I am not meant to be.  I am tired, Tired, tired.

…I should have known better.

But how can you stop your heart from feeling, how can you refrain yourself from living amidst the passion and the love? How can you be stone-cold? On the other hand… How can you trip, over and over again, with the same stone?


Untitled (#1)

It’s really hard
Not finding the words you crave to find
Not having the air you die to breathe
Realizing nothing’s the color you thought
it would be.

You slowly die inside
In every silence, every piece of misery
Every piece of willingness to accept it all.
You die, and you don’t even notice it.

It happens ever so slightly, and before you know it
Everything that made you glorious is gone.

-Photo stolen from Kellymckernan




I’m tired of trying. 

I’m tired of crying

Im tired of running

into your arms. 


With such desperation 

And no hesitation 

I gasp for air 

Crawling out of your arms.


Would you give me a break-or two?


I’m tired of warm tears

I’m tired of wishing

Tired of imagining it another way.


I’m tired of this us,  

Im tired of that you,

I’m tired of this me, 

I’m tired like hell. 


taken from Google Search

The glimpse of a glimpse of a smile across your face 

Right about the time when the sky takes its pink shade. 

The feathery birds playing hide and seek.

You, sitting here, hurting me. 


The many palm tress dancing in the wind

And the cold sea breeze softly hitting my face,

as the sand beneath me witnesses despair. 


You hold me. 

You hold me in your hands

I watch you as you do,

hoping you’ll be careful with my heart. 

It’s already been cracked.

I wonder if it’d survive another tragic event. 

It doesn’t.


She has so many flaws you don’t know where to start. 
Her hair doesn’t fall in the right way anymore, 
and the sunlight does not make her eyes shine anymore. 
Her smiles has stopped making your days brighter.

The cracks in her soul are visible now on her skin, and she always seems she’s about to cry, or maybe her eyes just tend to frown… Her and her hooded eyes.

And her voice, once so angelical, is now cracked and not-so-good, the curves her dress does not accentuate are always present, morning, night, and noon.

She does not make you smile anymore, but she does not make you cry. (Emotionally) She doesn’t make you… anything.

But somehow, still… you love her, because deep down in your soul, you believe your wife is someone you should love.

and all those things you never say, and all those words you never scream, all those tears you never cry, and all those feelings you never allow yourself to feel… they’re what got you like this. Sad, and fragile, like this.