My heart,
a hotel for the lost
a halfway house for the abandoned
a motel for the destitute
a caravan for the traveler

My heart,
has long since forgotten itself
shards of abandoned love pierce its flesh
forgotten tragedies play melancholic symphonies
an orchestra of the undesirables
my ribcage haunted
by cacophonies of sweet memories

My heart,
a wild creature
howling at the full moon
searching for its home
but for now it remains

a grand hotel
the lost

Ghost ship

My rib cage a ghost ship where once a soul resided. Haunting of past loves come like spirits in the dark crevices. Creaks on floorboards where once the footprints of others ladened the hallways. Paintings of forgotten memories hung askew on the walls, nailed in by love and hurt, and worn over time. Tattered sails adorning the mantle, as the wind plays a melancholic soliloquy sounding through the surface amplified by the unnerving ocean. Below deck there are holes seeping water, but afloat this ship stays. Its compass misplaced and its true north long since forgotten. It merely steers with the currents, and the winds of change. From time to time lanterns are lit, and a warm glow is emitted to even that of the decks. And such is the mirage of this ocean, where the foolish hearted reside. This ghost ship in search of its long lost treasure, this rib cage in search of its long lost soul.


These flowers were supposed to still the withering

While I withered,

they  were to blossom

Maybe I grew jealous

So I drowned them

regretted it

drained them

And drenched again

They withered, I wither

I used to call my withering, “my annual moment”

When my throat throbs with tears held back in public,

the inability to cry in private

When comfort is binging

and binging makes me wither

Withering is no longer annual,

it is inescapable reality

Where I drown and drain, drown and drain

with utter,

boundless futility

These flowers- like me- are tired.

No need for water.

Just withering…

…and death.

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– vapour

sometimes I grieve for you,

for me

for confidence crushed

the optimist that died

sometimes I grieve for my soul.

for where there used to be light-

numbness has taken hold

sometimes I grieve for the life we created.

-and that grief is unbearable-

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