Satellite Hearts

 Friday/3/February/2016

4:58 PM

Meeting you was a mistake:

I saw walls breaking in front of my eyes,

Satellites falling from the sky,

Thunders shattering the ground,

Ocean turning upside down.

I’ve always told myself that

There’s no use of falling in love

With a person who’s equally broken hearted.

Unless they want to seal their hearts back, and

Learn how to build puzzles from pieces.

But you and I are not the kind of people who like to be healed,

We store pain and agony and use them

As fuel to our creativity

We drink loneliness like it’s our only medicine

And we distant ourselves from our loved ones because

We want the pain to be keen

On normal days, you are six million miles away.

Weeping on sunsets, and black and white images.

I gave you up like I did with the ones I passed before.

You’ll keep driving away from my own resistance,

And I will always be the person who loves people from a distance.

Ruins

18/01/2017/Wednesday
09.02 PM

I didn't know that walls could rip into two like hearts do.
Tearing away from each other, ruining the life of whoever lives in them.
I didn't know that windows could break apart that time in December when we were trying to piece together urban decays to make a shelter for our wandering souls.
Brick by brick, ruins by ruins.
From sunrise to sunset, piecing little thunder to our aching heart.
With a spark of hope and a dash of nonsense; wishing that this one will pass.
But January is too heavy to carry on our broken spines.
So, you let the windows break and let the walls rip in two, and maybe I'll explode our shelter too.
Let it turn into dust that flows recklessly in your lungs.

I didn't know my walls could rip into two when I saw you.
Only to be built again now that I'm leaving you.

Monday Noon Blues

Monday/16/1/2017
13.08

I haven't seen you in the last
Lifetime
So, I asked gods and monsters above
To give me rain
And give me pain
Let them help me to write about you again.
In vain.
Maybe one day, in Spain.
When we move to Barcelona with heads higher than the clouds, and feet lighter than feather.
They gave me rain, they gave me pain, and here's a note about you again.
Maybe one day, we'll mess with their brains and drink our champagne.

Made of Glass

Friday/30/Dec/2016
00.00

I have seen tears.
I have seen love, smeared.
I have seen goodbye.
I have seen lust, splattered.
I have seen rage.
I have seen anger, spilled.
I have seen hate.
I have seen revenge, vomited.
I have seen the world collide,
the moon ripping apart, the stars falling from the skies, and fireworks bursting from every corner of the street.
I have seen warm coffee and love making, and cinnamon rolls and breaking up, and red wine chugged on her deathbed.
I have seen damage.
I have been cracked open, smashed, and burned.
I have been steamed, and shot, and wiped.
I have seen fear.
I have seen outrage.
I have seen compassion.
I have seen courage.
I have seen you: sitting in front of me, drinking black coffee, scrambling thoughts into a notes, and trying to piece together desaturated memories into a moving poetry.
I have seen you: lonely, facing the busy street with bad eyesights and let the headlights turn your surroundings into an afterthought, suppressing heartbreak like a bad tattoo burns.
I have seen you: leaving, in front of me, with your fingers laced together, wiping raindrops from my cheeks while dropping a tear; I wanted to warm you up, but there was nothing I could do since I am just a window made of broken glass and you're a constant wanderer.

Open Maps

10/Nov/2016

3.16

I’m not supposed to fall in love with distance.
I’m supposed to fall in love with the esoterics;
Like spirits, soul, and spiderwebs.
I’m supposed to fall in love with warm bodies, and
Presence and
Beds, unmade.

But instead I fell in love with concepts, and weather,
And roads, and plane tickets.
The untouchable beings, and limits.
I fell in love with tangled hair, and voices from far left, and
Memories and
Clean roots.

I fell in love with how your voice echoing
Attack inside my head
And not caressing embrace
To my closed hands.

Room 511

05/11/2016/Sat
07.32

Ten days ago, you mumbled that it's hard to swallow the fact that I'm not as warm as your Moroccan sunset.
Not as pure as your Icelandic snow, not as delicate as your,
Your Alaskan home.
But your gaze is still locked against my neck, hands on my lungs, whispering syllables, ruining colours.
And you haven't stopped popping your thin skin infront of my teeth because you think I'm a monster in heat.
Even when I'm holding crosses close to my throat and reading you finest words about jewels and rhinestones;
You still think that my time with you is a battleground, yet you don't want to go to war.
But suddenly you whispered that the moment is here, that we should go until violence disappears just because your don't want to fall asleep to the sound of destruction infront of your door.
You lingered in my arms saying that it was the first time for you to dig graves and throwing fireworks, but it felt like like you're a funeral director ready to excavate Egyptian charms from my casket.
You, you brought me back to July where you drew lines between my eyes and told me that it's not alright to dig the ground before you're ready to die.
Tell that to the sunrise who watched us slowly falling to the flame of nirvana, baptised by the sweet holy water of hell. Tell that to yourself when you told me that our home is a paradise whose skies were the colour of hell flames as if I didn't know who you were referring to.
As mad as I am, the sun is still up and I don't want to go out, cause for the first time in my life, everything feels right.

Let's do it all over again.

On Destruction

11/04/2016
09:04

So you're paving your man-made holy name through concealed obscenity, violence, and bomb drops.

Reciting verses from the green book, cursing acid, praising your Lord in foreign languages, screaming peace while burning bridges.

Tell me what kind of Saint are you?

You come in handy, fifty thousand is not many, the tip of your fingers are burning in rage while you rip open your modest jewelry and show the nakedness of your misleading agony.

Your faux prayers are still echoing through cables and signals.
Screeching through tear gases and teardrops.
Asking us, sinners, to destruct ourselves, bleed to death, and oh does it feel good to hurt each other?

You told me that you're defending God. You told me that it's not okay to dismember his words.

But I found God riding shotgun in my dirty car. Smoking cigarettes, killing time, leaving scars.
In his blue jeans and piercing eyes he exhales peppermint smoke to the sky.
"They're wasting their time"

411

Begotten

6/21/2016

It’s half past dawn, and I still linger on your left side of the bed.
With face down, as I inhale your breath deep into my blood stream.
And I chant a prayer on to your cheek, wishing for you to stay in your sheet.
Weekend calls. White light falls. Ten hours after our evening strolls.
Stop mumbling lullabies, there are waterlilies floating on your swimming pool eyes.
Exhilarating marks on your backbone resemble the sound of July.
Summertime dew, polluted charms, don’t keep me away from your one night arms.
Half past brunch, no last name, maybe I’ll keep you in the back of my vein.

Precipitation

26/June/2016
8:28 PM

I understand rainy night,
I know it so well that I refuse to sleep just to listen to their words.
They told me about your hickory eyes flickered with city lights,
Your flustered cheeks underneath the sheets,
Mouth snapped shut, trapping everyone in silence against the porpoise skies.

I understand 2am cold spell,
Where her breeze chills your dimly lit face,
Causing dalliance to whoever peeks through the night.
She’s the one that will pulls delusion across my warmer ground.

I understand drizzling dawn,
The way it streams down a lonely light post,
Leading your ecstatic murmur to my begotten scars.
Weaving warmth across my thundering arms.
And stay, until dreamers decided to pray.

Lady in Red

The lady in red dress chooses her own way
She crosses the main road of Jakarta in subtle smile and a reign of doubts
Purse in hand, cigarette in the back of her tongue,
She pursues her choice head first with her feet underground
A herd of people waiting behind her, signaling fear and screaming loneliness.
"How does one stops time effortlessly?" 
She brushes her shoulder as they smolder underneath a flyover.
She doesn't care what the future holds for her.

I don't know

1/June/2016

Lovers came in August
August came right before summer
With blooming gaze and contagious lies
Showering lights throughout the windowsills.
I have a habit of repeating vowels and words that are not my own.
Slicing time, and knitting lines.
You don't seem to care at all.
With sun lit smile, and wintering eyes, you managed not to crumble and fall right before the walls.
Surrounded by lights and meteorites, you decided that summer is not for you at all.
You twist and tie our luck like our previous lovers.
Getting lost in ashy past and rusty cries.
With tightened rope and unknown facts, you've trapped me inside your mind.

Strange Lovers in New York

Tuesday
07/05/2015

I only speak vowels,
And you hum future tenses.
Twelve hours away, concrete underground.
There's a song stuck in the back of your head.
You have your knees toasted in the heat of Manhattan, and I have fried my elbows in the peak of local trails.
Rediscovering senses in the blooming heart of past lovers;
Tweaking sonnets and stitching contemporary treats.
None of their exhibits matches your staircase beats.
Estranged roles and Brooklyn roads.
My fingers are buried in your twisted curls.

Sinking Ship

10:19 / 31 Dec 2015

Sinking Ship

Blue bugs peeking, real eyes leaving

The room of your year end preaching

I’m listening to your heartbeats

But this empty hands can’t stay alive

I’m weaving out in madness

While our nocturnal love is dancing with the night

It feels so right

Drift away through the time

If the rain comes we’ll drown like a dime

Spin away through the night

And the wind will carry the light

And we’re drowning in southeast sunset

Like waxing moon in blueberry fields

Haunt me, Haunt me

I’m sinking

Crash me, Crash me

I’m falling

But you were standing, slowly waiting

For the end of this suffering

I’m swimming in your delusions

Breaking every illusion 

Screaming out in the corner of your street

It doesn’t feel right

Day 1

Pink sunset,

Drink it up, 

Drink it like violence or 

Chug it like tears

My temptation

Dirty mirror

Broken connection to my own horror

My reflection

Shattered glass

Rejection to my past 

I'm your grovel 

Your shadow

I'm the blurry background in your black and white photo

So shout your hope

Chant your prayers

For we need a little spark of hope in our forever

Kick off your fears and run

Let's go for a ride 

You are the sun and

I'm having so much fun

Pretending to be blunt 

Like the head of a nun

You are the road

And I'm not the shore

We're too busy watching 

The birds that are passing by

Intoxicated, dazed, jaded

Like a fashion victim stumbled on a cracked runway

Empty, clumsy, witty

You're not the one and only

Social Debauchery

Friday/25/Sept/2015

9:33 PM

We're still on the tip of our paradise,

and I can always hear your voice descending from my lips, 

Sinful thoughts, like apocalypse, arise,

I can already hear my name disintegrating from your grips.

I can barely notice if you're wasting me out, or wearing me well. 

The only thing that I feel is that I'm sentenced deep in your personal hell. 

I've got an ammo, ready to shoot.

I'm a martyr and I'll never be with you.

I've got a rope around my neck, nice and smooth.

You're a compass, you know it's true.

We've only been here for a day,

and I can already feel your heart around my neck, 

We're only here to turn grey,

and I can always taste your hate all around my back.

You're wearing me well, and I'm wasting you out.

Drowning deep in hell and getting lost in your pout.

I've got an bullet, ready to boot.

I'd better be isolated than be with you. 

Social debauchery and self-mockery.

Eat your heart out in a proper crockery.

Bury me

/ you demolish me every Monday,

and revive my bones every Friday /

Ear Shattering Lullaby

19:05

17/Sept/2015

Smash the glass to the floor like a motherfucker,

Pull your hair across the room,

And electrify the night.

Drag our history down the hills.

And I will break my own heart.

And shatter my only craft. 

Oh Northern Lights

16/Sept/2015

23.55

It's been three days,

The coldness of the weather,

The destruction,

Fire on my loin,

Hell flamed skies,

And oh the wicked smiles.

Seven hours have passed,

The desire to hold on,

Raging thoughts to move on,

What's your occupation, darling?

Are you still a starling?

Or is it just me daydreaming?

Minutes to midnight,

Through the depth of the light,

Running wild like a child,

Light my fuse and ignite,

The sparks of our

Fight. 

If love tastes like violence

8/Oct/2014

Darling, we're now speeding at 666 kilometre per hour because devil may care who we are and what we are chasing after. The cheap street light reflected on your razor sharp cheek is shining like a glittery ember. "Where are we heading?" You ask while increasing the pressure of the gas as if you were stomping on this gasoline-fucked city. 

"I'm not going anywhere in life and I don't have to go home now." I mumble. I love the fact that your eyes turn into a couple of red full moons within a minute. I look back at you and set the fire in our silence. If love tastes like violence, then this one must be a war. 

My friends told me that you are no different than any other suburban joylessness with head higher than the clouds. Your friends told me that we would be nothing but lost souls in the wilderness of this megapolis; chameleon hearts and dangerous trust in the words of strangers. But now we are in the middle of the open road. Packed with rolls of cigarette and outdated films in our leather bag. Nostalgic -- but if this is how we are supposed to be in love, then so be it. Let us drown in every single particle of toxic waste and filthy carbon emissions. 

Silence. Top 40 upbeat songs from the record label I used to work in are playing in the radio; their five minute to fame lyrics are our only friend in this endless road trip to nowhere. Your gaze is starting to look empty. It's two in the morning; we all know that this is not the waking hour dedicated to lovers with arms intertwined together. This one is a special gift from the so called creator to self-loathing people like us and million other beings with issues more than any fashion magazines combined. We're starting to see stars in our lips, and the nearest motel is still six kilometres away. It is not the most luxurious guest house, but we believe in the glamour of public bathroom and flat white sheets. 

At night we fall asleep to our invisible vision of dancing nightingales in front of the door. Knocking our heads to realise that we are safe in our eternal winter. 

We breathe each other's breath and numb each other's pain until there is nothing left to taste. We explode in the desert of emptiness and swear to the gods inside our soul that this war must go on. 

Unconscious

I spent my night burning myself in a hot shower wishing it was the time for me to be thrown away.

Nature's order, still life painting, double heart beats. I'm leaning out of time.

Celebrity's death after years of battling his own demon; but what about the undefeated demon who lives inside my head?

Should I turn on the hot shower and let myself soak in through the darkness or should I drown myself in a tub full of everybody's tears in their waking moments?

I wonder how many of them would dance on top of my concrete grave.

Maybe it's better for me to wash my own laundry and save my philosophies of death close to me.