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.