poems!

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insatiable

you know that it is my blood you boil
you leave me in a state of indefinite turmoil
my veins you knot up around my heart
holding it hostage as your hated work of art

you suck the oxygen out of my blood
hoping i suffocate in a smothering flood
but i hope you choke on the purple hues
of the blood smeared on your hands in its ooze

don’t blame me for any of my actions
you’ve created this monster, i am your passion
was it worth opening pandora’s box?
releasing frankenstein with quivering sobs

without hesitation you reach beyond my skin, though it’s tart
your fingers trace around my saddened blackened heart
to crush it to powder in the palm of your fist
to nothing more than volcanic ash that has been kissed

go ahead, rip my heart out and tear it apart
there has not been a use for it straight from the start
one day the flowers will bloom, high the sun will rise
and by twilight it will be the time of your demise

my raw eyes can barely stay awake in this dark
i’ve spent days looking for you, although my hopes are stark
just know that my sight is focused on vengeance
for your wrongdoings it’s the true consequence

you can try and you can run and you can hide
but i won’t stop until I knock down your pride
your guts will spill out alongside your lies
and a veil will be lowered that lays on your eyes

do tell everyone what it is you did to me
the control you held over me - though now i'm free
how do you expect me to forgive and forget
when in the back of my mind you’ll live eternally as a threat

my happiness is a butterfly that’s been hunted perpetually
constantly on the prowl to flee from injustice impetuously
and as it is stuck in a unceasing cycle of escape and defense
i promise that your end will come, at my own expense.

---

A Ghostly Existence

Don't play with matches they say
Or you will get burned
Scorched alive, obliterated away
But escape was what I yearned

I could feel the gluttonous, ravishing stares upon me
Watching me with intent, with malice
Sneaky shadows of silence, sabotaging my success
Muffled moans of mischievous madness

I could hear the noises with my soul
I could see them with my lips pursed
I could taste the uncontrollable rage of their control
I could feel the touches of the cursed

I ran as fast as I could to escape the stench of extinction
But they loved seeing the gaze of terror in their victims’ eyes
Seeing that look of dread in a pair of eyes was a simple addiction
Whether they be the color of honey-pooled hazel or bright blue skies

I was always captured back after an attempt
There was no escape from a nightmare like mine
For freedom and liberty was all that I dreamt
A simple sliver of security would have been divine

As a small child, I used to dream of sublime sunshine and magical moments
Of flourishing friends and lavish loves
Of scintillating sights like sophisticated succulents
Of tantalizing travels and delicate doves

But after I was captured, each night I wept and slept
All day I sulked, shackled in sadness
Around my chamber the behemoth crept
Watching me with all of its madness

Time passed and I had lost all hope for my destiny and future
Both physically and mentally I was eternally held captive
Every part of my life was bounded by rules to which I had to adhere
After all, I guess it was the monster’s tactic

---

This is how the world ends

This is the way the world ends.
Not through famine nor fire
It is but a single liar
Who doesn't fail to give in to desire

This is the way the world ends.
Taking society down violently
Condemning us silently
A true invasion of privacy

This is the way the world ends.
Pinned against one another
Each other we smother
Our last sight of our mother

This is the way the world ends.
Covered in screams and blood
Body parts hauled through the mud
We all disappear in one big flood

This is the way the world ends.
We cannot say goodbye
No matter how hard we try
We can only cry and cry

This is how the world ends.
We pray and we write
We wish we could fight
We wouldn't do it right

This is how the world ends.
We sit around and wait
An existence as bait
Left to suffer our fate

This is how the world ends.
We didn't ask for any of this
Thought we'd have eternal bliss
Now we're free falling into the abyss

This is how the world ends
We want to make amends
But the color of the world blends
Gone are all of our friends
Nothing but dead ends.

---

little hearts

as a little girl i always quite enjoyed hearts
a certain fondness for valentines day arts
bright pink hearts adorned my clothes core
i had love for a symbol to look for and adore

in school i would draw hearts quite a bit
next to my name on papers and assignments
i would dot the i in my name with a heart too
never thought too much never gave a clue

i stopped in high school, hearts i never drew
it wasn’t very professional through and through
with stricter days and less pleasures to hold
no heart covered clothing as that would be too bold

now i'm in college and it can be very hard
but i catch myself doodling off-guard
small hearts dispersed all over my notes
reminds that everything will be okay and so i quote

---

Thunder

Panic pulses through millions of veins
Memories of the past surge through the mind in seconds
Visions of the future surface with different paths and choices
The feeling of the present sinks in, grasping what's happening to the world

A sound recognizable by everyone
A view that strikes worry in most
A bolt that strikes the earth’s precious land
They cause people to bolt in panic
While some remain on their throne, with not a care in the world

A storm never ceases to wreak havoc and chaos
Bringing millions to stop in their tracks
To cower in fear as they struggle to understand what is to come
To sit through the uncertain

Will the storm be severe or soft
Will the storm be destructive or harmless
Will the storm take away years of blood sweat and tears in the flash of a moment?
Or will it cleanse, and bring prosperity for the future

To some, the pitter patter is yearned for
Storms bring a sense of peace and engulfing warmth
A moment of calm in the life of a storm
Brings clarity in the figure of a serene scene

In the storm I see the best of both worlds
Fear yet Adrenaline yet Panic yet Adventure
But the looming dark clouds have a different story
So I, like the rest, sit and wait through the uncertain

---

Short Stories!

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A Mirror Does Not Lie

The air tasted bitter and the aura was numbing. I sat up in the living room of the creaky old house in which my parents and younger brother resided. I felt a sharp breeze glide across the nape of my neck, like a ghost’s breath was laughing on me. I came back to visit and make amends, yet I found myself sitting on the hard tiled floor looking straight at the glass mirror at the end of the hall. I used to love staring at my reflection as a child for hours, but now the mirror was cracked, and my crimson handprints were gripping the sides. I, myself, was stained by a dark shade of crimson. As for the mirror shards, it felt as though each one revealed a different memory from my past. I saw faces through the cracks in the mirror that reflected my hands, and a genuine tear fell out of my eye, trickling down my cheek piercing my collarbone like a bullet. My eyes caught a glance of their own reflection, and in response my soul jumped back into every character-defining moment of my life, trying to understand why I was so alone.

Nostalgic Nicknames

The top cracks reflected my eyes. My eyes used to be vivacious, with hazel spirals of creativity and pure joy. They were so sun filled, though also so obsidian black. I was this Goddess of Mystery. However, coming from a family where everyone had bright ocean blue eyes, I also felt like the odd one out, the intruder. Nonetheless, my parents claimed they still loved me, and referred to me as “Honey” to reflect my “lovely eyes and kind soul”. I had written honey on the bottom of the mirror frame when I was younger, and I traced over the etching with my fingr these many years later, longing to be so little again.

Childhood Conceptions

I saw a small seven year old in the glass shard resting on the bottom right corner of the frame. She was frolicking through a field with her nine year old brother and parents, collecting all the flowers she could in her basket. I remember that day so vividly, we went home and I took those flowers back to my room to spread them out across the window sill so that I could appreciate their beauty. My parents tried taking them out of my room after they died, but I refused to let them go. They sat there for days, decaying slowly. My family insisted they smelled rotten, but all I inhaled was a soothing, sweet smell. I can still smell those flowers whenever I think of my youth.

Familiar Friendships

The only place that I ever fit in was with my two closest friends, Iris and Jane. The three of us met in first grade music class, fighting over the class tambourine. We became inseparable for years after. We laughed, cried, smiled, fought, screamed, and did just about everything else that family did with each other. They weren’t just my friends, they were my sisters, and I loved them more than anything. They danced in the middle of the mirror, in a central crack opposite to my heart. Growing up changes everything though, and they slowly grew superficial and closer to each other. They stopped understanding me. Eventually I was torn out of the picture, not that I wanted to stay for much longer in yet another family that stopped loving me.

Teenage Troubles

My family loved the idea of me, but at one point stopped loving me. They spent too much of their affection on my younger self, and their love ran out the second my youth did. Their expectations exceeded the limits of my abilities; it took me years to learn that I would never be good enough. Everyone wanted the little girl back but no one wanted the ambitious teenager with dreams burning beyond the galaxy. They all rested in the top left corner of the mirror, but their faces were distorted and they appeared ghostlike.

Tick Tick Tick

In the foyer there was a polished, honey brown antique clock, clicking every second, ticking away at time. I would sit there for hours at a time, isolated with my thoughts; the clock would look over my shoulder and tick tick tick to let me know I wasn't completely alone. The clock sat at the other end of the hall, and it had an actual reflection that sat above my head in the one unbroken part of the mirror.

Suddenly, I was pulled into the present, back to staring at a broken mirror that had life’s spirit dripping down its frame. I was discouraged by the environment when I was seventeen, and decided to run away and start fresh. I found a place to stay and a job to support myself, but I felt incomplete.Three years later, I came crawling back, sitting here as a twenty year old trying to pick up the pieces I left behind. I needed to fix things with my family. That was my first agenda. I thought I could make everyone love me again. I tried. I really tried.

It didn’t work out with them; they didn’t want me.

It's okay.

I dealt with them, and cut them off completely. I’ll never see them again.

Instead, I’ll find my friends, and everything will be okay again.

I slowly stood up and prepared to leave my childhood home. As I passed through the forbidding foyer, a foul smell invaded my senses and a frigid draft froze my bones. It was just like walking through the house as a child, except this time, the decaying, rotten smell was not from the flowers. I also noticed that my favorite, antique, honey-brown clock had stopped ticking, and a small smile crept upon my lips as I left the silent house.

---

Over and Over and Over again

“Good morning Dash.” Echo said cheerfully.

“Oh, hello Echo. Good morning to you as well.” Dash responded.

“What a wonderful Tuesday, is it not? Who are you observing right now?” Echo questioned.

“Oh I’m taking notes on subject #2343754 right now. It is her 246th day in the simulation. I honestly cannot figure out why she signed up for this, after I’ve been examining her progress,” Dash commented.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, listen to what her time has been like so far. Yesterday, she woke up at 8:07 am. She got out of bed and completed her daily morning routine, which consisted of brushing her teeth, showering, getting dressed for the day, and then eating breakfast. The phrase “everyday is a new day” only applied to her somewhat. She went to check as to what yesterdays task would be, out of curiosity as to how extreme it would be. It is suprising that after 246 days of reliving the same day conceptually, she still has that curiosity in her. At the same time, it is not surprising, given how she deals with it. Everyday she gets her task, with no explanation as to why she is reliving her day, as she wasn’t informed as to what she would be doing in the simulation when she had originally signed up, when she will stop reliving her day, and what happens if she does not complete the task given to her. Also, she hasn’t bothered to find out what would happen with that last part yet, and she has done every task assigned. For the first few months she was invested in preventing failure of task completion. Perhaps it was out of fear of the unknown, boredom, curiosity, or all three that she would actually complete all of the tasks. They consisted of events such as preventing cars from crashing, delivering various objects to people and businesses, sending out emails and letters, informing people of a certain message in public, etc. Overtime, boredom had set in, and her emotional psyche started to warp. She would complete tasks just to purposefully have them backfire. Yesterday, she saved a pedestrian from getting hit by a car, only to purposefully lead the car straight into a bus full of people,” Dash continued.

“Wow, that sure is intriguing. I assume that it is the cases like those that serve as the reason we have been studying this specific simulation over the past few months. That is a lot more interesting than the old man’s life I have surveilled today. I am observing subject #34923748. He is on his 789th day in the simulation. He is 67 years old and is meticulous with his habits. Every day after completing his task, he grabs a coffee and sits at the dog park on the same red bench, for exactly 30 minutes. He then goes home and reads the same first four chapters of his book. He never changes his schedule.” Echo explained. “That sounds monotonous to us, but probably fantastic for him. However, I don't think I could live every day doing the same thing. It’s like he wakes up every morning, forgetting that yesterday even happened.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Well before I get distracted, I am going to finish up a few reports. Let’s talk later.”

“Sure. Have fun with those.”

•••

“Well, goodnight! I have all of my reports finished and they are on my desk. I'll see you tomorrow Dash.”

“Night Echo, I'll see ya.”

•••

“Good morning Dash.”

“Oh, hello Echo. Good morning to you as well.”

“What a wonderful Tuesday, is it not?