You reach your nirvana
then the door slams shut
echoing through my core
marking your departure

Hollow liquor bottles
that mirror my emptiness
stare back at me
like ghosts of bad decisions

Walking to the mirror
I find evidence of how you love me—
my body your abandoned canvas
splotched with colors of your pain

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Bad Timing

the melody I left
inside you is fading
from your heartbeat
with the rest of me

retracting my open arms
I walk backward in time
to the outskirts of nostalgia

in gradual acceptance
that with her
occupying your embrace
you will never know how much
I could have loved you.

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rain splashes
against the window pane
and I am cradled
by your absence

whom I do not know
whom I love

in your place
lies a man
to whom
I am a stranger

he has read
my body
like a map

but knows nothing
of the world
that I am

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what used to be

amidst the sunshine
he strokes her hair
with his fingers and
she flashes a smile that
radiates pure love

and every memory-soaked
neuron seems to fire
at one time and
I am burning
where I stand

with a desire stronger
than pure lust
I need you to
intertwine your fingers
in mine like we had on that night
the crickets were singing
the song of our hearts

in every vein of my being
I feel what love used to be
and I feel its void
one thousand times stronger

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You used to look at me like I grew flowers in the deepest pits of your lungs. Your breathing changed each time we spoke as if you were exhaling their fragrance and then breathing it back in. Their tenacious vines clung to your bones and impatiently wrapped themselves around your ribcage and suddenly I was inadvertently suffocating you.

All the while, the garden in my core was bare and infertile. My stubborn efforts of watering were futile as sunlight refused to continue to radiate from my haphazard heartstrings. Hopeless and desperate for florid growth, I sought the sunlight of another.

There was none that I could find. Instead I settled for fire, foolishly believing that the two were mutually exclusive. He left my lungs scorched by the time he was done. His heart was coated in ashes that seemed to multiply with each shard of innocence he took from me. His soul was arid. It was nothing but desert land. And no matter how hard I tried, I could not make flowers grow there.

You were a meadow that I was too proud to notice. I was blind to your flowing springs and gentle earth. Your soul gleamed in my direction, trying to guide me by a light I was not ready for. But now I feel it. It ignites the inside of my being with a warmth I cannot accurately articulate.

But I no longer grow flowers within you.

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Nomadic Confession

This city
once gave me life
but now I find myself

How can I stay
if it won’t let me breathe?

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Memories Kept

Increase the dosage

of nostalgia

in the music of my heartbeat

and I will tell you

about the moonlit nights

and how we saw our love

in constellations,

in echos of our laughter

cascading through forests

harmonizing with cricket melodies.

I will tell you

of the butterflies

that fluttered until they learned

to fly into sunrise.

I will not tell you of the new day.

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