poetry

  • the star (17)

    if i could sacrifice a billion suns for the chance of a day with you infinity would not stand a chance let darkness reign the universe i am not with you no hope when there’s no you no matter, no god, no satellites, taunted by the slimmest chance of perhaps one day maybe in our…

  • pda.

    somewhere between, you, depression, and mania i haven’t answered your messages but i did post a meme that made me think of you somewhere not here, unlikely to be evanescence a touch of yesterdays memory are you even real?

  • father.

    unfairness follows like a somber cloud the dialects of an oppression the yielding of life to everything else must we always question you the one we do not know i seek your presence in my surroundings searching for unfaithful commitment

  • does god know the time of her death?

    does she ponder of entropy or does she allow it to flow through her a timeless existence— death as a beginning all of life must be, so death comes a trap of forever does god also feel small in the chasm of herself does she lose meaning do her fingers bleed senseless brutalities at a…

  • before and after.

    frankly, i care it’s truly unfair, but so is love what i could imagine now seems so far from the truth and you who is everything exists outside of my reach outside of time nowhere to be found a figment of my internal reality one which loves so dearly it created you in a tangled…

  • to the winds—

    the foreign sounds of yesterday, the rhythm of tomorrows. what is the vibration of life if not love multiplied into fours. a beat. i hear it in your heart, the pulse of a universe expressed in frequency.

  • space (9/13) what a time to feel and be alive i see the somber clouds escape the dreaded sunshine but i must not be so exasperated distraught better days are ahead time (9/14) rain rain please stay i hear your pleas for change in rhythm cadence let me out

  • purpose.

    why is it hardest to write with a purpose? seems like all creatives deal with this issue. so much so we’ve named it writer’s block. i’ve been internalizing said block recently. i call it meeting my shadow. so many parts of this self, and one of them is a writer. but that writer is my…

  • Nostalgia est ’99.

    I asked her about the weather A slight move for conversation It wasn’t much But a light breeze turned into forceful winds The conversation swept into the cosmos And we continued until the Big Bang. It was a beginning, but also an ending I knew her from a past life, An invisible string connecting us…