How many do I need to smoke to burn…?

Chain-smoking.

A new hobby, a habit.

How many do I need to smoke to burn my lungs?

How black are my lungs now?

Are they black as my soul?

Stained by all of the sins I’ve done and will do?

How will I describe them if I ever dissect myself?

Black as charcoal?

Black as midnight with a few popping stars that faintly shine, indicating some kind of existing hope?

How many do I need to smoke to destroy my lungs, so it can shut-down my heart?

Why do I need to indirectly damage my heart?

Why don’t I just get a knife and stab it already and get it over with?

Why all of this dramatic slow suicide?

Ah, yes.

Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten.

I don’t want them to directly look and know that the problem lies in my heart.

I don’t want them to find the name carved within that bloody muscle.

I don’t want them to blame you.

I don’t want them to find out about all this love that I am saving for you.

I don’t want them to find the painful sufferings and point their fingers at you.

I don’t want you to know that these are my true emotions towards you.

I don’t want my strong self to be crushed by this weakly that I am now.

I want the love I have in this beating muscle of mine to be hidden from prying eyes, including you.

I want to burn it along with my soul and leave no trace of it in this cruel world.

So tell me,

How many do I need to smoke to burn my existence from history?

Awake or Asleep..

I lay back, close my eyes, and float in the rhythm of my dreams..
And when once my dreams were an escape from reality..
Reality has come to haunt me to my bed,
As it has graved itself at the core of my subconscious.
Now I cannot tell between being awake or asleep..
The pain feels the same in both worlds..
The guilt tastes sour, choking me.
There is no relief, but heightened stress..
Drowning by my own misery, my own history.
Is there a writer out there..
Who could rewrite my yesterdays
And glamour them with sugar-coated lies?
Maybe I could be manipulated that all these dreams and reality
Are the stories of a character in a book..
A sad old dusty book.
That has nothing to do with me.
That I’m just a reader of my story.

Summer. Play. Pause.

What’s the normal period of summer vacation?
Almost three months, right? But no, mine.. Mine lasted for four years, since 2010. And, this is a small description of that period.. Until I have the right words to give details of that summer.

Yes. My summer paused since that date
My knowledge and communication to the world may seem late
Wait, did i confuse you? Let me explain
For you may think it was a summer without Pain
It started and ended with a broken heart
I fell in Love, but i eventually fell hard
Wait, do you think i was the one crying?
With a heart on the floor broken and dying?
I’m sorry again, for all of these confusions,
But i guess i’m really good at making delusions.
At least that’s what they told me,
Them and the same person who loved me.
But dont get me wrong,
Its not that i didn’t love back as i loved for so long.
But not all relationships last..
They eventually love until they’re in the past.
But until i’m ready to share what i’ve been through,
I’ll give you the chance to judge me, so please do.