Our Impending Doom
What do we do when our tangled web of deceit
gives us hell for a friend?
We made promises to so many exits,
but where does it end?
When does it end?
How does it end?
Why oh why should it end?
We know. We know.
Nobody makes it out alone.
–
Monday Mechanics
What do our souls create
but faulty machinery?
What do our minds reconcile
but a minuscule crime?
What do we celebrate in pretty poetry
not brought to light
for its lacking in rhymes?
In my periphery are galaxies of your mind, sought-after.
Rocket ships fail to launch as the days go numbered.
Roses wilt and burn as I stick my head out the window,
only to listen to the thumping sounds I just lost forever.
–
A Heart Deviant
From before the storm roams the earth,
I’ve known that my heart wouldn’t beat
with the rhythm it’s given.
Sometimes it rebels to the sound of its own melody.
It craves harmony,
but riots when given serenity.
It yearns for sincerity, longs for
a thought fracture—
no encounter, eternal slumber.
But my heart beats for the misery,
anguish,
sorrowful longevity.
Paint the roots black
and we’re all set.
So I pray
and I pray
to be just a memory from the past;
in time, erased.
–
Percipiently
I look at her,
and I know what she feels like:
an innocent, electrifying magnet
gallivanting around the neon rings
inside my head.
Lingering on my fingers is the sound of her heartbeat.
Steady. Challenging. Like a thousand mirrors broken down—
shattering, piercing my senses
until I run and wage war against the tranquility
I dare not call home.
I look at her,
and a shining beacon across the sea
in front of me
rips me off of my reverie.
I am wide open
once again;
exposed to all sensibilities
I dare not harbor.
–
Written on the Body
September goes again and whispers to me,
“Run away, child,
be afraid of what you’ve become.
Life is but a farce
and hope is sparse,
so be free—
be free of your destiny.
And this is what it should be.”
*****
Editor: Moch Aldy MA
