I’m a broken ship,
Sail stuck in a bottle,
Torn horizontally,
Bleeding air.
I’m the drunken fighter,
Brain fogged up,
Punching into voids,
Pain pulsating through.
I’m a fallen soldier,
Gunshots in my ears,
Blood in my eyes,
Death in my mind.
I’m an empty book,
Pages made of plastic,
Blank, cheap.
But then again, I’m me,
A name, an entity,
A wave of calm acceptance,
A whirlpool of rejection.
I’m without a soul,
Tied up in a bow of satin,
A gift to someone else,
A gift to someone else.

A Revolution. 

‚ÄčIn the night, we dreamed of sleeping on shiny white sands with the moon watching over our stars. In the day, we dreamed of running away beyond the seas, leaving our soft footprints so that others could follow. And by the time we woke up, we had lost something that felt like a battle; a battle that had claimed our sands, our stars and our dreams.

The Confrontation.

I could stay with you until your dreams drip out of the veins you cut. I could act awake until you softly wake up, empty. I could take the liquid neon to a place where there’s no rest, a place where a fire always burns. A place where your heart might call home, a dark, polluted place where you grew onto yourself. Come, slip into your dress. We shall go for a walk to the valley of unknown. Let us then spread a light of least brightness, just enough for us to walk further into the darkness. We will then hunt, hunt with our hearts to find that one thing, the one thing that shuts your spirit down. You will then pull out your transparent sword, shining with purity of such intensity that its mere sight cuts slits on the eyes of the beholder. Then, when we find that fear, the sword shall find its prey, and we will wipe it clean with our bare hands. I will take you to the neon forest of your dreams, the green glowing leaves will find you peace, will find you rest and calm like never before. Our fire will still be burning bright and warm enough for the both of us. Hand in hand, we would lay back into the bed of glowing green leaves and get lost.