The Master of Puppets.

Waiting
For my existence to wear out,
I become a shadow,
A silhouette,
Of my past tense. 
With your light
Reflecting on this veil,
I dance, I play, I fall
I break.

You attached strings on me,
On my eyelids,
My palms, my fingers, my toes,
My lips, my chin, my legs, my feet,
My hips, my waist, 
My sadness,
My heart. 

And you pulled. 
You pulled and pulled,
As my shadows made shapes,
My broken pieces bled,
My silent pleas unheard,
For your entertainment. 
Your hands never got tired,
Your imaginations never ran dry,
Your stories, 
They never stopped coming. 



But one day,
My broken pieces
Will be so sharp,
That I will cut your strings,
Poke your eyeballs blind, 
And watch you cry out, “The End!”

Some Days.

Some days, I am extraordinary.
Mostly, I’m just an average;
An average of all things I’ll never be.

Some days, I am the queen of it all.
Mostly, I’m a slave;
A slave to the image of the queen.

Some days, I am hungry.
Mostly, I’m the appetite;
The want to gorge on hatred and grief.

Some days, I look gorgeous.
Mostly, I’m a newborn;
Ugly and bloody and screaming my lungs off.

Some days, I am not myself.
Mostly, I search for my soul;
The one with no reason to exist.

Some days, are not like the others.

Some days, are just some days.

You.

I would like to see you
One last time
Before I never see you again.

I would ask you to sit next to me,
Not so close,
That I can’t look at your beautiful face
Without the night of your hair
Interrupting my vision.
And not so far,
That I can’t smell the fragrance
Of your soul
That once left me restless in love.

Sit next to me,
Your skin barely neighboring mine,
These clothes hiding your shine.

I would not touch you,
Do not be afraid,
For I turned to stone the moment I looked at you.

I would not steal that heart of yours,
For I can’t steal from my guardian.

I would just sit and watch you,
Look at my luck and sigh,
And wonder and curse,
For finding the world outside of you
When it was indeed within you
All my life.

You May Say I’m A Dreamer.

When words commit suicide
When tears are toxic
When demons die
And the minds are not sick

When trees have roots
When there’s no traffic
When a fruit’s just a fruit
And the minds are not sick

When the drizzle starts
When there’s reasons I can pick
When the rhythm is of the hearts
And the minds are not sick

When I follow my dreams and I drown my strife,
That’s when I start my journey, my life.

The Justifications of a Sane Mind.

Here’s where I stop to confess that you were always around me even before I met you. In my past, and in all the alternate versions of it. I’d wave a white flag but you were already winning. The battles were all in my head. Just mine. Few drops of sanity left in the bottle you forgot in our refrigerator. I always mess up. Forgetting whether to inject it or to bathe in it. Asylums are full. Or else you’d be there. Hospitals are too clean for the rotting minds that we so lovingly nourish. Is this what we get from love that is conditioned and unconditional? A bit of you and me in this page. The doctor likes us. That’s why there are so many names that smell like high, crawling all over his pad. Shouldn’t we hold out our arms? I want that hole in my vein so I can breathe air into it. There’s so much violence in us, they say. But, my love, is there? You shouldn’t want to hit me. I’m just this. The pillow you sleep on. The magic that makes your white world colorful. The smoke that clears your vision. The pain that kills all the Morphine. Ease up. There’s so much world left to see inside these walls. Break free of my hands. Go and see everything that sticks beneath your soul. Trees that go with the wind. Vacant swings that dance in happiness. There’s no patience here. Hurry before someone calls your name and puts you to sleep. Stripes can be black or white. We just love the uniformity. Treasures are hiding under our hair. No eyes see them. Blue clouds follow us around and rain only on us. This is all love. Let us all stay in the divinity of the self. Breathe in breathe out. Let’s go back now. Our time’s up. 

Cameraderie.

Oftentimes I wonder if someone zooms a camera in and out of my face. A strange feeling as though someone is watching my life as some entertaining movie. Now, they’re not watching out for me. They’re just there, watching. Your pain, your dreamy spasms, your heart beating, the smiles on the corners of your lips. Are they directing your movie too?