Tuesday, November 26, 2013

I am not your subject.


But I never asked for pity. You’ve lost your childhood and you’re out of practice. That’s why you’ll never understand, what all of this means. That’s why you mistake my rhymes for a strategy, my loud wishes for a certain size of a donation box. 
Don’t ever, ever mess with my innocence. Just so you know, I can be mean too.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

The Adventures of Foresight



I can see you. Winter isn’t here just to live by calendars and forecasts; it’s here to fog up the air around me, and the air around you. I can still see you. You can’t see me.

Here, right now, how I see it all matters because tomorrow relies on it. So I’ve decided to see through you. And winter is here, so I can have something to blame for the cold feeling I will have after having seen through you, or something to thank, for you will not have seen through me.

There are wires; there are hearts, not used. And you can’t see me. That’s why tomorrow; all of this will be just a memory. I seeing you not seeing me has no future. And winter is here, to teach me to get used to it.

And maybe I’ll grow old by the time I figure this out, but I’ll be old and strong, having lived through many, many winters.

The ghosts I let in

For a moment, it felt like sinking,
except for my stagnancy;
the way I froze
made the end avalanche
sinking
in the depths of me.

For a moment, it felt like black skies,
but for my shut eyelids;
the way sleep escaped
made space shrink,
blackening
with the stains in me.

For a moment, it felt like screaming,
but for my silence;
the way my heart thudded
made music screech,
suffocating
in the vessels inside me.

So it wasn’t me sinking
in the depths of black skies,
and screaming.
It was me,
sheltering the end, and the skies, and chaos;
the way I eventually melt
makes me keep
sheltering
you.