Unlovingly yours



Remove thy mask, from the audience to your drama.

The sweet, bitter, brutal words you offer so loosely,

the bridge of trust you break, with no thought to the distances you create.

Loosen the charm from the public eye, they marvel at your attire, not knowing the inner side,

the confusion you extend to my shattered edged mind, and damaged bleeding soul,

the cuts, the bruises merged aside, go deeper than I mirror, deeper where my hidden voice resides.

Hover to the palpating organ, struggling to venture through my lifelines, it’s there; slowly fading, the love it once; held high.




The Tide

Do I ask for too much,

If I’m asking for a little space .. 
To exhale the misunderstood feelings I harbor, 

To put them at bay.

To simply spend a little time with;  



and I. 

To know the storms that I create, turmoiling my inner side. 

To feel the sand between my fingers and rummage through it like it’s treasure. 

To sit in the rain and drown myself, unburdening the thunder and sorrow. 

To run on grass or the earth, just with my bare feet;

to feel it’s warmth, it’s cool, calm, collective nature, whilst I run to exhume the heat. 

To sit beside a silent shore and dip my feet to sense it,
It’s cold blue surface,

hiding a deeper tide than it actually mirrors. 

Do I ask for too much,

when I just want to spend some time,

with the trees, the sea, the sand, the sky, the sun, the birds, the rain, the storm, 

or even me.

For they seem to know me,
Understanding my silences with which I speak.

The pauses I take with hesitation, pondering with great length with the words I say, 

Do I ask for too much;

when I just want to be me.


Image taken from Pinterest. 
Thank you for visiting. 

Palpitating Organ

When the pain descends to the inner depths and reaches to attach to the organ we call heart,

It’s not long after, like an adrenaline rush, it shifts with uneasiness, ready to erupt like a volcano. 

The remnants of its blazes, reaches like a knot in the throat, trying to swallow it quickly before they appear on the outer surface of my body. 

The eyes, I aim have been untouched and unsensed from the inner turmoils, keeping them dry, and viewing them to make sure they have been unchanged. 

No sadness.

No tears.

No Redness.

Until all alone, all gushes forth, pouring out, what I held; 

what I call pain. 



Image copyrights belong to Esaxil from DeviantArt.com. 


There’s a hidden story behind them,there’s a secret hidden pain, 

those deep, yet long wrinkles, that attempt to hide the scars in vain.

Her sad sunken eyes searched for someone lost in the distance.

I noticed a tear tremble as she tried her best to avoid them in resistance. 

Who was it that she longed for? who was it that she searched?

who could have left her so broken? Unaided as I continued to implore. 

She looked at me; as if it was her final goodbye,

I held her hand to reassure her; as she began.. 

to close her eyes.


When one reaches old age, help them and learn from them. Don’t break them even further.

There’s much you can find just by looking into the mirrors of their soul. 


Memories are like fragments, we place together the ones we like, I like to place my happy ones together, leaving my painful ones aside. 

I like to sometimes recall them, especially when I’m sitting alone,

They are like a comforting, dear friend, who is still to others, Unknown. 

They’re like my little secret friends, whom I visit when I like, inviting them in when I want to, disregarding them when I like. 

Memories have a special place, that we hold them close inside, disclosing them if we wish to, sharing them only with those whom we confide. 

Memories are like little fragments, keep them close, keep them locked inside.