h e a r t s o n g.

i. wednesday

It seems that I can't write a single thing that isn't about you. You have murdered my words and raped my thoughts with your aftertaste. And my stuttering consciousness has escaped my lips to turn into this fragmented sunshine that shatters inside my irises like sparks. And love becomes a distant memory where your ethereal face haunts my dreams and my whispers turn into screams.

I watch my fantasies fade and wither like roses in the winter and this is the end of illusions but I can't stop from wishing on a broken star and insanity defines me and my heart, it beats and it beats on and on and it doesn't stop like I want it to stop.

Your words breathe like they have a life of their own and since you have massacred mine, I would like to hang onto what's left of my reveries and die slowly.

You kill me with your cyanide tongue and as I overdose on yesterday's delusions, I smile and sink deeper into this abyss they call nirvana.

ii. friday

I see your face in between these paragraphs. I hear your voice amidst these fingers tapping on the frayed keyboard. I smell your scent in these pressed daisies that died on page two of my journal. You are still the ghost of my dreams and as I tear the sheets of my notebook into pieces, I can feel a part of you fade.

iii. sunday

I write these sunburned verses, dripping wet with satellite tears in each paragraph-- my pen resembling a syringe, injecting words to the veins of this page while I prepared a cocktail drink of rubbing alcohol and coca cola and swallowed it all in one sip. You are poison, threatening to murder my sanity with one kiss of the switchblade on my skin. Perhaps, one day, my bipolar heart will learn how to fall in and out of love without too much disgrace.

From my peripheral vision, I can see angels and demons riding paper-maché horses of a suicidal carousel, tempting me to join them. I wished them sweet dreams and declined their offer. I’d rather ride a rocket and fly to the moon because I know you’ll be there.

I’ll be your wendy and you can be my peter pan and we will build our tree house made of bubblegum and stardust. We can take turns smoking candy cigarettes and discover unnamed planets with our cardboard telescope. You will teach me how to play poker and we will mark each other’s faces with lipstick when someone loses. You’ll let me win all our pillow fights and I’ll tell you all my secret hideouts. You will keep all your promises and I’ll let you keep a piece of my heart.

iv. tuesday

It all started when you touched my fingers and it hastily ended when you let go of my hand.

We were sitting at the front porch, eating junkfood and drinking sparkle soda while watching kites pirouette above our heads.

I wish I knew what you were thinking that day.

v. thursday

There are times when I urge my heart to stop beating just so I could hear you breathe.

I suppose my bitter subconscious cannot handle yesterday because it keeps shoving memories at the back of my mind where it is difficult to touch. It's similar to watching a car crash in slow motion, every thing is a blur and like a damned butterfly, you can't do anything because your wings are ripped.

Thoughts float inside tiny bubbles within my mind and every time I try to reach them with my fingers, my fleeting assumptions burst and disappear. My skull is a blank mess, laced with inconspicuous logic. Whenever I think too much, I become lost and forget every thing else as I climb the winding staircase within my head.

I lie awake in bed, waiting for something to happen. Maybe I’m waiting for time to stop. Or maybe I am just waiting for you but I don’t know why I still hold on to something that doesn’t even exist.

Love, I’ve waited for you for a long time and now that time is dead to me, the sky is torn and I am broken.

My heart no longer screams your name.