Btlk-like

I wrote a poem

And you thought it was for you.

I wrote an eulogy

And you thought it was

For my funeral.

To be with someone

Who thinks of nothing

But the ending

When you both are still here

Is to say there already exist

Thousands of ends in their mind.

I just wish he has also imagined

One mellow future where

We're both here and we're both okay,

No one buries us and no one burns us.

Perched. So gently.

(for a better resolution, click on the picture)

Playing God

The Gods, they envy us. 

We get to live and be done with it:

We get to die and leave.

There is no eternity hanging over our heads,

No forevers to roll the dice over.

We will not become Fallen Angels

Even if we forget our own morality.

We get to leave into the nothingness,

Become one with the Earth,

Get trodden in the very soil 

We claimed as Ours once before and then

Turned to dust in.

We become the dust;

The dust that is to us

The same as we are to the cosmos;

We are the nothing.

Galaxies erupt and entire worlds are created,

Stars explode and black holes collide,

So why does it matter that I fell from the stairs today;

Why does it matter that I stuttered in a conversation 

Or that I yelled out the wrong answer in class?

The cosmos are to us

As the Earth is to the dust specs on it;

We will be blown away and it will all still be here:

The Galaxies; the Earth within one such,

Packed with an entire Solar System,

Turning around one Sun,

They will still continue being//

In one form or another.

So why does it matter

That I will not be here

When all has been said and done,

I’d still have existed.

Dripping chaos everywhere I go.

Hands held breaths,

Claimed themselves to be Gods today;

Said:

Here lies a body-

And the life within,

Both held in my grasp.

We do not have the habit of letting go;

Even in infanthood

They taught us how to hold things,

Clutch them tight,

For anything given the chance of leaving

Will run away from you.

I have gone through life

Holding things that do not embrace me back;

I have the cuts to prove it.

Sometimes, we cut parts of ourselves

Just to watch something heal.

What are hands

If not something that holds

Another thing;

Another person,

Another body?

Sometimes hands let things fall,

Get tired of holding so much of

What does not want to stay;

Hands look in the mirror,

Ask themselves what have they become,

What have they done?

All that blood and all that glory:

You can not wash away either.

I once wrote a poem.

And the poem strangled me.

I wrote another

And it held me.

How do you know who is here for the slaughter

And who will embrace you,

Unless you see their hands

Reach for you?

You know you cherish them

When their absence aches-

A non-existence of ache

That attaches itself to you.

And sometimes we cherish those

Who slaughter us.

Like God.

Or the hands of our lovers.

I think the kindest thing a God could do

Would be to leave us alone;

To not stand there, peer over our heads,

Look into us, quite so literally-

Not keep a track of the actions,

Of intentions;

Or disapprove what we became.

Gods bring catastrophes

We are not ready for;

Bring forth wreckage,

Not knowing what to do;

Gods cause so much damage;

I mean Hands.

Hands reaching for things

They do not know how to hold yet.

Perhaps Hands should leave things be,

Unclench those fists,

See how much there is

To simply caress.

A.G.

Inevitable

We were a prolonged sunset,

Something beautiful

That we knew 

Would end in darkness anyways.

We were a mouthful of words

The tongue couldn't help but mess up.

We were a tiny cat

Who climbed the big tree

And forgot it had yet to learn 

How to come back down.

We went skydiving,

Up, up, up 

And the earth pulled us back down;

We free fell into our own demise

And made a mess,

We left chaos behind.

Surgeons// Cuts

The wound bleeds.

The wound bleeds,

Gushing with everything

That was intended to be kept on the inside.

This safe of a body was not meant to be shared, sliced open,

Quite so literally.

The blood will soon clot off, sealing everything temporarily//

Body's own defense mechanism.

The surgeon will surgically remove the growth.

The local anesthetic will make your body funny;

You'll feel your ear become a fabric,

The sound of sewing of sutures

Rings in your head as the surgeon finishes.

He is impressed with how well you handled the needles.

You smile.

Being numb doesn't even feel like numbness-

A lot more like no pain

But your body turns into things

It has never been.

When you exit the operating room

He tells you to keep the dressings dry.

You text a friend,

Tell them not to hit you in the head again-

You just had surgery.

It rains on your way home.