broken shards

Lifeless Soul

They say that every human being Has one soul.

But why can I hear a choir

Of gaping spirits echoing,

A symphony of screeching fingernails

On the walls of my skin, 

Ominously bellowing from the 

Bottom of my heart? 


Thoughts in Flight

And suddenly I have lost my abilityTo move, to think, to cry;

To laugh, to fight, to try;

To breathe, to run, to survive;

To enjoy, to smile, to feel alive.

Because suddenly I feel the urge

To break every single bone in my body,

To count the number of cells in my blood,

To crack my fingers and knuckles,

To tear apart the worn-out folds on my skin,

To bite and rip apart the nails of my toes,

Only to realise that suddenly, I would do 


To be free again.


I cannot count the number of days I allowed pure ecstacy to claw its way up the ladder of my spine; 

I cannot remember the times I placed the tip of life’s end on the surface of my skin as it trailed along gently, deeper and deeper;

I cannot envision flashing lights and perfect smiles in the road ahead of me because I end up falling back on the painful thought of a downfall of acid rain and standing needles piercing through each vein on my wrist; 

I cannot find back the ability to open my mouth and convey the words I had nailed across my heart a million times only to desperately want to rip it apart bit by bit afterwards;

I cannot convince myself otherwise of the life I deserve and the one that is not deserving of me as I crumble my own core and wrench from within;

I cannot answer the questions that challenge the purpose of my living only to memorise, regurgitate and reproduce a much falsified yet beautiful image on a plain canvas;

I cannot pull myself out of the fire I chose to walk into due to the very fact that I am allowing myself to slowly slip away into solitude —

Because what I can do, is to acknowledge that, maybe, just maybe, happiness has become a sin that does not belong to me. 

Feelings II.

[never good enough pt. 2]

How do you value self-worth? 
Through the gradient of the colours in my eyes when they are wide open,

Through the way the nails of my fingers crave to tear each others’ skin apart, 

Or perhaps through the subtle glare in my eyes as I peer into the world using a microscope?

How do you value self-worth?

By desperately tugging on the strings of my heart, refusing to let go,

By pointing a gun to my head with the trigger inching steadily towards my thumb, 

Or maybe by the way my hands trail along each imperfection of this living body as I stare at my own reflection? 

How do you value self-worth?

Using the extent of my happiness or the rarity of my smile,

Using the moments my heart wrenched to see him decide to smile elsewhere because my soul was no longer present,

Or possibly using the number of times I dashed miles ahead only to unknowingly fall into an abyss? 

How do you value self-worth?

My worth is not worthy of money’s name to be used in vain,

My worth is not deserving of gold fonts and capital letters, 

My worth is not qualified for warm hugs on rainy days and kisses across my wrist. 

How do you value self-worth?

Because the truth is, 

I can’t. 


[Never good enough]

I stare at your lips the
Way they curve towards the corners
Of the newspaper and an
Unknown number of happy days
As if you forgot about the feelings
You used to have when you saw
Those happy days in my eyes;

While I pour acid down the
Curvature of my spine and watch
Myself bleed from the windows of
My ears and the pores of my skin,
As if I could neither taste
The word of love nor touch
The key in your hands that unlocks
The misery in me and the
Perfection hidden in the
Connection between our intertwined
Fingers and breathing souls;

Because one day you will run —
From the treasure I bury in
My mind and the weapon I conceal
Between the walls of my heart,
As if you have never smiled
Towards those corners of life,
As if you have never smiled
Like there were endless happy days,
As if you have never smiled
When you saw those days in my eyes;

And one day you will run —
To hide away from flaws engraved
Deep down darker in my flesh,
To seek shelter and find the
Perfection that you so rightfully deserve,
Only to realise I was never here
But instead resting my head between
My hands on the train tracks,
Waiting for punishment to
Be served as dessert;

And one day you will run —
Away from the love
You thought was true,
Away from the love
You dedicated your life to,
Away from the love
You had hoped would grow,
Away from the love 
That landed you bruises and scars,
Away from the love
That never existed,

from me. 

The Abstract Art of Life

I am swaying in the dark,

My hands bloodied as I
Struggle to stop the blood from seeping
Through my veins while I balance
A knife on the tip of my tongue;

I taste metal and flowers,

As if the latter bunch were blended
Perfectly with the cold steel,
To produce an explosion of wires
Blooming on the ends;

I wring my heart dry,

My arteries enjoying the burning
Sensation of guilt and adrenaline,
Galvanising passageways across
My bones and within the corners of my eyes;

I am staring into whitewashed walls now,

And slowly I catapult into a window —
In time I am dancing across
White clouds and psychedelic music,
Feeling my way through cotton and silk;

I come to a stop,

In front of red lines and yellow tapes,
And I see flashing green lights,
And as ominous as it feels
I made a run for it —

In hopes that

One day,
Just one day,
I will finally reach the light
At the end of the tunnel.

What happens when the blood in my body has turned into water? 

I am not prepared to face reality — 
A glistening stone with a lava core;

A wide abyss with its darkness strangling

You with every breath you surrender;

A fallen angel with broken wings and a bruised body. 

And no one has prepared me to face reality, 

I was not warned of 

The number of dives I had to take, 

The number of sacrifices I had to make, 

The number of hearts I had to break, 

The number of feelings I had to throw away;

I was not warned of

Temptation and greed,

Love and lust, 

Hatred and guilt; 

Never have I imagined

Sinking into murky water as I hear my own breath slowly fade away within the clouds, 

Or the day that I would find the colours of the rainbow the most agonising visual, 

Or finding myself trapped in an uknown body without spirit or sight. 

What happens when the blood in my body has turned into water?

I stop running, instead, I crawl.

I stop talking, instead, I am silenced.

I stop thinking, instead, I let go.

I stop loving, instead, I am blindfolded.

I stop dreaming, instead, I drown.