Paraesthesia

I don't feel good enough anymore.
Almost like the world has moved on past me.
My mind no longer has the capacity to travel through space and engage itself in the thought process behind the birth of galaxies.
My mouth no longer opens in awe at the wisdom I could speak.
My eyes are now blinded to experiencing the magic of love, of hope, of life.
It's like death, only with more entropy and no burial eulogies.
My bed, unlike me, has forgotten what it feels like to be alone.
And somehow, I've been too battered to consider leaving it
– Just like I was in my last relationship.
I don't feel anymore.
Almost like the world has left me to my demons.
Demons I wish could still torment me.
These days, all I feel is nothing.
These days all I wish for is to feel you.

Risen For The Season

Body, soul and heart
A constellation of humanity
The aggregation of God’s disgust to sin
Me.
Forehead, chest, left, right shoulder
The sign of the cross
A symbol of remembrance of resurrection
Jesus.
Perfect from before the start
God pierced in his side and also his heart
Put on a tree to cross out sin cos of us
The irony of having to die to secure life.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday
The three days it took to defeat sin and the grave
When all of heaven and earth and hell stood still
God too understood what it meant to cry.
Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani
Forsaken by the very one who sent him to die
Beaten within an inch of his everlasting life
Stripped of the same breath he breathed into man at the beginning.
Easter, the bread of life comes alive
A reminder of God’s amnesia to man’s sins
It is finished – the declaration of forgiveness of a prodigal son by his father
Go and sin no more.
Forehead, chest, left, right shoulder
The sign of how much it took to obtain freedom
A symbol of the hurt he felt in his spirit
Jesus.
Body, soul and heart
All which are now made whole by his blood
The proof that God can love humanity again
Me.

Solar Confessions

The sun, even as bright as it is, has a halo.
Much like you did the first day my eyes were locked with yours.
It’s a miracle, like magic.
Not in the sense of being fake, instead alluring.
You, much like my best daydream.
You, a lot like the first item on my bucket list.
You, with the capacity to knock the wind off my chest.
You are magical.
With the ability to saw me in half and still leave me smiling.
With the power to attach each piece of my broken heart into something beautiful.
Much like you, all powerful.
You see, you somehow made me magic too.

Sleep Deprived

What does failure feel like?
How does regret taste on the tongue?
At what moment do you feel the downcast swell in your belly?
What is the maximum dosage for pain?
When can your heart no longer bear the hurt?
How fast can you get dehydrated from crying?
These are the questions that run through my mind
While my eyes get stuck ajar all night
I despise the smell of petrichor on my bed
The rain has left my cheeks soaked again
I’m drowning from the hurt I feel in my head
This anguish is driving me insane
See, depression is not merely a feeling
It’s a sickness that hurts from within
Insomnia has gotten its claws round my neck
So I nicked my carotid and loved the feeling
They say death is not the end to pain
Yet I can palpate the serotonin rush in my brain
Alive, I was starved of sleep
But in death, I shall never suffer from insomnia again.

Hell’s Tapestry

You are the unforsaken abomination my mind is yet to comprehend
The reason for my gastroenteritis from having too many butterflies in my tummy
I never believed a human could possess all this power without even intending to wield it
You are a proof of existence of miracles
I want to love you till every fibre of my heart’s muscle knows your name
The kind of love where I strive to be my best, just for you
Where I have to change my call plan to one that allows me to talk to you for longer
To love you with all the shattered pieces of my fragmented heart
I want love – and just with you
To love you until I forget my ex-girlfriend’s first name
Till I forget how devastating heartbreak felt like
I want to love you – just you
And not for a long time
But forever.

Misery Loves Company

What is the difference between an addict and a junkie?
Why does one get sympathy and the other, judgement, when they both just want to get high?
Life is beautiful; it’s alluring, but it’s also hell.
It’s also painful and depressing.
Everybody wants an out, everybody needs one.
That’s maybe why people use drugs.
It’s also why people fall in love.
It’s why my brain was thought-tied scrambling for the correct words to form the first day I attempted to say hi to you.
Why despite you being so harmful to my soul, my body refused to ever let go.
You were my out, my source of, and also mechanism of blocking out the pain.
You, an irony of a human, gave me reason to smile at being stabbed in the heart.
These days, I’m clear-headed, no longer high.
No longer hurting from my feelings, just from what life throws.
These days, I miss you. And illogocally so, seeing as you seem to have moved on.
Moved on to finding your own new source of high.
Almost as though I never moonwalked on the cravices of the arteries to your brain to stimulate your CBD receptors.
I miss getting drunk on the brush of your lips against mine.
The only dopamine rush I get now are from thinking about how blissful our life was together.
The thought, like a hangover, also brings me pain in my head and heart.
I miss you, the same way I’m grateful you’re no longer here.
Misery loves company and you were my company.
These days, I’m no longer miserable. Just bare faced sad.
And in love with someone else’s source of high.
So what’s the difference between the one who breaks your heart and one who ghosts you, when we both felt the hurt?
Why are you seen as the victim, and I, the perpetrator?
This life, much like my skin and unlike yours, has never been fair.
What’s the difference between a junkie and an addict?
Ojoro.

Sensitive Itch

Don’t fall in love
It would bring chills to your heart and warmth to your soul
It would make you smile even on days the same colour as your deepest fears
Love is a Rudy Francisco piece transposed into music orchestrated by Handel; it is exasperatingly beautiful, but don’t fall in love
Love is deception
Love, unlike what I previously thought was merely the reaction of the brain to being bathed by endorphins from your eyes coming in contact with someone your mind is convinced you would like to rub genitals with, is real
Love is pure
It is life – it is being alive
The centre of the galaxy contains Ethyl formate; meaning it smells like rum and raspberries
Love is exactly like that;
It is sour and sweet – like spices and doughnuts
It is you reading this poem and thinking about that one person, or two (which is okay too, by the way)
It can get you depressed yet have you craving as though your life depended on it.
Love makes no sense
Just like this poem; just like you
It is your life depending on someone else
Who gives you no certain guarantee that they would not switch up on you the next minute
Love is a promise
Sometimes, it turns out to be a broken promise
Sometimes, love is hurt and tears and memories you get, hoping your Alzheimer’s kicks in and wipes it all off
The difference between a garden and a graveyard depends on what you decide to put in the ground
Love is something like that;
It is deciding to plant your heart the same place your soul was buried and hope this time, you don’t end up with a knife made of hurtful words to your chest
Once in your life, if you’re (un)lucky, you’ll meet someone who divides your life into the time before you met them, and after
They will completely shatter your view on life, and love, show you how misconstrued you were about what reality was, and how beautiful it could be
They would bring the hurt along with their baggage, and dump it with you
It’s stupid – it is me writing this and feeling the hurt all over again
It’s the clenched fist and tightened chest, the emotions that gush into your brain when you see that person you once shared your soul with in the arms of someone else
It is hate, it is hatred
Love is the reason I went to the gym and bench-pressed till my shoulders stopped moving and I didn’t feel any hurt
It sounds like the ignition to your father’s car the day he decided you and your mom were no longer part of his long term plans
Love is magic – not just in the sense of being wonderful, but also because it is fake – an illusion
Do not be deceived, don’t fall prey
Love is exhaustingly beautiful, but don’t fall in love
At least not with someone as clueless about it as me
Or you
Love is a repetition
It is me using the same metaphors as 4 years ago when I got my heart shattered for the first time
It is like the wet dream of a brother of the night’s watch during a wildling attack, feeling the same walls closing in on my soul
Love is you
Love is you doing the same thing as the first person I said “I love you” to
It is the arthritis I feel in my hands from the pain raging a warfare beneath my bones
Love is a trauma
And one I hope to God never to feel ever again.

PS: This is so stupid. Why do I still have these feelings?

Traded Hurt

Our relationship has been left out to hang, like Jesus was on the cross.
But this time, there is no salvation attached to the death.
You were more fire than I could dare tend to.
Even Satan would not survive this hell.
These days, all I ever taste is mere bland wax, no longer my spices or doughnuts.
Those are for someone else now.
You were me, just in a separate body. Same soul.
It feels weird seeing myself with someone else.
I pray you never see this, but hope you someday miss me enough to check.
You, my asphalt on which I could make track marks with my words.
My favourite piece of poetry;
Take care now.
Dear me.

Ridicule

Last night I told you I loved you
Last night, you too fell prey to my tasteless tact
You, like everyone else I’ve ever met, chose to ignore my caveat, and put your heart on my bruised jittery thighs
Thighs even I hate and continue to make bloodied lines on
My actions have always been a reflection of my mind state
And my mind is broken, much more than my heart ever could be
So how do you then expect me to reciprocate a feeling I despise?
To love you and not try to hurt you with my lies?
What do you expect when you put your head through guillotine?
How are you shocked I want you and your species as broken as me?
This is not what you deserve
But, I always say life has never been fair
Ojoro

Impure Bliss

One day, you will look back to this exact moment
This one that has your grinning from one ear to the other
This exact same one that you think is your favourite in the entire world
And you would despise it.
You will hate yourself for having loved it so much
You will call yourself dumb and stupid and foolish for being so deceived
You will think of all the things you could have achieved with this same time you wasted being happy with someone so deceptive
You will hate me.
Right now, I am your source of happiness
But you will look back and see me as the villain
Your story will have me looking like the devil
One day, you will abhor me for loving you so deceptively
But not today.
Today, bask in this false hope of what our tomorrow might look like
Let’s forget about all the bad omens.
Kiss my lips and love how they kiss back
Cuddle me in this warm embrace
Love me now
Let me claim to love you back
Be the man of your dreams and reality
Tomorrow is not important.
One day, you will miss this.
But not today.

Blindspot

Did you count my rings when you bled and cut me like a piece of wool attached to a cloth?
Did you figure out where best to hurt me, when you chopped off my branches?
Frail, by the way, you decided being whole was not something I was worth
You decided I was a felon and shattered my wood, left me in a dead pool like Francis
Did you think about my fears when you decided to haunt them?
What even they were afraid of? Cos it seems like you did.
Like you sought out the perfect way to end this oak tree, you mastered the art.
And cut me where I would feel pains but no sympathy because I wouldn’t bleed.
Maybe if I had smiled back and not said hi, this tree would not have been cut by surprise
You told me I was paranoid for writing a heartbreak piece.
Like I always do just before I get one.
You called me paranoid and told me you would never hurt me.
So why the fuck am I cut open in the streets with a knife that is most certainly yours?
If I had a knife or a gun or a broken bottle, I would stab you until your heart stopped, until my hurt ceased, until my heart scars were gone;
But that would be stupid, that would then make you a healer
My words are my only trigger, yet I am keeping them to myself like a misplaced treasure,
Because you see, the difference us is, while you cut this old oak tree in the heart, I am not a killer.

14:00

I have tried, but it seems I would never learn how to love you
I am far too engineered, far too imperfect to hold anything and not try to improve it
So I keep getting scared of putting your rounded fragile heart in the hollow of my shaky palm
Stay with me
The flavour in the sound of your fast-paced breathing blesses me with the curse of Ondine
My chest is covered in a thick sheet of latex, which is to say, I did my best to protect my heart from love
Yet somehow I got infected with the need to inhale your smile every single day I'm alive
Which is not very common as I'm only alive two times in a week
You whisper floodlight, when my soul swears it wants blackouts
You are the metaphor in the tone of my anguish
The coloured freckles on your beautiful face are an anagram for my intentions towards you
The gleam in your eyes is my motivation to never lose mine
You are the crimson cord guiding me away from the broken figments of my feeble heart
Sending me towards the mirror of hope that you call your eyes
I am nothing but the mirage of a lost boy in the rain;
You trying to hug me would only leave you drenched and alone
You, even with all the possibilities before you, still choose to love me
You still decide to make me the centre of your happiness
How on earth am I supposed to not fall in love with the tower of graceful spillage of white wine that you are?
How could I escape this positive pull?
It seems I would never know how to love you
I have tried to be who I'm not, yet this doesn't seem to work
But I would rather stumble across the right way to broaden the spectrum of devotion I bear towards you
Than let it fester, and allow my appetite for your heart wane like surname of Batman
I love you, the same way this poem was written; rushed, but with good intentions.
And though it seems I would never learn how to really love you, I hope we stumble upon it together, every day we stare at the sunset through the bespectacled lenses of our frail souls.
I hope we stumble, together.
Stay with me.

Finished Work

You’ve been unable to sleep three nights in a row.
No, you haven’t always been this way.
You realize it is finally coming to an end.
You try to rest your head, and each time, your demons come alive.
They remind you how much better it would be to die.
They tell you, “Maybe this time, cut your wrists a little deeper”.
Blood is beautiful when it seeps out of a broken soul.
And your soul has been shattered for an eternity.
Yet you have found a coping system.
You have found ten ways to enjoy the hell you have grown into:

  1. Every single time you find that your world is on fire, you just pick out a marshmallow to roast.
  2. The pain no longer haunts you, you no longer hurt; you are numb now. Maybe dying might turn out to be the one thing that would awaken your soul again.
  3. Heaven and hell are both states of mind, and you have been through it all.
  4. You used to consider dying as an escape from this life. You have come to realize it is merely just an end to it. The blackness and emptiness of eternity is far more resting than the paradise your Sunday school teacher told you about when you were 9.
  5. You have died more than once…in your mind. And every single time, it was magnificent.
  6. Your best friend calls you beautiful. She rebukes you when you try to correct her that you are obviously ugly. She thinks it is self pity. She does not realize that you have come to accept that everybody is ordinary. When people tell themselves they are special, they do not comprehend that every other person tells themselves the same. If everyone is unique, then that makes them all identical.
  7. These days, you no longer leave your bed. It is easier to rot when you are not moving. Everybody else thinks you are just an indoor person. They are right. Only, you will soon be an indoor dead person.
  8. You started writing out a suicide note. You tried to explain why you were doing this. How much you had experienced in your existence and how you were screaming for help yet the words never left your mouth. You could only write one word. One painfully stretched out word. You wanted to write more, but that is all you could muster; yet nobody would read it now because it was covered in your blood.
  9. You started reading this and hoped it would have a happy ending; you desperately wanted an extra reason to be convinced you needed to live for one more day. Desperately hoping for something to keep you from crossing to the other side. But your mind was made up from the start, because you are the author of this.
  10. This was never meant to be a finished work…

Morning Glory

It’s not daylight yet, but it’s morning.
The litotes of it all.
Just like you smile yet you’re unhappy.
The sky is covered in shades of unfolding blue, with a tinge of orange, or maybe pink, darkness infused with a little bit of light, a little like your soul.
The moon is on the other side, looking down at the occurrences, soon to be buried, like your hopes of ever finding happiness, soon to be put behind by a sun, that brings light but isn’t all that friendly. Maybe your ex was the sun.
This isn’t poetry, it’s a comparison.
You, you’re exactly like what the December winter sky looks like at 5:45 am.
Dull, but soon to be bright again, if you survive long enough.
Maybe you should try to survive, for one more day.

FULL SCHEDULE

I don’t feel the ache anymore
My chest no longer feels like it is about to be pulled apart by the pain wedged in the substance of my soul
Like the hell lodged in the firmaments of my lungs is about to burst
I frankly never have the time these days to be sad, and that is kind of sad
I’m too busy putting up a front, faking smiles and trying to pass my exams
Last night, an event occurred that should have triggered a bout of cyclothymia
But I was too tired. I tried to think about it; to, like old times, let the darkness surge from the wells buried in the closet of my belly up to the back of my chest and pervade my core
But I slept off; and when I was awake, it was already 7am and I had to prepare for my 8am lecture
I haven’t been depressed in months; I haven’t been happy either
It has just been weeks and weeks of me passing through a loop of just passing through the day
Of just surviving
And maybe, just maybe that is all I need to do
Just survive
Maybe if I make it to tomorrow, I might have enough time to be sad then
Or to be happy
Maybe