burn this melody


i tried to pluck a bouquet of words written in smoke made by airplane trails as i stared languidly at the early morning sky, but all i could distinguish from the inarticulate chaos in the naked horizon were splotches of dust clouds which reflected my own holocaust of thoughts. they spelled every sentiment within the orchard of my mind in shades of sweet white violet flowers. even when i closed my eyes, instead of being a witness to the comforting darkness, all i could perceive is the emptiness mirrored by the silhouette of white. i anxiously craved to slit every throat from each faceless ghost inside my dreams just so i could finally forget the memories they ignited until all that were left were merely embers that eventually died with the scars inside the graveyard carved beneath my teacup skin because i've become intoxicated with each song from the lips of tragedy.

but white was a void you could easily get lost into.
it was an empty grave where death waited for you
to lose in order to catch
y o u


dead leaves whispered a cinquain only i could hear, echoing my melancholy while they made their descent as i desolately watched the dying panorama from my bedroom window. the mid-september breeze sang my soundtrack like a pretty reckless song as i drowned in my own puddle of tears. even the sky reflected my sorrow as rain began to pour in huge drops, dancing a minuet played in e-minor upon the sidewalk.

i ripped a page from my mixtape heart and watched the lyrics of a sad love song burn to the fourth degree. sweet child, i am sorry. you are the only memento i have left, the only remembrance i have of him. but as i hold on to your tragic melody, the more i can feel the sting of love decaying slowly like ashes of cigarettes that die with the wind.

even now, thoughts of him fade in and out of my head, flickering like stars on the other side of midnight. he used to braid my hair with flowers and i would dance in the meadow while he'd play his guitar. at dawn, he would tell me stories about the constellations as we gaze at the horizon and when i wake up, he would kiss my forehead, next my nose and then my lips to greet me good morning.

he buried himself alive within my head along with yesterday's bones and yet, when i close my eyes, i am still haunted by his eulogy like a ghost of the sun so i suppose the only song i will still sing is his name but eventually, his memory will vanish along with my last breath.


i wrote 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 were poison, threatening to murder my sanity with one kiss of the switchblade on my skin. perhaps, one day, my bipolar heart would learn how to fall in and out of love without too much disgrace.

from my peripheral vision, i could 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 somehow, i knew you'd be there.

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


it would seem that i couldn't write a single thing that wasn't about you. you had murdered my words and raped my thoughts with your aftertaste. and my stuttering consciousness had escaped my lips to turn into this fragmented sunshine that shattered inside my irises like sparks. and love became a distant memory where your ethereal face haunted my dreams and my whispers turned into screams.

i watched my fantasies fade and wither like roses in the winter and this was the end of illusions but i couldn't stop from wishing on a broken star and insanity defined me and my heart, it would beat and it would beat on and on and it wouldn't stop like i wanted it to stop.

your words breathed 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 killed me with your cyanide tongue
and as i overdosed on yesterday's
delusions, i smiled and sank
deeper into this abyss
they called n-i-r-v-a-n-a.