i thought i saw you in the square the other day. we'd never been to new york, but we liked to imagine the billboards were secret gateways to sensibility. that as long as the sunlight streaming through the acacia leaves formed beautifully symmetrical patterns, who cared if the critters scorched beneath? our clandestine fantasies left dragon wings tattered and fairy dust gray, but we didn't stop. not until the kingsmen had raided the castle, until the fire ants had twitched and burned, and the billboard lights had flickered away.

like the stains of mint ice cream on my laced white mannequin like the stains of salty dew on my velvety Tigger napkin like the stains of blue ink on the creases of my palm like the stains of scarlet dye on the rubble of the bomb like the stains of idle whispers on strayed autumn roads like all the things we once loved and will never again know.

The tires skid

Over dampened streets

Yet the tanks

Still run dry

And soon the oppressed

Become the opressesers

Yet both remain colonized

Forevermore

axolotls

riddle my fancy

for those beaded eyes

are of a teddy bear i lost

lifetimes ago

that innocent smile

is of a boy i once knew

now left blinded

by the eclipse

we watched the faltering rays

as they gazed upon us too

yet now we have lost

all that kept us young

the match is lit,

i hear the laughter of a seven year old self being tickled by her brother, the sound of a cricket ball hitting the piano, and the animated voices of inanimate stuffed animals.

the flame dances,

i see the playstation controllers, the fight for the better shower panel, the patient paintbrush strokes and the stories filled with utter nonsense.

the wax burns,

i smell the burning microwave cake, the musty drawer filled with ribbons and yarn, the salty sea next to sandcastles and the grass after rain.

the candle melts,

i waltz with the minute hand, and weigh my heart next to a pot of gold.

if only remoulding the wax would make the candle last forever

the sail lays limp and lifeless on the mast now, despite the feverish wind. but its not the rattling boat that pains me, but the miraging island in the distance. to fathom that you'll be amidst the date palms and the golden gravel, scarcely noticing me anymore. how can i ever accept that the seas will ever belong to anyone but you and i? that the same streaming sunlight that appeared with your laughter will soon dissolve into the roots of some green?

but you were just a potrait in my picture book, and I had delved too deep into the pages.

are the numbers you plot

graphically clear?

the paths which we'll walk

parallel I fear

are the values we sought

co-linear?

must the code to your heart

be so cryptic, my dear?

pain is not relative. tears are neither a sign of weakness nor strength, but above all they are not a sign of pain. tears mean you can swim, you can remain afloat despite the murky depths grasping your last breaths. but feeling pain and not being able to cry, that means you drown. that means there's a crater inside of your heart that no amount of magma and tephra could fill back again, that there's a hollow that no amount of love could repair. so when people ask me if i don't care because i'm not crying, that my pain is lighter, so light that i can't express it, they're wrong. the mineshafts inside of me are being dug with no prospect of gold nor diamonds being found. so i will not cry. i will merely sit and stare at the void in silence, the void so dark and expansive, the void now tearing me apart.

but i find i seem to like the sting of my cold fingers on my cut lips. the blazing sun penetrating my cornea, just to see that momentary rainbow. how i feel the computer keys burning up, but i type away anyways, for how can i ever be devoid of words? how can any being possibly come along that's brighter than the sun of icarus, snatching words away like drops from a wine-glass filled to the brim with thoughts, and yet still cuts deeper than the scars i thought would fade away? but then again, how can one's wings melt away when they've been moulded with melted wax?

the light reflecting off your lashes like the butter glistening on freshly baked croissants. your smile so delicately laden in your perfectly moulded cheeks, like chocolate chip cookies on a hot summer day, baking in the oven as we bake in the smouldering sun. your nearly immaculate curls, aside from that one adorable little tuft always sticking out like an excited poodle's tail, but a bowl full of macaroni, with a single fork and an 60's monochrome rumbling in the background. because i'm not in love with you. no. you just make me want to swallow down all the fluttering butterflies in this boundless field we have crafted, with bubbling champagne. perhaps finally then the butterflies in my stomach would rise from the acidic depths they have sunk into too.

but you secretly despise these walls they've built for us too, don't you?

late in the night, we both clutch our pillows, as if it's possible to hold on to the memories without holding on to the pain. we both wipe our tears away without realising they're being bottled and we're floating endlessly in the swimming pool they form. the heart shaped pasta i try to blind myself with is morphing, morphing with the crimson sauce until the plate is adorned with spider cracks.

i know you want to demolish these walls. i do too.

but the lines have been drawn, the stones have been laid, the stars have been misaligned forever.

but somehow now, as i run this tissue over my face layers and layers of superstitious whispers come down with it am i who i believe myself to be? or am i who they believe me to be? is identity relative? am i merely a figure drowning in ink? a name etched in the runes of some forbidden muse? my tissue box is emptying now but the answer seems astray i shall continue to don the melted plastic that they see me as never to disintegrate from the minds of ghostly paper souls

perhaps the planet of death, the planet so ruthlessly outcast will cause another galaxy to fold in. are black holes really realms of nothing? or are they just another soul longing, another heart desperately waiting for it's broken piece to show up? perhaps like a dying star, the dying planet will emerge too. perhaps like a supernova you'll emerge brighter than ever, momentarily blinding entire milky ways. it's a heavy gamble to take, darling, but right now, i'm betting all the stars in the sky for this strange, plutonian love.

maybe two broken hearts, halved and splintered, can make one? maybe all the shadows we waltzed with in the past, all the polar blades we willingly rested between, would turn into lillies in the sunlight? maybe the ethereal wine keeping us on our heels will turn into wicker baskets and plaid sheets? maybe the smoke keeping us behind our masks will turn into sickly sweet perfume, scenting the new façade that we will don soon?

or maybe, the lies upon which we once had to build our paper houses, will turn into truth, will turn into love.

maybe, just maybe, our hearts will beat again.

but sometimes, in the midst of the haze keeping us safely apart, i see my head on your shoulder. i see us laughing in the salty breeze, your hair whipping backwards as you whine about needing a new hairstyle. i see us escaping echoing voices and getting ice cream from a small roadside stall, coughing away our sore throats. i see us tapping our fingers on misty windowsills at the back of the bus, bopping our heads to playlists we'd listen to for hours on end. i see you wiping my tears with your sleeve, even if its of a brand new sweatshirt, for you care more about me not being sad. little do you know id give up paradise, and cry the seven seas for you.

and then the haze resurfaces. and all i see is the veil making sure we don't bring heaven down on ourselves.

all i see, is all, but you.

the smoke plumes,

tephra raining

from the supposed heavens

what are we,

if not drunk

on Molotov cocktails

my darling alibi?