Kavziell

Scent left by you, may i get over it?

I'll always be reminded of you

Whenever someone's brewing coffee

Is nearby.

Brown eyed, brown haired

You are more than your looks,

More than my will

More than my wounds.

You are everything that is warm,

Accompanying, remind my bones of the fire

Reminded us of our framework.

You wake me from my haunting dreams

And what drags me to it—sleepiness.

My nightmares are my wounds

Latch onto me like a parasite.

It has only been 3 days,

Yet how odd was it that this happens.

A dog follows me.

Volatile, violent, angry,

I call him guilt.

He got himself hurt many times,

From other people, not me.

Yet he follows me

Barks at me

Bite the people around us.

Why is it following me, yet not targeting me?

It doesnt eat, it starves.

It doesn't obey, it runs.

Runs back at me,

Runs back at another stranger.

It eats what it can't,

It eats what it don't.

It craves for pain,

Flowing vapor in my lungs,

Aching—it blinks every minute.

Flowers as beautiful as you,

I wonder will kill me?

Flower as beautiful as you,

I take to breakfast and dinner everyday

Scent as memorable as you,

Burns just like any cigarettes.

Yet you are clean

You are very clean.

Yet why is it so hard to breath with you?

As if the flowers slowly turn into something else,

Something to inhale.

Slowly filling my lungs

With the ashes of your worms.

You do not wish to be a flower,

Yet you place yourself as one

Offering bouquet, forcing, feeding.

I said "stop",

Im sure it sounds different to you.

It is.

It really is, doesn't it?

You said you are not a flower.

Do you feel like you're getting disposed?

I don't understand,

Why do you force feed me flowers

Knowing i told you to stop?

You really are the person force feeding me.

Theatre, writing poems, academic writing—academic reading, poetic reading; my soul, my blood, my life.

I want to hold someone's hand,

Feel their heartbeat,

And the warmth of their chest within a hug.

I want to be kissed by scent,

Remembered of time, forever intertwined

By kisses and marks.

I want devotion, yet it's match to loneliness

Is deep and sticky.

I want their hands on my cheeks,

Playful fingers, playful eyes,

I want my hair to be blessed,

From the childishness of someone.

I want my heart to be nurtured again,

Childish, loved, alive.

I want to find my own softness,

Blood stained bones,

Blood flowing within the bones,

Rotting, chipping, growing moss.

Dirty, rusty, decomposing.

Profile: reality, illusion, hallucinations

Oh weariness of the cursed blood

Cursed, doomed

Dirty, unworthy.

Gone long forgotten

Lost, distinct from others

Different, outcasted

Social execution with the names as the head

Rusty guillotines that is,

Watchful, televised nakedness that is

Public shaming, public nakedness

Tranquility as the sky,

Home to the ocean,

Childhood similar to the leafs.

Dear other half, the rain is unchanged.

Memories, alive and mortal

Yet dead, nonexistent in the physical.

Leaving only, the nihilism of mortality.

Or was it immortality: a nihilism?

Nostalgia is but the graves of mind,

Longing, yearning, sorrow; Grief.

Yet mortal it is: alchemized.

Warm, breathing and meaningful.

See, the rain still reminds you,

So has it died?

Is your memory precious?

Man does not pray but to forget: to be in bliss.

Pray to life, praise to joy.

Love is what's worth; warmth, a survival requirement.

The light is what you breath

And sorrow, as mortals' friend, will be forgotten;

Death is waiting.

A life worth living; a mean to life,

Daughter of Dracula

Aching canines, growing fangs

Bloody lips, bloody garments.

Immortality, beauty

Sorrow, loneliness

I swore once, that I'll be a guardian

Centuries long living creature,

Left out in the dark,

Avoid of sunshine, for i am an outsider.

My story is mine,

And so are these thorny veins

Posing as stems to my heart.

I've spoken of heart as if im breathing,

But what am i without it?

What am i without sorrow, joy, and everything

That it longed for?

Immortality comes with its cost,

And mine, is my life.

For now i understand

Immortality is the new death.

I was never the daughter of my father,

I was never born, i understand life.

Rest, under the moon

Loved for its beauty,

Wondering, in its cruelty.

Beauty is cherished,

But what about its ugliness?

I heard love out of beauty,

Never about lilith,

About far side.

Tell me, why is there always a dagger through my heart?

Maybe it's the sacrifice to be me.

So i don't sleep, to be the moon's hated side.

Atleast now i know, you're never really there.

The humans, they're never really there.

Red roses, something to belong to.

Something to akin.

It's thorns bled those who touch

As for my lungs it fill its beauty.

My heart bleeds.

The heart bled.

Throughout the body, through the warmth

Is but a bleeding, painful thing.

My dear beauty,

Red roses and the nightingale,

At what sacrifice is yours worthy of?

Mine is but an existence,

Forgotten, left into the sea

Your yearnings are like an animal's screech

Before sacrificed for food,

For man, for the food chain.

Your longing is nothing but a feast for someone,

Someone who will never be there for you.

How does praying for a ghost feel?

Praying for hands that will hold you,

Knowing it doesnt exist.

How does it feel to have nobody,

And nobody to lean on?

Death that is caused by bleeding,

With nobody to bury you,

Nobody to care for you.

I cried for the green lawn,

I cried for a cat's broken leg,

I cried for everything that is alive

For i have been dead for long.

The sun and the wind

The shuffling sound of the living

From all that is a child to their parents

To the strangers to a family

I am not wishing for any more romance.

I am not dead, i am yearning.

I yearn like a blooming fruit

I yearn like a meowing kitten,

Forgotten and left on the streets.

You're my mentor,

But i am no one.

Romance is dead, romance is gone.

There is no reason to yearn, but for my own

I wish i could be loved the way i love,

I wish i receive the way i give,

I wish I wasn't so pure.

Does the wounded still feel it stings?

Will i ever find red in the field of blue?