L’Appel du vide

And capitalism is dying.

And it still feels like hell.

I want to be happy,

while the flames

are burning, but

it still feels like hell.

You’re a toxic lover.

Made me think

you’re beautiful with

the dreams you sold:

A Hollywood romance.

A big house. A

white picket fence.

Two kids and a dog.

(My parents came from

Afghanistan for a better life,

to the same hands that

made them flee, as if it

would feed us)

You see now I’ve grown,

and I just want to cry

all the time, because

nothing about you

was true. But you’re all

I ever knew and what do

we now pray to, since

you killed God.

I think about texting you,

even though my friends

tell me not to.

I stalk your instagram profile,

and I know I haven’t really

moved on.

Fuck, I’m pathetic.

I’m scared

of how alone I’ll be

when you’re gone.

But maybe,

I’ll find myself,

whatever that means,

and see colours,

when I finally heal

when all that’s left

are your embers.

And maybe red

will not be a bad colour.

Maybe it won’t mean

I’m a rebel. You see,

I really don’t want

to be a commie.

That’s just what

you call me.

I mostly just want

to sleep but I gotta

wake up for work,

and rot from staring

at a screen.

And maybe that’s

why I just wanna

sleep. And maybe

one day

red will mean

no rhyme, yet love means -

yet joy blooms, like a lone

rose amongst weeds.

The human spirit

is tenacious;

voracious in

its appetite

for grace.

Life is like the

sweetest, sweetest

wine, like love at

first sight, like when

an infant opens its

eyes, and sees

its mother for

its first time.

To hear the symphony

to which

the birds

twirl, to which

the wind

whirls, to which

the earth

spins...

One must drink of it,

but not too much,

for life sours

when it is clung to,

in my mind, a billion ways

before I die.

I’ll forever wonder

how you’ll seem, under

every beam of light.

I’ll forever dream

a dream of you.

So, you can be