a poem about:

Man I see all the scars
And I see all the fear
You’ve been through a lot before you
Ended up out here
Just a random guy
I might’ve never met
You remind me of me
Feeling like a silhouette

But man, it’s a p big world
And dude, don’t stay on one place, curled
Into yourself, u know what’s inside
It’s somewhere out there where all the fun hides
Get a colourful bandage on every scratch
And if you want, broski, I’ll be your rainbow patch.

I’m starting to get obsessed with MommaCQ by @alainaprana and now I finally got to making some fanart of my fave BFF couple :)

Call me warrior

And now you have been asking my name so that you could fit some letters on the floor of the empty lanes of this page.

I could tell you I am a poet but the words I try to write still cut me with its edges and I hardly remember the texture of it when I wake up aghast in the middle of the nights.

I could tell you I am a poet but the only thing I sip from the ink that flows is the courage which still doesn’t quest this fear of breathing.

My mouth still tastes like the defeat I swallow every night just to keep a new page next to my pillow for the fresh battle I wake up to. I can count my good days with my fingers and still all I use it for is to write something better this one more time. My spine still shapes the regret like my favorite cup I drink tea in. The tips of my fingers still peel the flesh every time I console myself for being human. I still pull my hairs in a bun big enough to stop all my thoughts in the dark roads of my head. Some days I sit on the horizon just to know what grey feels like.

There are days when my eyes don’t rain enough to wash away all the sins my nightmares are all about and I still put on my pen to make the images immoral. I can’t fork the grief out of my chest and the only thing my lungs house are often the things I never talk about. I am a box of phobia that hides behind the whitespace of metaphors and often the words I use don’t do justice to the abyss my mind is all about.

Every poem I try to write turns into a battle I try to hide the melancholy of and yet I have not fully known what a battle feels like even after years of writing. I swallow the blood that rushes from the insides of my mouth for holding sad words for too long and the only thing I know today is to vomit them on page before I run out of time.

I am a graveyard of the hands I didn’t hold tight enough and these words still shake when I write about them and I have now learnt what eclipses are all about. I smell like the forgotten moon on the dark fortnight and I still carry empty lines in my pocket just to stick it to the windows of my night when the lights of stars aren’t bright enough to light up the page.

I could tell you I am a poet but the itching of being here today speaks otherwise. So if some day your really ask me my name, I would tell you, I am not a poet, yet. Call me warrior.

It does not matter where you go, as long as you go with your whole heart.
—  ck.writes (on Instagram)

Life is a dead end.
Try different, end up the
same.
People that think they think
in different shades end up
with their lookalike.
Short blonde hair, long brunette
beard.
Bare minimum.
I tried. I did. More of the 
same.
Until we die. We are alike. 
Find a partner that looks just like 
you. Whoever likes you is the 
person you know you are.
She looks like me, she is for 
me. He does this. I do this. Idiots
doing what’s always been done.

violent reunion (find again)

/// for him ///

i’ll find you again
give me a decade or so
we’ll see each other
in a bar or in a cafe

you’ll punch me in the face
for lack of anything to say
i’ll kick you in the gut
blame it on my reflexes
suck back the blood
through my nose
you’ll be one inch away from
puking up your dinner

you’ll chuckle and i’ll snort
we’ll laugh it off
and part ways again
we’ll repeat the same ritual
in about ten more years


or anyways i’m hopin so

She closed her eyes and wished she would never wake up again because her dreams were so much better than the cruel world she lived in.
—  ck.writes (on Instagram)

I still remember everything.
I try to forget you
But this damn heart of mine won’t let you go.
It’s been years since you left
But the pain is still fresh
I have a box full of your clothes.
I find myself crying when I see your photos.
I tell myself you’re gone
I try to move on
but I still hold on
hoping that you’ll come
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