"The Thawing of the Spring"

Midnight came and the bell tolls
‘Tis the moment that darkness falls
One year more, one more addition
This life onwards moving unbidden

I’d hold it still and keep it close
Taking only things that I chose
Mistakes rued, feared never
this iron core to surrender

I’d like to remain ever cold and frozen
Where winter shrouds this forlorn garden
Held still and unmoving
Waiting the coming of Spring

The migration of glaciers, moving slowly
Whither goest thou? asked of solitary me
Tomb me in ice and sheath me in cold
Deaden the centre of this lone safehold

A brittle sheath holding this perfection
Icy stillness numbing sensation
Stark and pure, white powdery snow
By the Sun’s heat I’m brought low

I’d like to remain ever cold and frozen
Where winter shrouds this forlorn garden
Held still and unmoving
Waiting endlessly the coming of Spring

"If I Were to Walk in Twilight"

If I did like Eve and left 
the hard bony ribs of Adam
would splinter and crack
The sun would hide itself 
Lost, you'll be wondering
the streets in your mind's night

But you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

If my restless fingers
should press the proverbial button
a ray of cleansing light
will herald your destruction
and left me to pick through 
the bones of your abject humiliation

But you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

If I decide to welcome
the sleepless nights 
you kept hidden from me
Will you keep me sane
and lucid, grounded in love
with a broken heartstring?

No, you couldn't care less
No, not the one who hides
silver slivers in your mouth
Where the bite left me wounded
poisoned, weakened
Frozen and cold

Of open letters, Pt. 2

Dear Friend-of-convenience,

I regret the things I’m about to say.

I apologize for the things kept silent all these time. I was under the mistaken belief that my place as a friend is to remain hunkering under your colossal ego—or foolishness. That my duty as a friend is that I should hold my piece, and turn a blind eye to your faults.

Well, no more.

I refuse to confront you because it would be a pointless exercise anyway: you’ll either insist you were in the right and I was just touchy, or that nothing was wrong and it’s all in my head, or … that I served my purpose and you have no more need of me.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the kind of friend you want: the one who doesn’t call, or ask how you’re doing. A birthday wish forgotten. The one you could ignore until you deigned to grace me with your magnificence.

I’m not sorry now for being the one who tells you you’re a dick. A louse. A douchebag. I’m not sorry for being the one who jerks you short before you hurt yourself and those around you. As your friend, I had hoped that you’d appreciate my candour and not how well I could spit-shine your ego.

I apologize for taking too keen an interest in your well-being—in your successes and failures. I’m sorry that I pushed you just a little extra so you could shine. I’m sorry for paying so much attention to your improvement because I thought that’s what a friend should do. I’m sorry I went the extra mile to help you with your new job, you moving house, your new business venture, that new artwork you commissioned but deemed never good enough for your wall—despite it being done for free!

However, I won’t apologize for not caring about your excuses and lies. Or your vacillating nature. I’m not sorry for the snide look I gave, or the sneer on my lips, when you get uppity that I dared harp on what is your one constant—those promises and commitments you never delivered. Words that freely tumble from your mouth that I suppose you can’t help but trip on them when they lie knee-deep surrounding you.

I don’t regret my stand when I say one is only as good as one’s word and that you’ve been found wanting.

Therefore, do excuse my censorious looks whenever we meet. We’ve both played out our hand, and I’m cashing out before I bankrupt myself—emotionally, physically and what have you.

I don’t regret the experience of knowing you. You’re an interesting piece of work, I must say.

Then again, we all are.  

Yours distastefully,

Tired and drained.