escape

the first sign is tachycardia, the doctor said.
(your heart pounds like there is no tomorrow.
no, no, no, you are strong, you are able to do this—)

then the dyspnea happens.
(the oxygen will not vanish, dear.
remember, inhale slowly, exhale, inhale—)

“after that, you’ll have hypocapnia.”
(give up.)

as soon as someone raps the door frantically, your body loses its balance.
(the feet says good bye and the head says hello to the ground.)


[1] tachycardia: an increased heart rate (a heart rate that exceeds the normal resting rate)
[2] dyspnea: shortness of breath (breathlessness)
[3] hypocapnia: the result of dyspnea, known as hyperventilation.
[4] the signs of panic attack.

( for poetry 101 rehab. i didn’t participate last week challenge. shame, it was a good prompt. )

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the sliver of the dream

the month was August,
it was meant to be prosper, joy, happiness
yet there was nothing left except –
peoplelyingdeadtherewasalotofbloodeverywhereeverywheremomi’mscaredwhereareyou

they called it the bloodiest month,
too much people falling in deep slumber,
unawaken.

it kept happening.
dordordordor repeted like a mantra,
the smell of blood lingering in the air,
tainted.

so did the earth.
therewasloveunsaidundeclaredtherewaspaintherewasregrettherewasmemoriestherewasdeath

0

what’s the difference between humans and animals?
nowadays, they tell you; we are in higher level than they are.
in war, they told you; nothing.

(in 5 am, someone woke up, gasping, sweating, emotionally exhausted.
there was nothing left except a yellowish paper of iloveyousomuchdon’tforgetthat, a blood-stained gun, lots of memories, and a very weary soul.)


– eight, in chinese, means a lot; wealth, prosper, etc. look here.
– august is the month dedicated to julius caesar, who was a Roman general. so, the bloodiest month then. also the first world war happened in july-november. august was included.
– i just want to write a good muse of independence-battle poem but it turned out to be like this. enjoy your war-genre poem.

the sun itself

i hate darkness. it’s creepy and scary,
as creepy as doggy and as scary as daddy.
mommy also doesn’t like darkness.
she cries when it is so dark and creepy and scary.

mommy says my laughter is like
the sun, and because the dark
is afraid of the sun, i laugh.

so then the dark will go.
so then mommy will not be afraid.
or wake up with something nasty on her cheek.
mommy tells that it’s okay, but i think it’s not.

but mommy continues that,
even though the darkness is bad, we still
need it. i don’t know why. but mommy says so.

“honey,” mommy calls.
mommy’s voice is always soft and calming,
it is always warm and full of light.
maybe mommy is the sun itself.

the sun which always is being covered by the darkness.

“what did mommy said about not going to kitchen while mommy is away?”


originally i wanted to go with creepy theme buuuuuuut hey, there was you are my sunshine playing! my dark mood vanished suddenly and i retyped it all over again. but, ah. here it is. not-so-child thought. interpretation: rain, rain, go away. come again another day.

reverberating (not us, sadly)

reality is revolting, it’s come into conclusion.
underneath the ground there we lie
being covered, our spirits are;
bent and crafted as we lose the very
important core; friendship and love and peace.
shortly, after a cannon is fired –
hence a (deadly) history begins.


> for the awesome poetry 101 rehab. 

Skin Deep

That pale skin,
oh so flawless skin of your hand trailed up to the white wall.

(Once upon a time, there was me, you began.
Sometimes you talked like you sang, hadn’t i mentioned that?
And it wasn’t me at the same time.)

There was a girl, hiding behind an oak tree,
whispering to the wind,
i want to be like her.
Jealously.

(I don’t want to be me, you confessed.
I tilted my head, indirectly asking, why?
All i got were your favorite crooked smile, and your mysterious reply:
some questions are better left unanswered.)

Hadn’t i mentioned how beautiful you were?
Hadn’t i mentioned how people wished they were you?

So, why?

(Don’t judge a book by its cover, you said.
How i wished i had seen your expression, your once-in-lifetime real expression,
that deep-pained one, which had been through all problems.
Which was made by the harshness of life.
How i wished.)

There was a headline on local newspaper i bought earlier,
a high school girl killed herself, left a note.

(You smiled, smiled like all days ago, where life was just about ponies and dolls.
Thank you, you whispered.
And disappeared.)

Beauty isn’t skin deep.
It’s more than that.

Habitual

there is this time,
(tick, tock, tick, tock)

days go unnoticed, so do the hours, minutes, and seconds.
why should i care, anyway?

why
should
i
care
?

the girl in the house is studying, probably she has an upcoming exam.
(i sincerely wish she can pass it)
the children in the field are laughing happily, flying up (up, up, up!) a kite.
(how i want to laugh like that)

what do i do?
nothing.

like, n o t h i n g.
why should i care?

blood runs in my vein,
so does on my wrist,
down, down, down, to the earth.

it’s all habit.