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Poem
When wounds keep seeping,  
dawn continues to unfold~  
 blurred projections 
    engrossed in dishonesty.  
And I wonder if the tulip moon  
  could see the ash and dust dancing  
    across the blue azure,  
mirroring the smeared lens of life,  
  where the bitterness 
     of torment I’ve endured,  
alone in agony to the sound of  
scars that bleed,  
 is the familiar fragrance I’ve worn,  
while dressed in cobalt cold comfort,  
oblivious to the jewels of jasmines  
  that await my ethereal escape  
     from this confined cruelty.  

Yet in the shadow of sunlight,  
when fears drizzle upon  
weeping waves like obsidian cinders,
I burn from the villainous rays  
  that shift and crawl  
in a writhing pattern,  
   to seize glistening galaxies  
within my powerless pulses,  
  as I am the tragic flare of twilight,  
   resting in a mahogany  
           bed of lifeless lilies,  
listening to the cursed cadence  
of metallic melodies,  
chanted by a narcissistic puppeteer  
with soulless eyes,  
mocking the ruthless reality  
he fed me with finer fangs.  

Tonight I plead to the Universe:  
unfreeze the glacier walls—  
obscuring streaks of serenity,  
for I’ve long been bruised and battered,  
in the warm embrace  
of a roseate romance that melted  
into a lethal lake of rotten red.  

If being coiled within the doleful helix  
of redundant violence  
is what the future shall unveil  
in sinful scribes,  
am I to stay chained in silence,  
or are these the storms I shall ferry,  
like an odyssey lost in  
the hypocrisy of sinister seas,  
too aimless to seek a shore  
whiter than the ivory  
  ladders to the Elysium.

Perhaps the world must witness  
the tattooed trauma  
I hide behind woes of broken vows,  
unable to find the key to unlock  
silver gateways to healing,  
as I’ve dreamt that  
eagle feathers of the deceitful sun  
would wrap me in  
sepals of solace so radiant,  
unaware of the conceited clouds  
bursting forth blistering thistles.  

But I no longer want to remain  
as the mistress of misery,  
woven into the realms  
       of grammatical errors,  
scattered across illiterate skies  
    unraveling vain verses in vermilion.  
I’ll rise from the inked inferno,  
    be the untamable mystery  
    soaring above seething syllables.  

So let the pain I’ve tasted  
     be the air of the spirit  
            that sets my angst free.  
I’ll paint my own paradise  
              where stains shall  
sprout seamless fields,  
           and vicious vines will  
           thrive as violet orchids.

Someday the eclipsed spheres would realize,
seeing the twinkling topaz within me.
 My silence was never a token of defeat;
    I am more than a victim, 
    trapped in the flashbacks of your abuse, 
    I refuse to ride the sickening
          carousel of unending oppression.
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