Anaesthetic 6: The Curse of Her Doppelgänger Sorrows.

She sees you everywhere she goes.
Every single part of life that she knows,
Deeply entangled in proof of your existence.

Your doubles haunt her, their very resemblance,
Even in a perfect stranger’s passing semblance,
Sends pangs of regret through to her stomach.

The engagement ring you both hand picked
Underneath the tree at a summer picnic;
The park’s memory inescapably tormenting.

You cannot stop her incessant remembering
Or ease her fears, for her body trembling
is the only response she has to her haunter.

So my dear Ex-spectre,
Do you really expect her
To simply move on so fast?

When she found out she wasn’t the last
And how much you lied about the past,
“How could she ever recover?” I ask…

When in the light she wants to bask,
but wears her heartbreak, an eternal mask,
To hide her grief, disappointment, and shame.

But who else is there for her to blame
When everything reminds her all the same?
“That’s just the curse of her doppelgänger sorrows.”


Photo by Kayla


Promise 2: Last

I savor our final days like it was our last,
Like the cool droplets in the summer heat.
I count them down like all other days past,
And curiously ask when next shall we meet

But the days and weeks grow long,
And I, too, am weary of the gaps.
How far my steps and my breathing
Will carry me before I collapse?

I savor the end with you but not without conflict,
Neither bitter nor resentful of the time in between.
I am patient, but I am only human. It would seem,
What renders me vulnerable is not – the waiting,

It is the thought of becoming a liar.

And when waiting is all I can do
Because my word is all I can give.
The passage of time, my only respite,
These promises are given in earnest.

“I want you to be worth the wait.”
I hold in me that one final hope.
If you strip me bare to my core,
Leave me with that one belief.

I am not foolish enough to think that anything is owed;
Words are only as worthwhile as the hope they represent,
And we place such value on that air, it made so precious.
And your promises to me, are worth all of their weight.

But what weight does waiting have,
When promises are like bated breath.
When held, our days grow numbered,
and near the end, while there is still time,
I refuse to relinquish my last remaining hope.
It is the only thing I offer that will not vanish;
I would rather suffocate than to breath our last…


Semblance 7: I, Apart from You

I want to stand by You again,
But my legs have failed me.
Without hope, I cannot stand
The sight of myself. So lonely,
I want to feel like myself again.

My thoughts of You yield no answers,
To be separated from You, is worse still.
When that feeling of closeness wavers
Without it, I’ve neither hope, nor will.

I won’t be able to overcome my gravity
For my legs are aching with numbness
And my heart is heavy with emptiness,
The weight of its despair gives way.

I cannot hope to stand tall without You
Without your strength I’m unable to be.
To venture forth, I can no longer move.
I am hindered, trapped by my inability.

I want to hope again. I can’t imagine
Which is worse? To be truly alone?
Or to be forever waiting? I’ve known,
For You, I will be eternally patient.
It is You, I want to stand by again.

I’ve been trying to use fewer regular rhyme schemes in favor of something more irregular. The stanzas that slightly alter the rhyme scheme are meant to bring attention to specific lines. The clustered rhymes kind of naturally came out when I originally drafted the poem, so I stuck with the format rather than trying to make everything rhyme in the ABAB format for each stanza. Aside from all that technical stuff I wanted to play around with the significance of how far and close the ‘You’ and ‘I’ are from each other.

The short story is nearing completion, it is basically in the rewriting and editing stage. I am aiming for before the end of March. I am also considering arranging it with some folks to read it live, so if anything happens with that, I will announce it in the next post.


Semblance 6: Villanelle Empathique

No matter how much they hurt you,
Can’t we show a shred of sympathy?
We don’t know what they’ve been through.

We all have bad days, what else is new?
Imprisoned, we can’t seem to break free.
No matter how much they try to hurt you.

What a difference it could make, if only we knew
Just how much torment we cause. Regrettably,
We don’t know what they’ve been through.

What they say to her, a kind person would eschew.
Yet, she dovishly croons her melancholic melody.
“No matter how much they try to hurt you…”

Poisonous words, dripping with malice and spite spew
Hate, it has a source. They’re not always our enemy.
We don’t know what they’ve been through.

Some acts of desperation, we often misconstrue.
Consideration will allow us to understand, eventually.
No matter how much they try to hurt you,
We don’t know what they’ve been through.

This is a more of a description about the problems our protagonist has to face. She is met with hateful words, but her only response is to try and understand why people are this way. Of course, this is an extreme example and not every problem can be solved in this manner, but maybe if people and their enemies tried to understand the other side, maybe some messes would be solved and less feelings hurt.

I am trying to hit 10 poems in this series, so a few new ones are in the pipeline for the coming weeks. In addition to that, I have some short stories that might pop in near the end of March. Look forward to that one because it’ll be nice and spooky! That’s my hope anyway.


Sonnet 1: Hope is a Path pt. 1

Enveloped, drowned. Sunken deep into the murky abyss.
The darkness entraps in its depths those who dare gaze
Inward. Light faintly glows, attempting to pierce the haze.
I dare to traverse alone, with careful footfalls in the mist
Impeded only by my will to continue. My doubts, I dismiss
This inward journey did not take long; I remain unfazed.
The event horizon swallows whole what little that stays,
And the end of my path in sight; Onward, I follow my bliss.

The light shines even brighter still, at the edge of oblivion.
Her name is Hope and I remembered at that moment, still,
Her luminescence lit a path Darkness rendered invisible
Faced with the choice, I stumbled down the path-labyrinthian
and followed her new path therein, newfound courage instilled.
I breached my darkness, but it from light, is indistinguishable.

I started writing this and felt like it needed a few more parts, but I thought it was complete enough construction-wise to stand on its own for now. It has a pretty bleak outlook on being consumed with our own inward feelings and how hope can guide. Hope is something that shows us the way, but it is pretty easy to lose when you get it. I’ll be working on this more alongside some other non-poem stuff that I have planned out, which will be coming out at some point.


Semblance 4: Here in the Snow

This particular poem is dedicated to my good friend A_k_lemay, Happy birthday! ❤ ❤ ❤

Just a little longer. Please, I want to wait here in the snow.
My family can wait. I’m in no rush to be at home.
No house could be so warm, none that I know.

Fond memories of home feel like they were so long ago.
They comfort me out here so I don’t feel so alone.
Just a little longer. Please, I want to wait here in the snow.

My feet refuse to move along, they aren’t willing to follow,
as if to say, “No need to go back yet,” but still I won’t bemoan.
No house could be so warm, none that I know.

Each and every snowflake here is more hospitable, although,
it has been a long time since I’ve had such kindness shown
Just a little longer, Please, I want to wait here in the snow.

It makes no difference, I’d rather stay put here than go.
My home, I may live there, but it is difficult to call my own.
No house could be so warm, none that I know.

That house that I regard so distantly, its stove that was once set aglow,
Burns coldly, now its frigid walls are no more inviting than a tombstone.
“Just a little longer, please. I want to wait here in the snow,
No house could be so warm, none that I know.”

Continuing on with the series of serious poems, this one tries to illustrate how a cold snowy day brings comfort to the narrator as opposed to the warm house in which he/she resides.

I wanted to get this one out before winter comes to a close, but this poem has a bit of a special place in my heart so I wanted to make sure that its revision lived up to my expectations. Since I did two serious poems in a row, the next few will be a little lighter.

Thanks for reading!

Semblance 2: The Doubleness of Identity

Forever undecided. How fickle we are,
The method by which we are defined.
Stagnant. Stubborn in our ways. Marred.
We are ever changing, the past left behind.

What am I not, or what I want to be…
Am I more or less than what I say?
Do those pretending to be friendly
Not end up as friends anyway?

Do those pretending in pursuit of love
Not fall in love in the same manner?
Picking and choosing attributes above
Our true selves, we tuck away the others.

Do those who try to be fake in vain
Make a habit of pretending?
A pretender-pretending-to-pretend’s bane.
Falls prey to the reality they are creating.

The deceiver in order to deceive
Feigns deception but eventually succumbs
To their own lie, and in order to believe
Their falsity, they are consumed by its outcome.

We belong somewhere, and yet we’re excluded
From our own inclusion though we’d hate to admit
That we are actually who we previously described
Though despite pretending otherwise, identity remit.

What about us are we trying to prove is true
When What we’re pretending to be is Where we are?
How can we tell, with the lies we fail to see through,
Who will be forced to endure the worst honesty scars?

It’s been a while since I worked on something new from this past month. The next few serious poems are about some serious things. Things tend to get pretty dark, but hopefully their meaning is able to reach. This one is all about when bending the truth benefits you greatly; you either amend your own reality to fit your lie or get consumed by a self-made torrent of dishonesty. Eventually, the truth manages to find a way to rear its ugly head, for better or for worse, but we’ve all been in a position where we were trying to be something we are typically not, we slowly and incrementally incorporate elements of that very thing until we make a change. It is certainly something to think about…

Hopefully, the weather for you guys is treating you well. The recent snow storms like to prevent me making plans as of late, but I plan on getting back on track with things.


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Semblance 1 : The Laughter of Tears

Mom calls dad funny names all the time!
That’s just what couples do, from what I see.
The broken glass shatters, and I hear its chime.
how clumsy could they possibly be?

Sometimes they get a bit carried away
but I think they apologize in the end, right?
It’s never mentioned at the end of the day
Around the dinner table, they never fight.

They never take things too far when I’m near.
Somehow, they manage to laugh it off still.
People say that there comes a moment where
Crying and laughter are indistinguishable.

The truth is, I don’t find it funny at all,
Their jokes are just as terrible as mine.
I can’t bring myself to laugh, yet they still fall.
These tears give me a better punchline.

There’s something unsettling about a rhyme scheme attached to a rather gloomy setting. I lightly explored the contrast between laughter and crying. It is somewhat inspired by a moment where I thought someone was laughing hysterically only to find out that they were actually crying. Weird things like that just stick out in my mind y’know?


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