The power to switch the power off

Take me seriously when I tell you that I am determined to mechanically engineer my emotions. I have previously attempted to selectively numb them, but that has made no progress on my study. Your contribution consisting of empty words and broken promises has only managed to complicate the already intangible equation, without bringing new depth to the research.

Why do I want to alter the natural course of emotion, you ask? Well, because the ruins your storm leaves in the wake of destruction towers higher than all that was present before your arrival. You snatched my weapon of written words from behind me and left my brain in cuffs that only your heart could undo.

I am aware that until this day you fail to see the scope of your lies and betrayal. You claim that you break my heart for my own sake, which makes me wonder why you allowed me to fall in love with you, knowing that you yourself were toxic.

I am going to surgically remove the part of my heart that has your name engraved on it. However, in order to do what no teacher taught, I have to mechanically guide whatever section of my brain that still holds on to the memory of you away from where it brings harm to my plan. Therefore, kindly do us both a favor and get out of my head.

Only when the night sky has cracked with light do we call dawn, and by that time the stars can no longer be seen. When you realize the mistake you have begotten, know that I will be half a universe away, and you will have only yourself and your ego to blame.

Farewell my love, I hope you take better care of our memories than I intend on doing.

Beautiful Nightmare

You coldly state that you hate me, and the words slip so easily out of your mouth that I can almost swear you’ve been practicing. You ignore justifying your statement, and the fact that I might still love you makes me question the validity of my own feelings. You’re oblivious to the insomnia that shakes me, and walks me by the hand to the break of light at dusk. Time seems to stand still, but the clock hits an hour past noon and I still lie awake with bloodshot eyes missing you, and loathing myself for every minute of it.

I wish I could say that it saddens me – the fact that you’re so in love with yourself that you’re blind to everything around you.  But I could care less about your narcissism; because I know that if I died, you wouldn’t shed a tear in fear of hurting the pupil in your eyes. It is said that the eyes are windows to the soul, and if that’s the case, know that your soul is hollow.

Baby, I know I don’t need your arms around me for a peaceful nights’ sleep, I have sleeping pills for that.

Love Me Like I’m Gone

It has been a while now since I allowed you to feed me your beautifully made portion of lies, and the constant craving of your drug is slowly fading. But withdrawal brings with it another form of anxiety, a constant calling invitation to get lost in your maze of deception once again, and that calling frightens me insane.

I naively thought you would change, and you assumed that I would never leave. You were certain of the depth your poison had reached, and that someone like me could not quit. We were both wrong and I can now see you for what you really are, rather than who I want you to be.

Sweetheart, the only sweetness in your heart is in the taste of the blood that runs through it. But then I stop to ponder if your heart beats at all. I wonder if you feel the same pain that I do – when cut, do you bleed? When you close your eyes at night, do your dreams haunt you, or have you wiped your subconscious clean?

Baby, do you remember when we were good together? It was right before we walked hand in hand into a tunnel of self-destruction, making way for greed, jealousy, and mistrust. Were we even happy before that? Do you remember what it was like? Because I can’t seem to recall the touch, smell, or taste of your love.

I wish my words could engulf you and carry you back to me on an invisible throne. I wish you understood what my words meant, the meaning they carry and the pain they hide. I wish you could put my face in your hands and feel the words I want to convey rather than read them. I want you to look me in the eyes when you say you want to walk away from us.

The time has come for you to leave your cowardly ways behind, and you need to do it for yourself. Do not do it in hopes of getting me back. Because that ship has sailed, and now rests on the ocean floor.

/ Former Yours Always

In the time of ‘Dear Diary’

I have often wondered what a reflection of myself would look like through the eyes of other people. To my dismay, it is still not possible for mankind to leave their physical body and observe life from a more divine place.  Imagine how phenomenal it would be to see your silhouette live your life, only this time your silhouette has a face. Do not imagine for a second that this scenario is at all similar to looking at yourself through a mirror. A mirror, for one,  will not show you how stupid you look staring at your own reflection.

I started keeping a diary as soon as I learned how to write. At age seven I remember asking my mother to check the spelling of my diary entries. A few months later I realized that the contents of a diary should be kept secret. At age eleven all I wrote consisted of “I hate my mother, I hate my father, I FUCKING HATE MY SISTER!!” The list of people I hated at the age of eleven goes on, but that’s for another time.

When several years have passed from the writing date of an entry, my siblings and I tend to share them with each other. Today, and for the first time, I had the honor of witnessing the contents of my younger sister’s diary. It reads as follows:

” May 3, 2009

Dear Diary,

There are some things you don’t really know except if you deeply think about them; like what a big fat asshole Chirin could be. OMG I truly hate her sooo much! She loves showing off all the time. She thinks she is the best while in fact she is the worst. Either everything is the way she wants it or she stops the whole thing. She is very selfish and rude. If you unfortunately need her help, she makes you sufferuntil she decides to help or simply ignore which is more often. Like now I am sitting on my bed wanting her to explain me physics while she refuses. Mom tries to explain but fails cause obviously mom is stupid in physics. And in the morning there was something wrong with my facebook password so I asked for her help and she as usual refuses. She made me suffer 45 minutes until she came, shouted, and went back to TV. But then I fixed it alone without her fucking help.


Chirin = The following:

Asshole, idiot, whore, stripper,  mean, stupid, nasty, slut, lowlife, garbage, and unnecessary… “

After a good five minutes’ laugh, I asked her what year this was dated, and she collapsed on the floor with laughter.

“Shit Chirin, I wrote this four years ago on your birthday.”

What can I say, it’s sister love.

King of Ashes

I will no longer allow your power over me.

You will not make  my decisions,

Or define the way I live.


I know what you’re like;

You would burn me and this world down,

If you could be master or better yet, king

Of the remaining ashes.


It’s time for someone to burn you

Down to utter nothingness.


And believe me when I say,

I am on my way,

Coming for you.

Ego first, head second.


I dare you now

Show me what is left

Of your powers.

WAR – Writing Club Project

     Our war is not too different from the Wars of the Roses; we were once two halves of a whole. But when the ancient war was recorded in history, men forgot to mention the love the two families held for each other before it evolved into hate. I promise that I will never forget the immense love I had for you before  darkness gained power over our bodies and souls. I will remember the times we shared, and I shall, no matter what we do to each other, cherish those memories. Always. I swear.

My love,

     I know that the best of deeds does not lie in the worst of men, and therefore, I shield myself from you. The citadel walls I have managed to build around myself have failed to incarcerate my anger, and keep your hatred at bay.  You fight me with all you have. Fire catapults, arrows, and stones you have launched at me, and occasionally, the wall cracks. I have rebuilt and regrouped far too many times.

My love,

     You claim that I am an exotic flower begging to be plucked, and I tell you that by plucking the petals you will not gather my beauty, but rather, destroy me. When I look into the darkness of your deep eyes, and when I see that repulsively evil  smirk on your lips, I know that your plan was to do so all along.

My love,

     Our war did not begin yesterday, and it will certainly not end tomorrow. Our war is eternal, and I want to drown you in it. I will challenge you to swallow the sun, and while I watch you fail, thunderous trains of air will carry me to the moon.

My love,

     I may not believe in war, but I believe in warriors, and I will therefore allow you to be the architect of your own disaster. On the battle field we turn into animals, slicing the strings to whom we once were in swift cuts. Watching our former beings float away and into thin air.

My love,

     Lust is a powerful force, and It is the only force that keeps us together. Explaining our quantum sized love is like explaining the rainbow to a blind person. Our Botox hearts are no longer capable of such emotion. Instead, we lust for each other’s blood like we do our bodies.

My love,

We are fire and ice

And we will continue

To fight one another

Until the end

Of our time.

A Midnight Lullaby

Heavy Downpour

We have a connection,

The rain and I

A magical bond of sort

It plays my favorite lullaby

And quietly whispers into my ear:

“Slip back into your dreams, my love

You’ve got a long day ahead of you,

And I am going nowhere”

With the power of

Those soothing words,

I bid my sleeping body farewell,

And join the living realm

Of the sleeping dead.



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