Hear my plea,
Like you,
I sometimes think,
About me,

Don’t leave,
Don’t you see,
That I’m just another,
Stranger who’s not meant to be,

Who reminds me,
Of the one,
The way,
It once was,
The way we used to be,

Come back,
To me.

Flowers Underneath Your Pillow


There are wounds that do not bleed blood,

But instead it seeped ambition, innocence, sanity, and dreams,
Wounds that drained the now empty circuits of my brain,
Wounds that slowly seeped from within, incited confusion, headache, insomnia, pain,
Wounds that neither god nor men, 
Could possibly mend,
Wounds that takes away your emotions,
Your sight, your breath, your hearing,
Wounds that killed you but keeps you living,
Kept you alive to feel as every echo bounces around your now empty shell,
Bellowing in the narrow halls of your consciousness,
As it subjugates your life in a living hell,

These wounds are mine,
To be taken to my deathbed,
To be felt, and never to be left behind.


Here I lay awake,
Drown by my own thoughts,
Tribulations and past mistakes,
Here I lay awake,
In my unsettled state,
Seeping consciousness,
Relying on these pills I take,
Here I lay awake,
Hoping each breath,
The last one I’ll ever make.


Like the silhouette that hangs before the night light,
The thought of you wanes back and forth,
It rumbles,
It rocks,
It exist,
And it persists,
All night.

You, syff

I miss not bringing my toothbrush when we travel,
Because I know you’d bring yours,
And I’d save an extra hoodie or sweater,
Because you’d always forgot yours in a rush,
So I kept one for you to wear later,
I miss how you’d find me a crowd,
Because my head screams out loud,
My stature and my height,
Could never escape your sight,
I miss being lost with you,
Because neither of us planned,
And we ended circling around like idiots,
I miss thrift shopping,
When we’d pick out crazy outfits, and ended up trying,
Foolishly wearing them, rolling over laughing,
I miss eating with you in the middle of nowhere,
Appealing to your crazy appetite,
And finishing leftovers,
When you complained your jeans getting too tight,
I miss walking on the sidewalk with you,
And having our night talk,
After hours, after dinner,
Without pillows nor any specific thoughts,
Just dry tarmac and hot weather,
I miss walking,
And offering to carry you on my back,
Because you weight just like peanuts,
I miss wishing of the future,
Because of distance, we hoped of a something better,
We promised of something together,
Sadly, it never worked out.

Here I am, cowardly enough to write these,
Because I lack any courage, to say it out loud.

-syff, the beautiful you.


Take me away from the gods above,
If they teach me to discriminate,
To differentiate,
To hate,
But never to love,

Take me away from the gods above,
If they deny me of my neighbors,
Simply because of their faith,
Of what they whispers before bed,
And before a meal,
What kind of god is that,
That requires me, the creation,
For him to be real.

Take me away from the gods above,
That had created heaven,
But chose to test the people,
To gain attention,
That chose to leave us,
Abandoned and forsaken,
To live on this wretched earth,
From the consummation of our parents,
To pain of birth,
Why had they created,
Disguised as human,
To give free will,
Free speech,
But separated, men and women,

Take me away from the gods above,
Because from what I’ve seen,
I’d rather believe in chance,
Than something planned in advance.

A thought


It’s been awhile and I’ve been thinking of publishing a compilation of my poetry. I’m still in the process of getting a publisher for it. Self-publish is also an option but I still have doubts on the overall process.

Any thoughts?


Living life, alone,
Losing essence,
You, the miracle,
Beautiful existence,
Life of yours,
Inexplicably were,
Best of mine,
Untouched, pristine,
Even by time.

Your everything

Lately my nights has been occupied by the thoughts of you,

Your smile,

Your laugh,

Your everything,

It’s mesmerizing,

It felt real, and it keep me awake,

Your smile,

Your laugh,

Your everything,

I miss you,

And your presence is all that I want,

Your smile,

Your laugh,

Your everything,

And I’d do anything,

For you to come back, and for me to be,

Your smile,

Your laugh,

Your everything.


What is poetry but emotions put to words,
An organized mess of emotions,
Blood written on paper,
Requires no convoluted plots nor counter plots,
There’s no need for intricate sentence,
Simply the purest, unadulterated thoughts,
Scribble down your demons,
Describe your hell,
In each labyrinth of person, is a story to tell.
Behind a smile conveys an unimaginable feeling,
Distraught emotion over the pain they’re dealing,
It’s a story that needs no introduction,
No ending nor solution,
Give it a hear, pay attention,
A simple question could change everything,

“Are you okay?”