Crackling Realization !

I’ve been writing for ten seasons now
sometime in the five o’clock shadow
to overcome my apathy for survival,
sometime to get out of
my candle waxed dreams
that I have burned at the cross
with mainstream reality,

sometime cross-stitching
my longing
and stringing every vowels
like Christmas light
to write anything worth putting
a meaningful title to

but none of it worked
until I started to let my bones
to get burned
in the mouth of madness
and realized
brightest are the flames
that burns the most

So now I drink my thoughts straight
and smoke out every words that comes
but that doesn’t mean I’m poet
or lover or writer or anything worth calling

may be just a ghostly cyborg
turned into punching bag metaphors
who prefers chaos
between love and peace
for learning how to live in myself

because when as a kid I was asked
what’s the difference between
love and war?
I told them I don’t know the difference

and now I’m almost twenty two
and the only difference
I saw
is that one gives you a medal
for surviving.