- I Need To Be A Flower In The Daytime , And A Light In The Dark .

“I think you lost all interest in this world. You were disappointed and discouraged, and lost interest in everything. So you abandoned your physical body. You went to a world apart and you’re living a different kind of life there. In a world inside you.”

— Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

A gossip.

Dark clouds cover my inner thoughts.

I hate it. And it annoys me.

It makes me weak.

A whole space of excuses, laughters, expanding around my ego.

I have no time for this.

Twisted, I don't know where I belong anymore.

What's the meaning of this?

Who's interrupting my mind behind the scenes?

Am I still truly alone or will find comfortable place soon enough?

Nothing is harder than carrying four shoulders on your own, chin is down, body is damaged but still willing to mark more scars because I know it's worth it. I know I am somewhere close.

But when did I find the door?

I can't sleep and stay awake longer,

I hope for my very close end to come,

and then, I'll be living in my own peace.

-t.f.s.

I compared her to my sunsets. She threw away the stormy clouds in her pocket and showed her shiny smile. That's called a morning sunshine.

-t.f.s.

Senryū VII

Malevolence

through the eyes of a child's pray ,

devil was once an angel .

-t.f.s.

“Don’t confuse your path with your destination. Just because it’s stormy now doesn’t mean you aren’t headed for sunshine.”

— Unknown

The tip of your fingers led me to beautiful places- like the beauty in your eyes,

but in my dreams they were slowly fading

when you rushed our kiss to end.

-t.f.s.

“With such a hell in your heart and your head, how can you live? How can you love?”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

The winter sun in tow behind you,

teeth bared at the wind,

you are autumn’s last ember.

Never would I yearn for summer

in the presence of your lunar smile.

Amidst the city’s electric hum,

I sing only of you,

November,

of the frost that numbs my bones.

Never would I retreat inside

and forsake the glory of autumn’s end.

Diana, The Huntress by Jules Joseph Lefebvre (19th Century)

Listen ,

Sounds of

Your heart

Spilling

In my ear ,

A whole

Born

Existence

Before me.

-t.f.s.