His hello isn't just a hello.
It's the echo of his 'no...

They lift my legs.
Left. Right...

Sometimes I think I've had enough
of polluting the ocean with my poetry...

It has to be me - the only anti-depressant -
grinding gratitude journals into routines...

I am but the rotten core
of an apple, love-bites from falling...

We are just friends,
but I stole your t-shirt again...

I sometimes wonder
when I'll stop deleting myself...

Time's tapping
against my tea cup...

It's like turning off the hot shower
just when its warmth has bribed my skin...

Dear Amaya,
Sometimes I am reminded of you...

This poem is fictional -
I did not slice through my heart...

I wake up within yellow bars, bones
yellowed like newspapers in sunlight, dreams...