Release.

More desperate than I have ever been before to be released,

this never-ending love has rotted in my heart leaving me sick and covered in disease.

My skin crawls as though it's infested with fleas;

my hair falls out in clumps and makes me drop, distraught, to my knees.

I beg to be free from the aching in my chest;

the constant cravings that were never answered have only left me bereft.

Lovesick now, but once I was so sick in this love,

that I confused it for blessings from the Heavens above.

My body feels pain that cancer could even cure;

the aftermath of our war is not worth the bliss we endured.

Every day arrives with new ways in which I feel sore,

that I am left wondering if my desire to carry on will ever be restored.

In retrospect, it's clear that we jumped the gun,

your words were the bullets that I never wanted to outrun.

The injustice of it all is that you have already healed,

your world is once again filled with wonder whilst mine has congealed.

Unable to ask for help since my pride refuses to allow it,

so I just grin and bear it, hoping my mind will soon disavow it.

Longing for a prayer, a cause, even a curse that will resolve this;

that my maker will soon hear my cries and illuminate my way through this darkness.

I search for a solution to the riddle in my bones, an answer to help me understand why my spirit moans.

Late at night, I still feel your presence like a phantom limb,

the kind that I lost long ago but just will not let me continue to live.

Insidious love, the kind I wish I had never known,

that has robbed me of my happiness and now haunts me in my very own home.

I sought out another to fill the void you left when we took our last breaths together,

but quickly learned that nobody else was capable of holding my hand through the stormy weather.

Forever never came but died as soon as it escaped our lips,

perhaps that was just the punishment for falling prey to this emotional eclipse.

I berate time for declining to heal the hurt in my hollow heart;

the cliche that it would heal all things has torn my sanity apart

from waiting.

I carefully studied the words of other jilted, dejected lovers,

looking for a recipe for my soul to finally recover.

The anguish is too much to bear, it's left me worst for wear,

unfair that you ensnared me then left me despaired and weary.

Even suicide could not destroy the hurt inside for it's my soul that needs a surgery,

a lesser man would have you tried for your lies and all your perjury.

I am still drowning in us, it fills me with self-contempt,

made a vow to myself to never be the victim of another's pathetic attempts.

I embark on this self-imposed exile from love or pleasures of the flesh,

as I reconnect with myself and prepare to start afresh.

I collect my dignity from its shelf, covered in dust from much neglect,

then promise to become reacquainted with forgotten self-respect.

Close up the sutures, treat all the wounds, 

conceal all these scars until there's not even a bruise.

Muster up all the courage inside me to regain my strength,

I know I will survive this, the finish line is finally within arm's length.

Chaos.

Volatile from the start, this pain is all that's left of the tainted love we bought,
now you are poison in my heart and I am chaos in your thoughts.  

One day we were like gardens fragrant from flowers that could only bloom,
the next we were as dreary as death row denizens delighted by their impending doom.

These inconsistencies that caused our souls to rise, elated, and then fall so low,
multiplied and then grew stronger with each offense, with every blow.  

It was never easy to pretend that we were not condemned,
foolish to believe that success could be achieved.

We tried too hard, tasted failure many times, made then broke a million promises,
became casualties of our own carnal crimes.  

It was harder to let go than to accept that we were through,
since you went away I am no stranger to the blues.

Time is such a terrorist, it was supposed to heal all wounds,
instead it's left me stranded in a city that your existence has ruined.  

Every street is paved with memories, even the breeze whispers your name,
love is the greatest felony, I wish I never played its game.

Acid rain falls from the skies stinging my eyes that never dry,
I am imprisoned by my inability to invent an alibi.  

The stars that we so often wished on crashed and fell to the ground,
all our dreams turned to whispers; once they were so loud.

All things end, good or bad, but not us—we were supposed to last,
we went from being inseparable to strangers in a flash.  

As the fog clears, it becomes much easier to see;
I spent a lifetime holding on to you when all I needed was already inside of me.

Returning to the man I was supposed to be,
I resist the urge to reminisce about the way you made me feel.  

Resilient, as I reconnect with myself and parts of me that I repressed,
I reflect on the lessons I have learned and see that I am blessed.  

Cradle Robbers in Peshawar.

The smallest coffins are the heaviest as they are stark reminders of the greatest failure of mankind, children targeted by terrorists is the exact eye for an eye ideology that has left the whole world blind. Their tiny voices may have been silenced now but they will echo throughout time, 
until we can find a way to ensure that no child is ever left behind. 

There is no humanity when parents are forced to bury their young, 
no sense of security when classrooms are emptied and filled with blood. 
These atrocities seem to increase in alarming numbers, 
creating communities that are stripped of their liveliness and then deprived of their slumber. 

From Sandy Hook to Nigeria, Syria, Israel or Palestine, 
these senseless acts of brutality will never fail to cross the line. 
No amount of time could heal the broken hearts of mothers 
forced to find the courage to remain strong for little sisters and brothers. 

The arrogance of man speaks of progress and achievement 
choosing to remain ignorant to the sorrow and bereavement. 
We are not civilized and we never will be 
until our weakest links lay down their weapons and embrace harmony. 

So many dreams shattered in an instant, in the blink of an eye 
more than a hundred lives stolen to avenge army strikes. 
Children surrounded by war know little happiness as it is, 
accustomed to the ugliness that should never be witnessed. 

They should not be deprived of an education or robbed of their innocence 
amid the darkness whose only hope for light lied in their very existence. 
What these militants' malnourished minds will never understand 
is the strength and resilience of those affected by their wicked plans. 

They are survivors and will always rise up, come together and revolt,
against these self-proclaimed holy men that equate religiosity with bullet holes. 
History will not only remember this as the day everything faded to black 
but also as the moment that united a nation to finally fight back. 

Vulnerability.

We cut our losses more often than counting our blessings,
hyper-focused on all the wrongs without ever thinking of ways to make it right.
In the first few moments after the storm that was us, I remained silent,
afraid that my heart beating violently inside my chest would explode,
revealing how vulnerable I was right then.
I obsessed about ways to convince you to return, as though
my happiness was dependent on your existence in my life.

I was wrong.

With each hour, the fog clears and I see you for what you really are.
I see the flaws, the scars, then hear the accusations as loudly
as if they were being shouted directly into my ear.
I was never enough,
you were never enough;
we were never enough and that is exactly why we failed.

Moving forward, I will not allow my spirit to break when abandoned
time and time again by someone incapable of stepping up to the plate
and offering support when it is needed, instead of running for the hills,
tail between legs like you did.
Initially, I was desperate, only able to think of you in a positive light
but now I am reminded of the reasons why we would not have survived
even if presented with much simpler circumstances.
I was your first, which justifies your lack of experience in dealing with matters of the heart.

You were so callous, more stubborn than the running bulls of Spain
as you were ever refusing to make amends or attempt to make things good again.
It was me that was always left scrambling to pick up the pieces
that cut me like shards of glass from broken dishes in the kitchen after a domestic situation.
Yet somehow we would find our way back into one another's arms, without fail,
we continued to try to create something from the nothingness that prevailed.

Time after time, I took to alcohol and other poisons
when all I needed was to accept that my spirit was broken and could not heal
until it was free again.
Displaced, it became difficult to comprehend whether I was grieving the loss of you
or relieved that we were finally through
and that the sadness was only there because I had fallen in love with you.

I can now look back and agree it is best we washed our hands clean of the mess that
we repeatedly found ourselves in.
Liberty is worth the loneliness that ebbs and flows,
stronger some days and barely noticeable on others,
when it is as faint as inaudible whispers out at sea.

The freedom to make my own choices again, devoid of judgement
is more valuable to me than remaining deluded,
convinced that you were the reason why I was happy,
an emotion I truly have not known for quite some time.

Happiness was the stranger whose name I knew but
whose face I could not recognize no matter how hard I tried.
I have always known that I can only bend and that I will never break,
for each trip through the streets of love strips me of my desire for intimacy.

Better alone than made to feel ashamed day in and out
for actions that were in the past, best to be honest with myself
and admit that we had moved too fast,
or that our foundation was built too carelessly to ever last.

My guards were not just down but had been obliterated entirely
which served me right for foolishly letting another human being in to the sacred,
sometimes putrid, sanctuary I worked so hard to rebuild.

My fault for falling in love again despite knowing
that love and I were as dangerous a pair as gunpowder and a match;
I always got burned.
My skin charred, I looked disheveled as I crawled out of the destruction left in our wake,
too damaged to even consider repair,
the only viable option is to relocate and start anew.

Surely the wasteland I find myself in now is still better knowing that
I am in control and can either create a magnificent world of beauty
or an abominable monstrosity. It is still more preferable than
the fate we narrowly escaped of watery graves
that would have resulted from remaining aboard our sinking ship.

I inhale strength and exhale hate now as I leave you
and us in the past where we belong,
unwilling to revisit the ghost town that previous versions of us will haunt
until the end of time.

My walls return higher than ever, reinforced with cement and steel now
to prevent any more criminals from getting in;
unchained now, as I embark on a journey to
the new world with no regrets.

I have learned all of my lessons and am now better prepared than ever
for the final test.

I am overcome with relief now that our dying sun has finally set.