His suicide note:

June 6, 2016 § Leave a comment

nobody left
to die for.



June 6, 2016 § Leave a comment

It was a beautiful morning.

I hope you
almost messaged me


June 15, 2015 § 1 Comment

You entered my car holding
two big balloons.
“The balloon-seller’s kid is hungry,”
you justified.

“Pick one.”

I took the orange balloon
hoping you prefer purple.
“Good. I was hoping I’d get

This moment of
mutual victory
brought me particular joy.

I tossed my balloon to the backseat.
I had never much cared for them,
but I knew I would nicely for this one.

We drove on.
And you told me of how when
you were little,
Dad would always buy you a balloon
and tie its string to your finger
to keep it from drifting away.
With such fondness you expressed this
piece of nostalgia.
I remember thinking
I could tie you balloons everyday
if it would make you this happy.

It’s a few days later now.
The balloon has been floating around
my room
like a happy ghost of you.

My sister pointed out that
the balloon’s existed
for far too long and
bursting it
would make sense.
It was a suggestion made in jest
but the thought brought me great sadness.

And it was then that I noticed
my orange balloon had
deflated a bit.

Soon it’ll be

Like what is to
of us.


April 29, 2015 § Leave a comment

I wish to always be
on your mind
if only in the backdrop
like a faint watermark accompanying
the pages of your life

like silent letters in a word

like a forgotten piece of chocolate
lodged in the teeth
and which springs out suddenly
with all its sweetness


April 24, 2015 § Leave a comment

I looked at you for the longest time today,
counting the seconds until the next blink.

Name #2

March 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

I like your name in the uppercase.
It takes longer to write that way.


March 16, 2015 § Leave a comment

It’s here that I now wonder,
(as the sun drips into the sea
and the waves rush to my feet)
if it would have been a greater tragedy
not knowing a name to carve on the sand.