You say, my newborn face dwells only in the frames of your ancient house,

and my purity was left in my mother’s womb and arms

So now, you try to cleanse me with your precious soap

Scour… Scrub… Rub…

and then you conceal me with lotion, some powder, more perfume!

And yet some more, make me sore

Chafed. Excoriated. Distorted.

But I am the one who chokes on all the bitter pills you have to swallow

I am the one who burns your cigarettes as I varnish your thoughts,

and engrave your soul within my poetry

whilst you hide along its dusky alley

I am the one who can assemble your back like a jigsaw puzzle

I know your true colors, your soft spots

I know how to get you down on your knees

I know how we collide in the dark

For I’ve memorized the pieces and the layers of you,

and I’ve traveled the twisted lines on your spine too

I reside within your core, within the crevices of your bones

I am the scabs on your wounds, the callus on your fingers, the dust in your hair,

your best keeper

I am your shadows and I linger like the smell of cigarettes on your damp skin

Oh, my dearest self!

Stop excavating your flesh for my corpse

‘Cause I’m never ever gonna be away,


Eat me whole.


© Image from Brooke Shaden Photography


First published on Eli Kyoko’s personal blog: Moonlit Pieces.

She’s dressed in black from head to toe…


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The unpeeling of the mask

is making known once

someone enters your carnal abode

Flesh is ripped and you are there

Your imperfections laying bare

Maximised by a voracious glare

Though her agony is not actually due to


but what lies untold, more so

The spell that comes out of these words that cannot be disclosed

Can impede the morphing of liberties,

The desires she will carry on hidden

Contemplating her sexual miseries

Knowledge in this case, is not freeing

She does not want to end t-his daydreaming

It is all too pristine, one is thinking

Though her filth is covered in glossy inking

How can one fulfill their wishes?

When there are labels that are sticking?

Love has a weight and a preconditioning

This one comes with a tag

The price for commitment 

is to be marked with a pigment

Of scars that resurface upon healing


Written by the Irizillian Divastate, find more of her unmasking writings on her personal blog:
Expose the self.



Yesterday, burglars attacked me
snuck in through my navel
slithered through the gaps under the door of my mind
tromped over and intruded my body
a heist of calm state and innocence
captured my breath, tamed my soul
ruptured my walls and windows,
cracks turned into sinkholes
aggressively pulling out my innards
my hefty veins
intermittently becoming violet and blue and violent
my heart was in a drag race,
in synch with my fingers
trembling of turbulence
but my brain is out of place
creeping in a fast-paced city
and I hear the world blowing their horns at me
when I’m at a march towards an imminent doom
deliverance comes in tiptoe
growing frail,
I gave birth to torment and fright
expelled the daze, exhaled the haze
my soul escaped, my breath smothered them
tomorrow is never an assurance
but I made it today

First published on Moonlit Pieces by Eli Kyoko, a peaceful yet chaotic creature who once hid behind the night sky’s moonlight— She’s out now.



Welcome to the funfair where anyone can go through. This is the mirthful side of the world that haunts me in vivid and vibrant colors. Sugar and spice, taste them inside!

They can see me as a horse in the carousel, the ferris wheel or the roller coaster ride. Thrilling and electrifying. Where they go round and round, up and down, until eruptions arise in their downtown.

They want me to lick their lollipops and pop the elastic balloons with my tongue and teeth. Their heads contain nothing but helium. Swallow or spit.

Try it. Then tell me how fun it is.

I’m the tin cans on where they throw their balls at, or the punching bag on a boxing machine game.

One hit = one bubble gum flavored pride.

They drop a coin in the toy machine where they see me as stuffed, aggressive to get inside.

Oh, how they love to play such games!

Their knees are darts pinning me down, until I spill blood like these words. But sometimes it’s also feathery darts from their peacocks, aiming for the bull’s-eye between my thighs. It’s their target instead of my heart.

Try it. Then tell me how fun it is.

When they want to relax, they sit on the bench in immorality park like starving brutes, they whistle and bark.

They want their hotdogs on sticks so they’re eyeing us as chunks of meat for feasts. Butts are buns that they want to bite and suck the juices of every cantaloupe breasts.

I know it’s not about my dress, they still got their filthy hands in my pocket inside my pants.

I’m the Pirate ship that carries them all. I sail back and forth, and I won’t break nor fall.

For I am the ghost inside the haunted house, too. Whom they scream at and run away from. They won’t let me out. But whether they see me or not, Karma will haunt them as an endless knot.

This isn’t a fun game between genders.

This is a foul game between humans and monsters.

The funfair is open anytime, everyday. It doesn’t stop operating. The entrance is free, like dignity.

Try it, then tell me how fucked up it is.

Eli Kyoko is a moon inside of a human body. She hides between the lines and spaces, and swims through the never-ending waves. She’s a wanderer in the world of art, and an artist at heart. Sometimes she’s black & bloody, other times glittery & golden, or something else that’s complicated. Dissect and descry more of her phases within her writings engraved here, and on her personal blog: Moonlit Pieces.