He lied so casually;
Such little meaning in such big statements.
When he said “I love you”, did he ever truly mean it?
Has he ever meant anything? Was his whole being merely a facade?

Chasing the answers;
Does he ever truly wish to find them?
He finds depressive thoughts comforting;
So lost in self-pity, he loves to feel sadness.

Something to hold deep within.

He bleeds words onto paper, too afraid to bleed in the open;
An ever-spiraling cycle.

He knows his demons are many;
He knows his demons are self-made.
Depression grips him, as depression is relief.

Is the world even real when his thoughts are so inward and selfish?

Lost. Lost. Lost.

Do I want to be found?
Do I want to find myself?

I think not; I fear I am not the person I would like to be.

When did he turn into me?

How did this happen?

Burning blazes,
Warm hearts
Stars embrace,
Their counterparts

Two orchid petals glisten gingerly,
In the ripples of the moving pond

Two stars blaze passionately,
In the sky's veiled moonlight

Two butterflies flutter an auburn dream,
On the lilypad's emerald contrast

And two eyes radiate life and love,
As her cheekbones flush deep scarlet, and her smile steals my breathe.

He spoke with such eloquence;
As he piqued her interest
He spoke with such intelligence;
As her cheeks did blush
He spoke with such confidence;
As she succumbed to his charm

He spoke with soft promises;
As the romance drew her
He spoke with burning passion;
As she fell into his arms
He spoke with sweet poems;
As she fell hopelessly in love

He spoke of their future;
As she was lost in their present
He spoke of his soul-mate;
As she was lost in his soul
He spoke of forever;
As forever took hold

He spoke of hopeless romance;
As she uncovered his disguise
He spoke of fate and destiny;
As she saw through his facade
And, he spoke of true love;

                    As she realized,
                             He had only,
                                              Ever,
                                                Loved,
                                                  Himself.

A bird sits alone,
In the forest of Vive
Its delicate whisper,
Another does heed
They flutter through trees,
In a tango of attraction
Intricate flight heats;
And ignites their passion
But one does leave;
And one gives heartfelt chase
A true hopeless romantic,
Lost in the forest's wake.

She was the epoch of beauty;
As her silken hair cascaded,
Over the slender form of her shoulders

She was the epitome of purity;
As her gentle whispers dispersed,
The darkness from within his soul

She was the personification of heaven;
As her endless love entwined both,
Drawing them blissfully ever-skyward

She was the relief of weightlessness;
As her soul helped bear his grief,
The burden of sorrowed life extinguished

She was the extremity of destruction;
As she drifted from his presence,
The truancy leaving his soul condemned

She was the essence of life;
As he felt it drift from reach,
Her auburn eyes, fading from memory.

She was.

He stands by the pond,
And marvels her Auburn eyes;
The sun cannot comprehend,
The beauty with which they shine.

The cosmos cannot wonder,
For the beauty of her soul

Alas, this day is dark;
And he stands by the pond, alone.

He awakes to her form;
Sleeping so gently
Alas, it is not her;
Her eyes are blue
Not the Auburn,
He knows so well.

The quill welcomes,
His sorrowed soul
Upon weathered parchment,
His lost mind scrawls
The words are merely ink,
Yet scribed in blood
He asks her forgiveness,
But he asks too much

Our lives lead down solitary roads;
Yet, these roads lie so close
How so often then must we just miss
A soul who could share our woes?