I’m a broken poet
Who longs to write
About sadness
love
heartbreak
Although, I haven’t experienced either

I’m a broken poet
For, I have so much
Left to say
Yet, I search for words
Every single day

I’m a broken poet
For, my words
Do not spill
On these empty sheets

I’m a broken poet
For, the words
That I write
Do not reach
People’s hearts
They get lost
In the depths
Of this crowded world

I’m a broken poet
For, my words
Do not carry the pain
And suffering that
Other’s have felt

I’m a broken poet
For my words
Do not feel
Like a warm hug
From your favorite person
On a cold day

I’m a broken poet
For my words cannot console
A broken soul
To not give up
And sail through life

I’m a broken poet or
I’m not;
Maybe,
I’m just a broken person
With words left to say
But no one to hear them
-RB©

What should I do?
How should I go on?
When all I want to do is give up
I have lost all hope
I cannot do this anymore

Trapped in a dark room
Surrounded by walls
I search for a way out
Only to find a window
Through which light shines
A tiny glimmer of hope

With stumbling feet
I reach out to it
Every step forward
A fighting chance I get
I soon reach the window
But all that I see
A figment of my imagination
No rays of hope
Nor open windows
Only plain black lies
About not losing hope

Should I go left?
Or, should I go right?
Lost in the abyss
Imprisoned by my mind
Surrounded by darkness
Gasping for breath
I feel claustrophobic
Pleading for this to end

My demons guard outside,
They do not let me out
No saving grace
My solace I have found

Give up or go on,
I do not know what to do
My demons tempt me to let go
I might soon
Maybe, in the afterlife, I will shine too bright
You will never see me upset then,
Just a pretty smile

It has been more than a year
I have written nothing
writer’s block
Or out of words
maybe a heavy heart
I don’t know what it is

I think of words
I want to write
but it gets all jumbled up
in my head
I put down these words
but all I am left with
is unfinished poetry

Every-time I think of something
it all comes back to you
nothing makes sense
when I read it out loud
it’s apt tho isn’t it?

Nothing made sense
between us too
friends to strangers
without being together

I want my poetry to be
about you
but what should I say?

How your smile
lit up my gloomy days?
Or
how your stories
made me wish I had
lived ‘em with you?
Or
how your dorky laugh
made my heart skip a
beat every single time?

In my mind,
I could go on and on
but penning it down
was the hardest

And every time
I reminisce these memories
I feel this void in
my heart
it feels like
a piece of me
is gone

There is an empty hollow
and the only way I know
to fill it
is by sipping on
your favourite poison

Cause only for
a couple of hours
the smell lingers
on my breath
making me feel
your presence again
bringing me out of the
nothingness I'm
trapped in

This poem
doesn't make sense,
does it?
it doesn't have to
because
nothing made sense
about him too

I will think of you  
only till this cigarette burns
for,  
your thoughts will haunt me  
through the night  
keeping me awake  
just to blame myself  
for handing over
my heart to you
when I knew all along
that you'll break it

I will think of you
only till this cigarette burns  
for,
the feelings will
come rushing again  
making me miss
the feeling of being
in your arms
the feel of your lips on mine
the faint smell of Daniel's
on your breath
forcing me to get drunk
on the amber liquid  
to block you out of my mind

I will think of you only
till this cigarette burns
for
I'll exhale you out
in the midst of the
grey smoke
after every drag I take
I'll let you fall into the abyss
of nothingness in this
broken ashtray

I will only think of you
till this cigarette burns
for
when this cigarette finally burns out
along with it
you would too

stands in the corner in all it's dark glory
casts it's dark shadow on every other person  
a child or an adult  
it doesnt matter
kisses them with his tempting lips  
to **** the life out of them
gulps down their bright souls  
to turn 'em as dark as his  
smiles liks a maniac  
wonders who should be next  
compassion is something he doesn't know  
sympathy is something he doesn't show
he plucks life as if it's a flower
loathed more than he is loved  
some don't want to be near him
some long to meet him  
but he is death
inevitable he is
so,
no matter where you go
no matter what you do  
he will find you  
he will follow you  
with every breath you take  
and every step you walk
sooner or later
expected or unexpected  
whether you like it or not  
he will
and the day he does
you will beg for him to wait
but he will just laugh in your face  
and pluck you out like a petal  
from a rose