If you are holding a picnic
don't ever invite a cynic

Come and lay your body
upon my empty bed,
and pour your
scent on its sheets

Whisper of your pain
and glee to my pillow,
and leave a lock of your
red-brown hair under it

Only then will I
be able to sleep,
and my eyes will
no longer weep

My tears are
saltier than the ocean’s

My heart is
heavier than Sisyphus’ rock

My secrets
that I buried beneath my
skin has turned into scars

My body is
but a graveyard

Aching,
I stood under the sun,
and for a fleeting moment I saw
death’s shadow aligning with mine

believed that she was rare
only to realize
she's one of a kind