I wrote you a letter,
and then another letter,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a word.

So I wrote you a word,
and then another word,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a sentence.

So I wrote you a sentence,
and then another sentence,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a letter.

I hope it finds you as I found you.

Yours truly,
Yours, truly.

And if you're ever
       feeling lonely
      Just look at the
             moon
          someone,
         somewhere
is looking right at it too

The rage in her eyes, of fear or passion?
Her cold wrists, black and swollen.
She's sobering up. Besides this rage.
In her eyes, I see love. I feel
compassion.
Oh! The pain of handcuffs!

I wanted to be alone.
So I went to the roof to see,
the citylights blaring at me,
in their luring tone.

I went to the edge and thought,
"Didn't I love these and all?"
and when I looked down,
"What should I do?", I thought.

I looked down again.
"Didn't I dream to fly?"
Then, a dilemma.
"Now why do I cry?"

I went to the roof.
But I'm still alive.

Black and dark like half-burnt coal.
Without a speck of humid hope.
Dark, dark slender piece!
Condition of my heart is this.

Heavy it is asa paper weight.
Obvious odium is all it gets.
Dampness exists. Only in tears.
Joy is absent. Only fear appears.

Useless heart. It lacks sentiments.
Visualises only the profane objects.
Alike a phony piece of polyhedron.
Black & White -- the only shades in its spectrum.

It was brisk and vivid. Happy and humid.
Pure crimsoune flowed along the good deeds.
But now it's a spectre - wretched and mechanical.
Asphalt river it its . Odious and ordeal.

Its operation has become so tedious.
Its functions - corrupt and nefarious.
Love? It has forgotten this name.
The only player in a two player game.

What happens when a person dies?
Does he roam around freely
and without even tries,
makes everything happen?
Or is it darkness and all black,
as he becomes helpless and numb,
heartless, hopeless, literally dumb?
He becomes nothing but a memory.
Really? What happens if I die?
Will I be a memory for smiles?
Or I'll be blamed for my lies?
I want to feel death for sure.
But I don't want to leave my life.
**How easily can a person die?

Where will the sun go after sunset?
After it dives into the deep blue sea?
Will it go somewhere it needs to be?
Or will it just take time to be free?
I don't know what the sun will do meanwhile.
Thank God. Love's still there in the moonlight.
But, really, will the sun ever get tired?
Playing the wicked games, up in flames;
Inexhaustible, yet a source of blames?
Why do humans blame it for their faults?
By the way, where will the sun go?
People in the other end speak stupid.
"The Sun's still shines after sunset.", they say.
**How can I say it's not the sunset that I mean.