Maybe, poets write because they have unstable feelings.
Maybe, poets write at 2am, in order to ease it.
Maybe, poets write to contain their feelings in to it.
Maybe, poets write *hopelessly.
Maybe, poets write at 2am hopelessly hoping, that, someone, on the other side of the earth, someone is awake to read the poem.

*And maybe someone awake, maybe, to care.

Shame on you for not loving me back
Shame on you for not staying
Shame on you for not making me stay
Shame on you for...
Shame on you
Shame on you
Shame on
*Shame on me, for hoping, believing and loving, and living.

She loves the idea of love,
and I am the slave of it.  
She loves the idea of happiness,
and I am deprived of it.
She loves the idea of this and that,
and I am giving her this and that.

I wonder if she do love me, or clinging on false pretenses.

She giggles at my jokes.
Mumbles *******.
Makes no sense.
Like a kid.
Like she was.

He left, and told her to wait.
And she waited.
He found someone.
And she already knew.
It was solitude.
And she didn't know.
He observed.
And she broke herself.
And there he was broken.
And she moved on.
And there he stayed broken.
And she found someone.
And there he found courage.
And there she found the one.
And there he found love, again.
And there she found happiness.
And there, there was a happiness on both of them  again.
And they struggled, and struggled, and struggled.
taking ****** shots, for a temporary numbness to the pain.
They loved again.

After sometime, they met again. sent their regards. and the last drops of their old feelings.