Kick me, push me, make me cry,
I deserve a special ******* way to die.
For what I have done, what I have sinned.
The one thing that I do deserve.

The in between, step ladders, a door
without a mat, like saying you're not
welcome in my home or in my life,
poor you, succeeding anything you strive.

Struck, by lightning as they say,
we all have experienced something that
changed us in a way. They have trauma's
they have fears, to think I brought you only tears.
They have dangers in their past
important lives, or lovers that did not last.

I had you.

Orange and green were melting
together, seen almost as a pelting
of connections, flooding like
paint, mixing, touching, unlike

what green had thought,
two colours already made of
combinations, don't blend
don't spend
time
when orange has chosen
to follow instead of make
her own
way

A meadow but less soothing,
a mother but less rooting,
a lover but less passionate,
a wedding but less fashioned.

Deep pink asian flowers,
almost purple, contrast showers
of a mass so captivating,
smell creating, eye baiting,
can you feel their warmth inside you,
do you know for sure you love her,
because you would, after all,
after this, you should.

She is like a well known city,
a mountain river, shivergiving pretty.
When words savour on those lips
my ears go blind as my tongue trips
and fails to explain how everytime she sips
on wine, coloured like her fingertips
when cold, she makes me gritty, fearless
of all else, except to tell her that, as my
word melts before her eyes, beauty is
a cruel disguise for guys less wise,
like me.

I don't know for real
And how, why, I can't even
what is this I feel?

Over a thousand questions float.
But I'm too high-and-mighty
to search and ask for the light he
lost. I know some answers, quote:
"You are not who I thought you were,
a dissapointing wimp, not more than mere
explaining words around the bush."

Hush, my darling, why cry over
something you thought would be better too.

Once surrounded, slowly fading
I was once the center now I am
the edge.

In times of empty days, in which
you find too much space,
so much it haunts you.

Talk about, adress your long lost
friend and speak and tell and pronounce
the words: I love you.

Before you fade, before you turn into
me. The last thing I sometimes want to be.