The fact that he only made you more lonely should have been a clue,
sweetheart.

Stop trying to configure yourself with someone else's body parts,
they won't fit right

leaving you with a phantom limb here
a vestigial ***** there.

You thought it was love because he paid for your meal
and called back when you slammed the phone down,
but this was just because he was even lonelier than you.

He has only ever loved one girl
the last time he saw her she was holding a gun to herself
appointing herself the victim.

She was a tragedy of the most catastrophic kind
and he wasn't ready to be a refugee just yet,
but he let you shelter him.

You became the glaring neon sign, flashing "loneliness"

You took the bait, and he kept reeling in the line,
but was disappointed with what he found at the end.

I'm running away.
I look back.
You're standing right there.

Speechless.
Emotionless.
Tear less.

But I can still see your sorrow.
I can feel it.
I can breathe it.
I can't stop it.

I'm still running away,
And I can't quite remember why.
I floated away,
Like a wooden boat on a rough sea.
Floating, anchor less.

Wave your arms toward me, baby,
Don't speak, don't scream.
Just beckon to me.

You know that you are the fire that lights my sun.
You know that you are the wind that burns my face red.
You know that you are the water that flows through me when I feel dry.

So call to me,
Like the shore calls the tide to wash away the gritty sand.
Call to me,
Like the moon brings the waves to her lips and kisses them goodbye.
Call to me,
Like the slim beam of light calls for the safe passage of the wooden boat.

Call to me, baby,
Because you'll bring me back to shore.

he still doesn't realize
that beauty has a price

he plucks roses and
wonders why they wither
when he's never learnt
to check their roots.

with thorns between his lips,
he speaks softly about
the way love has eluded
him over the years.

his palms like written verse,
scarred and coarse, petals
falling delicately out of
time from his fingertips.

he sees beauty but he
does not see underneath

he has always been
one to see the flames
but never feel the heat.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her ******* are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

The water shimmering ripples in the moonlight,
The sky reflecting visions we have seen,
The meadows are concealing our secrets,
And the memories behind the screen,
All the traces have still survived,
On the roads we have ever been.

The misty morning brought us closer,
With your scent still clung to me,
The alarm  ring would remind me,
That you were lying next to me,
In the light,the sun would call us to see,
The twinned souls we craved to be.

And everyday, our road would split in two,
Along the distinct patterns and routes we chose,
Miles away we go momentarily,
Yet the petals of the same rose,
Our lives unperturbed by the silence in-between,
And the adios has been our transient dose.

Because i have always believed,
Not much the whispers, nor the feelings enclosed,
But the words in the palinode,
Echoing ,"You are the shadow walking through me,
Traveling with me. Traveling back to me."

What are you afraid of?*

I am afraid I'm loosing you
and afraid I'm loosing myself,
In tying to make you mine

I don't know if I should fight
For what I have never won,
I don't know if you are a prize

I don't know when
I started falling or
When I'll hit the ground,
But this tumble might hurt
More than a stumble,
And I am afraid

Afraid to give myself away,
Like a gift, to a man who might
Throw me away, like trash.