Rule 1

Fall in love and get your heart broken.
If you already did, then do it again,
and write about someone new.

Rule 2

Let the cycle continue—
until your heart breaks.

And you can no longer feel.
And you become numb and cold.
Then you begin to wonder…

Why am I doing this to myself?
Why is this happening to me?

Why am I just cycling around like a bicycle...
In the endless pit of despair?

When is someone not going to break my heart?

Rule 3

Write.

the stream of melting snow
I hear it all night long
and all day.

white disappears, and reveals the

broken chair
fallen branches
lost glove
and abandoned rake


that the first snowfall blanketed
and accumulation hid from view
since December.

the falling snow didn't remove it
and the stream of melting snow
doesn't wash it away.

I have to clean up my mess
myself.

I’m on the verge
Of going insane
Thoughts of you are
Like needles in my brain

I’m pulling through just fine
I’m gonna be okay
I know I that I can move on
It’s temporary pain

when tears come rushing
while i'm working on a paper

it's the paper i protect
not my emotions

>not everything is jolly<

Mrs. Dolores sat on the armchair in her balcony,
A cigarette burning in the ashtray,
A tattered Jane Austen on her lap,
Her pretty face made up,
Mascara smeared,
The bright red lipstick intact,
The same smug look,
With a tinge of sadness in her eyes.

Her beauty had faded away,
Not long after her innocence did,
But she loved herself for what she had done,
For whatever she had become.
And hated herself for killing what she could've been.

Mrs Dolores sat on the armchair in her balcony,
Blood dripping down her wrist,
The same proud look,
With a mist of betrayal in her eyes.