Accept those thoughts in there,
Every one is yours alone.

the skin i wear does not feel the same,
yet your touch still lingers, still stays.
i want to claw my skin out until it bleeds.
maybe then, you would finally leave.

she was too fascinated by
                  the sun
shining in the sky,
that she didn't realize
how it made her
                  blind.

no matter how many times
you tell yourself otherwise,

you will always walk
alone.

no other heart, no other soul,
no other happiness

can make you feel
whole

except your
own.

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.