There goes another little red flag
In the soft soil of my heart
That I so stupidly watered and fertilized
To make it all that much easier to stab

I always thought we were the perfect match.
But matches are meant
                                   to ignite
                                         and burn out.

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

No poetry today.
No words for the despair.
No calming the fears.
No poetry today.

Dear HP,

This is not a poem
But a question
The answer to which
I do hope you have

Why does my lover claim to love me
But still looks for every opportunity
To let me go?

Is it that she loves me so much
But doesn't think she's worthy of me

Or she doesn't love me enough
To think I'm worthy of her?

candles light up her room
it smells like herbs
and flowers

fall is her favorite season
she enjoys the rain
while dancing trough the woods
barefooted

she's one with nature and the sun
but in love with the moon

Oh, if only you knew
What I saw in your eyes
If only I could tell you
And touch your very soul
Perhaps the skies would clear
Perhaps the Angels would not weep.