Your absence fills my heart

like an unclaimed piece of art,

you already knew

that I lacked hues

so

I

charged

U

for

theft

when

you

left

but you made me realize

how dull are my eyes

how muffled are my cries

how lame is my existence

how pointless is my persistence,

how far you are

when you still hold me close,

how easy I am

waiting to be the one you chose,

I know

in this world of "Hello"

all I'll ever be is "Crucio"

unlovable

&

unwanted

-a pretty little thing that'll

always remain haunted.

"You look at her the way I look at you
And it kills me, a little."

I woke to the sound of your velvety voice
and your soothing lavender scent
Though I woke alone,
your presence: no longer.

Every poet has a truth.
The truth is, poets can lie.
Poets can lie and hide the truth.
Poets can also disguise a beautiful truth as a sinful lie.

We poets don't back down easily.
We poets want to win every conversation.
We very much prefer to raise our pens
To record our artful manipulation.

We write about our sorrows
Our nearest and dearest know nothing of.
We write about our joys
Our greatest challengers want to dispose of.

Do we know someone who knows us better?
Do we know someone who knows who we are?
Do we know if we are anything else but poets?

We are all the same.
You are human, as am I.
You see it straight, I see it in rhymes.
You like it easy, I like it fly.
You hear it quick, I take my time.
Do you know why?

'Coz every poet has suffered a lie.
A lie that ignites a fire for truth.
Poets can write the truth whilst hiding the lies.
How can we not, when -
We poets can disguise a painful lie as a beautiful truth?