He wants my skin,
He wants the flame,
He draws me in —
I feel the shame.

He needs my heat,
My full surrender,
He calls it sweet —
I can’t feel it.

He needs my soul,
My heart, my crying,
He wants it all —
But I am dying.

The mirror’s dim,
My chest is hollow.
He beckons me —
And I still follow.

He wants my breath,
My broken frame —
I want the sniff,
He want's my pain.

You want a boy from a neat little clan,
With a house, a dog, and a five-year plan.
A dog named Gatsby — a film kind of name,
While I stay the ghost in your heart’s hidden frame.

The softest, the calmest, the freshest by far,
The girl who won’t moan in my bed like a star,
Who won’t cry out “Faster!” beneath midnight sheets —
Just a memory fading through half-broken beats.

To flip this whole game? That would sure be divine,
But you are a caliph — you don’t cross the line.
“You must find your peace,” you said with no fuss,
While I threw up alone on a tile full of dust.

You came like Malvina — a porcelain flame.
I said, “I love you,” you answered, “Not same.”
“Not same,” was your word, your full quiet end,
I drowned in that “no” you refused to amend.

In my ***** I sank, like a ship full of rot,
It smelled like the people that heaven forgot,
It smelled like the fires that bogs never lose —
I died in that bathtub, no chance to refuse.

You put me to sleep like a dog gone too sick.
Too bad I’m not Gatsby, not pretty, not quick.
My owner? Not someone from sweet family ties —
He'd hold my paw softly, not hand me goodbyes.

You held my hand just to whisper: “Now die.”

When you die, no one will cry,
No mourners watching the casket lie.
Just an old priest in a faded gown
Will mumble prayers and lay you down.

You pictured storms, a grieving crowd,
Rainfall weeping from every cloud.
But the sun shone bright, uncaring and high —
Not a single soul stopped to sigh.

Your mother won’t be there that day,
Not from grief, not lost in dismay.
She'll hear the news like a distant bell,
And whisper, “Now I can live as well.”

The world won’t pause, won’t skip a beat,
No mass despair, no empty street.
Nothing will shift, no grand goodbye —
Even your dorm won’t stay vacant long after you die.

New people will take your place,
With no idea who filled the space.
They’ll sleep in your bed, unknowing, unfazed,
Where your wrists once bled in a quiet daze.

Their children will run through the greasy hall,
Where you once drank, back against the wall.
They’ll eat from spoons still stained with smoke,
Not knowing the weight of the life you broke.

You’ll die on the way to the ER lights,
Drained of blood from long, quiet fights.
And in the file they’ll calmly note:
"Self-inflicted. No suicide note."

This is pure, untainted love —
With no return, no mirrored flame,
No response from up above,
No real purpose, yet no shame.

You don’t know a thing of me,
Not a name, not even a trace.
But I know all there is to see —
Whispers heaven chose to place.

There’s sweet honey in your tone,
Like aged wine from sacred trees.
And I forget the world I’ve known
When your dark curls brush the breeze.

Love, in silence, threads my days,
Lingering like soft perfume.
And your tattoo — that one word, “Love” —
Blooms forever in my gloom.

Sometimes crying in the night,
Longing just to feel your heat,
Knowing I will never lie
In the place where your heart beats.

You will never learn my name,
Never know this quiet ache.
But your emerald eyes remain —
A memory I’ll never shake.

The one who walked worn paths within the Garden Ring,
Who bled his hands against the millstone’s turning swing,
Who, though the hunt was on, refused to trade his crown for speed,
Who held his hand out still—so that the nail could pierce with need.

You're my little prince,
My sunlight, my moonlit glow.
travel through worlds unknown,
Leaving footprints wherever we go.

Come with me — we'll find some distant shore,
And read our letters written in the sand.
ger can't be spoken, nothing more—
The dawn has come, but not from East as planned.

My anger can't be spoken, can’t be named,
But still, I see the sunlight in your eyes.
ger can't be spoken or explained,
But still, you walked with me beneath the skies.

And every word we wrote was softly spoken,
While sun kept warming all our wounded ground.
Though something deep inside me still feels broken,
You came with me—and that is peace I've found.