I'm a jumbled sentence,
With broken words,
Uttered in  gasping stutters,
By mouth of someone I haven't met.
All my punctuation is wrong,
I don't have commas,
Or colons to make sense of me.
I'm standing still,
So still that I can almost,
Almost feel the seconds bleeding,
And my heart burning,
And lungs collapsing and,
Eyes shutting for sleep,
That only contain nightmares.
And I'm wondering,
I'm wondering if,
I might ever touch the sky,
I'll touch it with my broken fingertips.
See, even broken stars can shine.

held onto your hands,
When you faltered,
Even though they were,
Only dust and fire,
And let you singe,
An abyss through my broken veins.

You left me there,
Bleeding under a lamppost,
When I stared up into its pale light,
And wondered if I have enough pain,
To flow it through tears because,
Even though you left me, I couldn't cry.

Instead I scream into the stillness,
of this never ending moment,
Speak words that,
No one knows anymore,
In concrete whispers,
That unravels into a broken stutter.

I'll drown into depths of something,
That is unknown to me,
Just to feel the terror,
Because since the fall,
I haven't felt anything,
It scares me to think I'm feelingless.

Because it's the dead,
Who don't feel anything,
Because their nerves disintegrate,
Like brittle prices of art scattered on tiled floor,
And their hearts are meshed into sand,
And they can't return, can't live,

It scares me that they can't breathe,
But I'll touch them through thoughts,
And my obliterated wishful thinking,
I'll touch them through my memories,
It's nothing but illusions that seem real,
I'll have to remind myself, I'm still alive.

I might not see next sunrise,
This unsettling unsureness,
Tingling my fingertips,
In nervous floods and
Chaotic landslides,
Forever potent in my blood.

But at last I've learned to live every moment,
Because I can dance in arms of sunlight,
When they're saying  she's dancing alone,
They're saying she's insane,
Because I laugh at sky because it's raining,
I can hear the thunder telling me, that I seem alive.

I'll touch the rainbow through,
My color-splattered canvas,
I could hold a fluorescent star,
And can you see?
I can break the stars,
From that infinite blue sky.

I can empty my memories into an ocean,
And see them sifting through sand,
Drifting in high tides and undecided waves,
See, your memory is among those too,
It's time I turn away and never turn back,
I know this because the moon told me.

I calculate their smiles for confused looks,
When they tell me I've gone crazy,
I can tell them I live more than they ever have.
They don't know what is living,
Every moment like it's the last one.
I know, because I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive.

I've screamed a thousand words,
Into blank pages, with black ink,
And I fall in love with things,
Too twisted, too inhuman,
Too dark, too nightmarish.

I try to crush paper in my fists,
But it pierces through my sieved skin.
I touch the unsaid words,
Resting on my chapped lips and wonder,
What color the sun might be.

And I try to learn,
To hold my breath,
Because someday,
They might take,
My oxygen away.

And I press my words,
Onto empty white walls,
And swallow the stones,
Rising in my voiceless throat,
And stare at you for what could be eternity,

And I blend colors on palette
with broken fingers and wonder
if I'm a ghost born out of empty canvas.
I try to copy the serenity in twilight colors
but I only see thunderstorm gray.

And I try to separate skylines,
From skyscrapers,
But my cardboard hands,
Are too clumsy,
And they tremble too much,

So instead,
I fill your vacant inside,
With unlit embers,
And rewind the time,
Until we're alive again.

I leave traces,
of my painted hands,
on your face from all the times,
I used to struggle,
to paint a perfect apple.

And you're still frozen,
In a photograph beside my unmade bed,
With your mouth still open,
To say a word I never heard,
And an arm dangling from a ladder rung,

And you're watching me,
But I've grown too old,
And you're still seven years old,
Imprinted and stilled forever,
Into a seventeen year old photograph.

I dated  a poet once
who thought my eyes
were brighter than the sun.
I was his muse,
his life revolved around me.

He gave me a poem once.
He was nervous
the note was moist
in perspiration.

The brightness in my eyes
made him see I was the one.

But oh,
little did he know

the fire burning
in my eyes
was not for him
but for something more.

I was his sun
and he dared not to
stray from his orbit.

I thanked him
and walked away
because what I wanted
he could not offer.

I dated a poet once,
who does not write anymore.
I took his fire with me,
forevermore.

Unholy and vile tongue, what ill conceived words do you speak. Rebuking the gift of peace and choking out the words of love. Rejection of truth and humility, in favor of pomp and fanfare. Desirous of accolades instead of sacrifice. Wishing to be exalted instead of giving praise. Unholy a thing you are filled with poison. Oh how you do wound, giving credence to the darkest speech. Oh tongue, speak not your blasphemy's .

Dearly beloved,
You once asked me how deep my love is for you. I never answered.
You see.. I wasn't sure.. whether you would like what I say. I didn't want to overwhelm you with my reply.
I'm a possessive soul.
I can't share what is mine. You may call me selfish.
That's okay.
If being selfish means having you all to myself.. then yes I'm the most selfish person on this planet.
As for my answer, my love for you cannot be measured. It's unfathomable, boundless and unrestricted. There is no depth to my love for you. There is no end to it. Nothing will ever be able to suffice how much I adore you...