He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

I want love so passionately that,
I can't keep your eyes off of you.
I want love so bad that,
my fingers tingle to touch your face.
I want love so rough that,
we wake up the neighbours.
I want love so good that,
I'd know you that you wanted the same,
so I'll never lay awake at night,
wondering if your fingers tingled when you thought of his face,
instead of mine.

(e.k.j.)

I feel a sin progress in my stomach.
Normal people call it hunger.
I call it hell.

(e.k.j.)