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 Mar 2015 Jeet
M S Ananya
Don't go
 Mar 2015 Jeet
M S Ananya
As tears roll down from my eyes,
I think of everything we had together.
The warm sun on our faces and the clear blue skies,
Reminds me of us when we had a forever.

Insecurities crept up your spine,
And you lost faith in me.
I tried my best to let you know you're mine,
But what happened after, I didn't foresee.

Friendship turned to hatred,
Love turned sour.
Hearts were broken and shattered.
Alas, nothing was left in my power.

I didn't want you to leave,
Because my life lost its life without you.
I didn't want to believe,
That you would go so easily.

But I let you go.
Because your happiness is where I find solace.
Your love will someday, grow
For another girl, lucky enough to find a place
In your heart.

Till then and forever more
Will I love you, my love.
Everyday and every hour,
I'd wish you'd find what you're looking for.
 Mar 2015 Jeet
cosmo naught
The events that transpired
occured as written.
Our mouths and neurons fired,
seeding flowering unmention.
Fuel and fire brought attention
to a subtle, growing tension.
The events that transpired
occured as written.

A predictable reaction
to words written
caused the changes, gaining traction
among smitten.
An explosive interaction
between palpable attractions--
predictable reactions,
just as written.

Burned it to the ground,
as it was written.
The lost was found
and lost again, in stark and wry omission.
Quiet was the mission
born of wavering disposition.
It burned into the ground
as it was written.

Back to where we started,
all reversibly departed.
The events that transpired
occured as written.
«»

spontaneous reaction -  a reaction which occurs under a given set of conditions without intervention. may be reversible or irreversible.
He can't seem to go on,
He doesn't seem too fine.
No one seems to notice
the Demons in his Mind.
.
He doesn't seem to care much,
He doesn't have much time.
You better take a good look,
Cause this will be his last crime.
.
He won't show his pain,
Cause no one seems to get.
He's just like another,
With Demons inside his Head.

- the boy who writes, Aks.
From your ordinary closet writer/poet.
Every poet should own at least one suicidal piece of poetry.

— The End —