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As within, so without---

As the universe, so the soul.

And so it is.

I'm done.

With my life (path).
I humiliate my self every time I manifest things wrong. The Universe conspires against us all, not working on our behalf.
Beseeching words
genuinely rooted from
the wounded, rotten heart

to the cold, thin air of
"I have nothing left to say---"
Thank you for putting up with me. For teaching me to make peace with my demon; not to get rid of it.
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
You dismantled my ego like how she broke my heart.


your boundaries,

and your strong sense of self.

Allow me to detach from us.
It's never pleasant to work on our unhealed, anxious attachment style. I truly detest my irrational fear of abandonment. But at least I'm facing it now, and not running away from it.
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020


I can’t help but to
                                fall in awe
                                                   with her
                                                             ­      idyllic astonishment;

like how the moonbeam shines its ray
to lit up the darkened night sky
amongst all the unrest souls in their
                                                           ­     (not so)
                                                             ­                  blissful slumber.

I beg your pardon, m'lady—
for I have mistaken your
                                              b e a u t y
                                                               ­    for
                                                             ­      Misconstrued Paraselene.
Something is up with her physical health and I'm really concerned about her overall wellbeing. I hope she recovers fast and nothing serious is happening to her health.

                                                           Hereby, I abnegate my all to both of us.
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
I may be foulmouthed to the core,

let alone when we have our very own

\\ tête-à-tête //

but honey---

I know my heart is genuine.
Hit me up after your Saturn Return, girl.
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
Isn't it a pity that,
what she and I have
might be a
foretold; untold tale?

This writhing soul might be a fool to be

- t a n t a l i z e d -

by her honey-like scent,
with the topical rose redolence;
percolating every existing room for air
in my thickly tar-scarred lungs
from every hush of her troubled breath---

only then to realise that

every passing seconds spent

have always been a constellation of

== inane innuendo ==

to pique the lovelorn in me.
There's always something in me that's been worried of her troubled breathing. She doesn't smoke, so I'm concerned. I mean, her lungs aren't tar-scarred like mine.
P.S: I like the smell of her perfume.
Shannon Soeganda Dec 2020
You are nothing but a pretty face---

and for all the words birthed from your soft,
unkissed sunkissed lips---

or the ones written down with your tiny,
\\ slanted //

they are nothing but empty,

meaningless blatherskites.
Their kisses remind me of all these empty amens.
Sure this one won't be the same.
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