As within, so without---
As the universe, so the soul.
And so it is.
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.
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.
You dismantled my ego like how she broke my heart.
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.
I can’t help but to
fall in awe
like how the moonbeam shines its ray
to lit up the darkened night sky
amongst all the unrest souls in their
I beg your pardon, m'lady—
for I have mistaken your
b e a u t y
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.
I may be foulmouthed to the core,
let alone when we have our very own
\\ tête-à-tête //
I know my heart is genuine.
Hit me up after your Saturn Return, girl.
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.
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,
Their kisses remind me of all these empty amens.
Sure this one won't be the same.