On Sunday morning--
A pretty girl is coming.
That's poet lying.

I act to be happy
and nobody knows.
When I cry,
they know I cry,
but they don't know
that I am sad.

She's typing the chat--
I am still waiting for that.
No poet ends yet.

You just have to keep me save on your mind that I love you so much.
All of memories about you is always there.
If it happens, it won't make me scared.
Because I think I will be cared.

I saw an empty glass
I poured myself into it
Full, I wanted full
I drank it
I drank myself
Run out
I drank it up
I was swallowed up by force until all of it into the esophagus
I then saw the dark night sky
And it was three o'clock in the morning
Shadows, I saw shadows
And maybe it was myself
I saw a faint light from the ventilation of the bedroom window
And the street light
Also the air goes in and out of the room
I'm still sipping it
I'm still sipping it for today
I looked back at the dim light and looked for an empty glass
I poured myself back into it
Run out
Turns out, I forgot to buy it back
And I forgot myself
And I needed to go back

Your body is a canvas
for love that spills out
in the lunge of longing.

And the night is a stopover
for my addiction
to you.

Today,
I was forced
to be lost by you.

A piece of the night has fallen on your eyes
dripping with faint stars
with the moon
starting to frown.

The sky became the loneliest place to live--
and you still don't want to move from your stopover
putting on the body
and lament the loss.

I, who had been struck earlier,
was restless
and beaten restless--
trying to smile sweetly beside you
ignored and deliberately
overlooked
then finally forgotten.

at the far corner of the house
on a shoe rack
i found myself worn out and dusty
about various twist and turns
stacks of my old story one by one of the shelves one by one
the bottom shelf contains a sad story
follow the blue melancholy
each stack has a different meaning
but all the same, about a trip
and in a pile of shoe racks,

i felt
i had been forgotten

Loving you has not been being a good habit for me.

If you see me in darkness,
I hope you will take me in brightness.

If you get me in silence,
I hope you will come to me to talk.

If one day, you feel I am the person who don't have ability to do something,
I hope you will teach me how to be the person who always have ability to do at all.

If one day, you feel I am too boring to be loved and you decide to leave me, I hope you will change your will.

She tries to be a young poet,
and I love her.
She writes every single poem by giving her feelings.
In her great imaginary world,
the universe gives her secret life about love.
I try to be one of her poems,
but she tries to stop writing.
The feeling of love in her life now is mine.
I try to write a poem for her,
and she always thinks that all of us will be fine.
I want you to know,
she is my love and my own.
We've made a great mind.

I am sorry, I fail today.
I am not good at all.
I try to be good at all.
I am sorry if I take longer than others.
They always talk to me what my progress.
I always talk to myself that I am always in progress.
I feel like I am failure everyday.

I write a *******
and I realize...

Sparrows making love
to hatch poetry,
the poet's smile and happy.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, let me know and tell me who you are because the past always teaches you today.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, don't tell me what we have done before or maybe something that made me forget you, because everyone knows it is hard to remember something that have lost from our memory.

If one day I forget you and you remember me, tell me not to tell to you that you've forgotten me also until I try to remember you, because it is still hard to tell to you that you will remember me when love is gone, or maybe it is not love, just happy past and doing fun.

I find something new in a new page.
But I'm not ready to write something new.
Life is a new world page.

A night always runs out,
and it looks like will be repeated as the previous night.

O night! You're so boring.
I decide to spend the night on writing
and a bottle of wine for drinking.

I won't be able to fall asleep.
What if I decide to write a poem in the times leap?
O night! I have to write it for delight.
But I'm too drunk to write a poem tonight.
O! I’ll still write a poem for sure, right?

I sit down to take the pen.
The paper suddenly goes out of my hand.
Where do you go, my friend?

O my poem!
O my poem!
Please don’t go, my poem!
Please don't go like my darling this morning.
Come here, I want you to accompany my saddest dream by singing.
O night!
O poetry!
Alright, let's start again and don’t worry!

The night is so cold and the poetry is so warm!
What the hell is old, and let me try to lean on your arm!
O night!
I'm looking for words.
My poem will finish and never turns out!
O good, God!
O good, a poem!
Let it go for those words.
Let it lie down with the ink!

If silence worries you--
just wait a minute,
I'll find a busy place for you to stay a little longer.

She said, "Finish what you have started".
I said, "You are my finish".

If my poem took me to you,
I should not much mind,
but I do not want to see you,
and I can not leave this heart alone in other place.
It leads me down into the same hole
that the pain I had tried to heal would have hurt again.

But I will keep my own way to lead the same path if I want to fall in love with you.

I will keep it until I forget that I have fallen in every words I write this poem.

Who am I in love with?
To you
What I can't have, forever

Save me in your poetry.
Then take it away anywhere you go.
You may never forget every single memory.
I hope the past will make learning for us going forward.
The words that you composed for me before
I will never erase from my memory.
Time may still offer,
where is the joy or the sorrow,
where love where is the lie.
Meeting may have been ours.
But now behold,
it turns out that farewell is more than anything else.
Maybe if someday you will find me.
I am always in your poetry.
Because I never went anywhere.
After all, you always carry me too.
And if possible you miss me.
Remember I miss you too.
Read it again.
I just might come back.
But really, I can't really promise that for sure.

The rose
will hurt you
when you hold on tight.
You may like roses
with his appearance.
It is beautiful with its color.
The rose
will hurt you
when you don't know
how to treat it properly.
Like a love,
which you never care about
and you waste.

And what if you still ask how I'm doing.
And I'm still waiting for you.
And we still hope the question
"How are you?"

I write it!

In the lonely of your eyes, let me grow and love you.
Blooming on a heart
then cooking the rice.

She tells me.
She wants to back to the past.
I tell her it won't be able even the last.
She never talks to me again.
Her father dies after the rain.
O my God! This is a pain!

I wish you were here.
I need your hug.
I want to lean on you arm
and tell you that my day was going to be bad.
I just want to tell you
and you will hear me.
It's simple.

How I write a poem is like
how I struggle to get you,
it all exists only in my imagination.

I stood in the headwaters of death,
spoken words
written poetry
memoirs of wounds
hugged again lonely.

I forgot how to start
a brief meeting
between the two pairs of eyes, Adam and Eve

I forgot how to start
a simple conversation
between two human children who are growing up

I forgot how to be blunt
I mean the real you

Even now I have forgotten how to express it
because I'm scared
your feelings change with time
blown along with the wind
dropping in accidentally
without knowing if you have forgotten the place before

and finally
I was paused by the time
so long
until I forgot how to write a point at the end of our story

You made me make up a new place on purpose
While I forgot how the feeling of being rebellious was
You made me make up a new place on purpose
When I was lost in the things that fed me up around first
You made me make up a new place on purpose
In the past time, I could hardly have wanted anything to do dangerous
You made me make up a new place on purpose
Filling it up the emptiness that makes me thirst
The long before happened
Why did you come when my eyes opened?
Since I first saw how you looked at that time
Your smile gives me support to do a crime
But it really makes me messy
Never mind and let it busy
I wish you were here
Getting happy with no fear

What is lost is never lost
They just are not there beside you
But they are in all the memories of your life
Your eyes may no longer see it
But your heart still feels its existence
Something so close that it can not be explained easily

What is lost is never lost
They just are not within your reach
But they are in all the memories of your life
Your hand may not be able to hold it
But you can still feel the warmth of his embrace
Something so calming that even a warm blanket and a fireplace can not be compared with

What is lost is never lost
They just moved
Going somewhere who knows
Even if you imagine it
You can never quite understand--
Even knowing
That what is lost is never really lost
Not really leaving either
And you do not need to search anymore
Or you regret it many times

How to understand you is by writting your name.
I believe you will be mine.

The day when dawn was getting down.
The bird sang arround.
I believe that day, I will understand you.

The sky is beautiful.
The beautiful is you.
Your name too, my dear.

But sometimes, when the day was getting dark, I lost.

I lost mine.

The last beachside I visited your own funeral.
I remembered the drizzle fell for the first time,
when I led you home first.
When the seagulls fly low overhead,
then the wind blows north,
and the beach sand embraces our cold feet,
it turns out the sea is where I no longer find you.

Chanting sounded like a curse of freedom.
I don't hear your singing anymore,
when I once decided to **** myself
on the cliff shore
where many thistles grow,
but you
invite me for another time.

I saw God trouble came,
      so I ask
                    want
                              to
                                  play
                                          a
                                            game.
I saw God made me cry,
                               should
                             I
                        do
             more
   pray?
I saw God laughing,
     nobody
                   was
                          playing.

You are my unfinished poem,
for among us,
words
            have
                     chosen
                                   to
                                       go
                                            away
                                        to
                                   carry
                         their
                own
wounds.
Let's decide one more time.
Where do you put me back?

Everything will be okay,
if it looks in your eyes,
but there is war in my mind.

Are we coming back again?
When you decided to come,
and I chose to go away,
In one dusk where we ended up feeling the most spacious
Whereas words cannot interpret the contents of our hearts.

The girl
            whom
        I loved has gone,
I can see her broken my bone.
The girl
           whom
       I loved has gone,
she takes me in the middle of silver dawn.
The girl
           whom
       I loved has gone,
the dead body of me should be found.

What’s the poet you can think,
And you never let me bring
The poet tells about the king
Whose death by ****** *******
And I tell that’s poet lying

What’s the poet you can love,
And you never let me involve
The poet tells about a dove
Whose wings broken by Jove
And I tell that’s poet drunken off

What’s the poet you can believe
And you never let me live
The poet tells about you
Whose love will get blue
And I tell that’s poet true!

The sun
        is so cold, and
the poetry
        is so warm.
We will grow old, and your shoulder lay on my arm.
The sun
        is so cold, and
the poetry
        is so warm.
The love should be hold or we're getting harm.
The sun
        is so cold, and
the poetry
        is so warm.
I love you like sparkling gold even though my body was eaten by worm.