I have witnessed love once
It's not over Christmas morning when mom and dad see me tearing up my presents
or
in the presence of peers, who when they kiss, it feels as though the Fates have finally thought of goodness in this world.
But it is how my neighbor wakes up at five am
and
he thinks I do not know it
but he comes over my fence
and plucks the stems of
a bloomed white rose
everyday
and
walks away.
One day,
I followed him
Alas
I found him sitting
next to a grave.
He did not look like an old man
To me at that very moment
He looked like a young sailor
apart from his love by the sea
and had her in his arms again,
After the longest time.
He removed a weary rose on top of the granite
and
replaced it with a new, beautiful one.
He spoke,
"I brought you
another rose today.
White and fully bloomed,
just the way you like it.
I can't do no more
since I still have to pay
the bills and your maintenance.
And I think,
my neighbor has started to
think
where do all here her roses go."
He gives me a rare smile,
arching his back
and tells me to come over.

This world is very cruel indeed.

You hear the sound of a whimpering child,

slapped and freshly bruised

There are billions of thundered hearts

that swore to never fall in love again

There is also the faint voice of control,

and the empowering voice of temptation.

But we’re all human beings, aren’t we?

We’re all begging to be saved.

I am well aware how your skin
shreds off immortality
when adjoined with mine.
Very well aware.

There was once a girl who observed the little things more than a normal person would do, rather, be capable of.

She paid attention to the rhythm of the tapping of his fingers. One, two, one, one. How there will always be three lines on his forehead whenever those thick eyebrows scrunch. Her fingers itched terribly to touch his forehead, just to take away those creases. It ached her that she can’t. She will at all times notice that same torment in his features whenever he knocks on her balcony door. She knows it’s about his father, drunk yet again. She feels his pain and embraces it. She saw the innocence in his eyes whenever he passes her his cup or food and after she takes a bite, he would eat it again. He didn’t mind if his own food was contaminated by her saliva – this was the thought that would keep her awake all night. Would he mind then if they kissed? She knows his car only runs by unleaded gasoline. She love when he asks for book and song recommendations even though her taste was weird. It jumps from classical to melancholy but he was interested at most and writes down every title she says. She is well aware of how his skin gave off immortality. Whether it was just a teasing poke or a caress that means everything to her.. This too, will leave a mark. She also knows about the tattoo of his sister’s name placed below his collarbones. She came with him when he got it. She’s conscious whenever he comes across anger or how he appears godlike as usual. She appears confident but she was good in faking it. Her soul’s cores are more live than ever. And how he looks at that very girl, the one surrounded with more pretty girls. He asks if she’s okay that he would leave to talk to her. She says she doesn’t mind at all. Go ahead.

He walks to that very girl with luscious fire-red hair and twinkling almond eyes. He gives her a smile she hasn’t seen before. She feels like she’s falling. Only there isn’t a place where she’ll crash down. Just falling. An eternity of it.

The Moon whispers to her, “I chased the Sun down too. Look where we both are, defeated and insane.” His arm snakes around that very girl’s waist. She’s pricked by the thorns of a red rose. All over her body. Slowly in, slowly out. Then again and again.

Ah, the agony of the little things.

I wish you'd tell me things
big things
little things
like
how your mom and dad met
did you fail your first driving test
if you like your sandwhiches cut
in triangles
if you like eating alone or being accompanied
if you like or hate soy nuts
how you spend your Christmas
which contries have you visited
which of your friends do you really trust
do you like sunsets or sunrises
do you like old movies
if you like the lights on or off when you sleep
what were you like when you were small
what genre of music do you listen to
where did you get that scar above your brow
what is the meaning of your tattoo of a girl's name
what type of girls do you prefer
do you like girls who smoke
do you like girls who shedd a plethora of tears for you
do you like girls who are fragile
do you like girls who write poems about death
would you drown with me if I asked you to?

You promised me a rose garden and a white fence to guard it.

You thought me the beauty of observation; looking at an old couple sitting together and seeing so much more.

You told me three simple words. And for that I gave you my soul.

*Ah but my dear, why were you smiling at her?

Everybody has their own version of a predictable thought
that pulls all their strength down, swallows them whole
and simply lets it.
It makes the powerful fall and
the wealthy in romance feel restless.

But here you are, giving the top crust of my sandwich extra jam.

Your face an inch from mine.

I realize that you’re my weakness.

Please say you love me.
My
sanity
is
at
stake

I'm okay
you know,
like this.
A matress by
the cold concrete foor
bareskinned
thin white fabric shredding
warmth
our legs laced
and
my fingers dancing
on your chest.
The sunlight makes it's
way throughout the closed windows
and I felt scared,
for myself.
Because I envy the sun,
whose rays touch you
in just a single wrap
while
there are still parts
of your body
I have not touched.

An Ingénue,

that’s what she is.

Blazing fire would follow her wherever she went

She’ll make you stutter and swallow your own words

For beware

do not at all costs,

fall in love with her

Because she doesn’t love.

It all happened so naturally.
She was haunted by every word, touch and his whole existence.
Her own soul was possessed.
She didn’t mind at all.

I beg you, teach me how to get over him.
As soon as I thought I made any progress
A look in his eyes and the world reminds me
what lovers do in
****** hotel rooms
and
gardens.

“As I braced myself for the impact of his palm,
my bones told me to fight back,
for they are ready.
My mind constructed my eyes to look at the open door. I could leave this hellhole and bring back my vitality.
The door.
But the man looking at me with rage,
is the man I loved.
I closed my eyes
and
waited for the pain.

If I were a writer,
all the novels I wrote and I’ll be writing in the future
will all be dedicated to you.
You would see crumpled papers scattered all over my room.
Open each of them,
its about you.
There would be cared for papers too. Secretly kept away safe in a cabinet.
Again, about you.
I have wasted a plethora of ink just writing your name.
Do you call me a writer now