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I am stuck.
I can not breathe.
I need my life support.
Please help me.
Breathe for me.
Make your heart beat for me.

Too late.
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
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"For a moment,"
Said their lips,
Warm, but fleeting

"It's okay,"
Said the rain,
Falling again

"I missed you,"
Said your bed,
Empty and tired

"Not today,"
Said the night,
Long and dull

"Maybe next time,"
Said the morning,
Sleepy and still

"Just wait,"
Said the week,
Dragging on

"Just breathe,"
Said the sidewalk,
Every day

"You're fine,"
Said the wind,
Colder than them

"I need you,"
Said your heart,
Resigned and dry

"..."
Said your lips,
Silent.
I'm not describing anything
Any differently​, anyway
I'm not that kind of poet.
I'm not providing anything new for you
Just another way
To feel okay.
When heaven and hell collide
Then we'll both be satisfied
Until then, we should stay
On our own.
Your love is like a tulip.
As you hold me, I feel free from pain;
Free from thorns that keep the wounds alive when holding it tight.
As you stare at me, you appreciate the natural beauty of me;
Beauty that blooms in your sight, a rare beauty which hid on others' eyes.

Tulip had withered nonstop, but its fragrant leaves on.
While time long past, odorous love of yours remains.
Your love is like a tulip.
As you smell me, scent reminds memories;
That keeps flashing in mind.
As the time flies, I sniff the potpourri and your love lingers in the air.
 May 2017 Adelaide Rey Cámara
eF
Haven't* *felt the need
To write or to breathe. Lately,
It's consuming me.
Miserable. Lacking influence & muse. Not feeling myself at all.
He looked at me,
The helpless boy in the mirror,
And said,
"You can't do this on your own."
Then his shoulders shook
Not hard enough for their burden to fall
And he in the mirror
Sobbed like a broken man
But he was just a helpless boy.

— The End —