By 7pm I will get dressed in my night gown
And leave the window open
Like some corny movie form the 70’s
I will hope you climb through my window and make love to me

By 8:30 I might turn on the news and mute the TV just to pretend I care about the world

At 9 I will turn my phone off, after checking 337 times if you have texted back
When suddenly realizing you have not
I will open the bottle of wine that’s hidden in my closet

By 10:30 I will probably be too drunk to realize I am drunk
So I will turn my phone back on
And realize love life is lacking
Or life at all

By 11 you will have turned your phone off
Probably annoyed at woman who keeps ringing
Me

By 11:15 I will surrender into my room
Probably too drunk to stand on my own
I will turn computer on and begin typing

It’s 12:14 now.


Wondering if sheep count drunk women as they fall asleep

Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
Heart! Thou and I are here, sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,
But Death intenser—Death is Life's high meed.

WHEN YOU HAVE POETRY BUT YOU'RE FREAKING TYPING IT AND YOU HIT UNDO ON ACCIDENT AND IT JUST DISAPPEARS AND YOU'RE SITTING THERE LIKE "WHAT WERE/WHERE ARE MY WORDS" AND I JUST CANT UGH NO

Sudden suffocation and relapsed restrictions, we colored ourselves in silver sets and party dresses.

Half hearted laughter amid animosity hidden by sly smiles and fragile friendships. Our wicked world was perfectly painted in shades of doubt.

I don't write
because I've to write
I write because writing comes to me
I have to write
because i know the language of writing
it comes like a thinking pattern
it compels me
it seduces me
in this bizarre wave
like a drunk
i have no sense to lose myself
So i write
this writing is addicted to me
like a moth attracted to light
I on other hand
avoid, neglect
like a cruel lover
invoking passions in many hearts
and i break them
thinking in minds, that i crush
it's like a disease
and this blank page
it haunts me
night and day
and i fill it up
sometime i burn
sometimes i throw it away
i never read
in a sheer angst
i write
without thinking
it's thinking of it's own
we can't remember
how it started
this great journey comes to me
like a meaningless quest
and sometimes
or most of the time
i think about it
and when I'm not
I surrender myself to these words
who seem to be my only friend

if i were to write a history
of today's mankind
i will tell it
like a story
a fiction--people like fiction
they don't want themselves to be told
how ugly they are, sometimes
they don't want themselves to know
how cruel they are, to each other
most people
they are not bothered
of what other feel
and occasionally
and very often
people are left on their own
it doesn't matter
people are senseless
like a jeopardy
even their own existence
is a mirror of complete lie
but don't tell
it'll offend them greatly
don't try to reach out to people
and for some people
it's never enough
whereas there are people
in this world
who die out of hunger
thirst, human cruelty
let us first satiate ourselves
our greed, our appetite
nothing is enough
I'm a stranger
who wonders here and there
i don't recognize people
they judge, regardless
pointing fingers of how aimless i'm
i let myself be an aimless
looking at their gigantic ignorant feeding
this world is too big of a play
of people's games
if i were to write a history
i will form it into a story
of every mankind's state of misery
and mystic going
side by side