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my one wish is
to find someone
who sees the world
as beautiful as i do
with their mouth
preaching poetic beauty
as i have once did
to all the boys
i have loved
"Though it was at my hands, it was your weight that suffocated me."
A man's dream was eaten by death
and there is no funeral for him.
He's trapped in an old broken memory.
And the death is singing loudly,
And the love of women he missed,
And all the way she goes.
The pain is ready.
The pain is silent.
And for every suicide that was never recorded.
And every poem he's written that never tell the sad story.
And for the unsorrowful dying of the smell roses
coming down to the sea.
Indonesia, 28th December 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
i find that i write the best
just after a fight
just after i've cried
just after the tears have fallen

doesn't matter what story it is
happy, sad, mysterious
funny, tragic, ridiculous
i will always write it well

because any story i write
after a fight, after i've cried
is a story that gives me the most comfort
because any fiction

is better than this.
And with a sincere smile,
she looked to the stars
knowing the future was worthwhile,
even, with a thousand scars.
water the plants
first the dying
then the healthy
but you've forgotten
which one is which
or just haven't paid attention
so the dying
wilts away
leaves turn to a frown
as green turns to brown
you smile away
at your green succulent
as the other fades to mold
when August came….
you expected gentle freckles
and sweet lemonade,
the morning solstice
and warm summer days

but August came,
and August went,
she brought you pain
and a heart to mend
Encapsulated in a world of duty and obligation
I see no room for fantasy or imagination
no wind of September
can ever dismember
the longing I feel for illusion, fantasy and excitation

Only the stars of heaven can throw me a rope
at night when I sleep, its the only time I cope    
the moon  
is my woon  
up there in the sky its the only thing that floats like hope.

September 23, 2021
Collections of my disorderly thoughts
gathered together with knots
of my ample desire
to make sense of my everyday life.
I write poetry, however bad they might be, to help me analyze my feelings.
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