If only you loved me
If only you'd fall for this man
I would give you all my milk and honey
I would cater to everything you demand

But you do not share what I feel
and maybe you'd never will
Maybe we are just that different
and maybe my love for you isn't real

Love, and other feelings alike, will pass
That is what time does to the heart
But each and every time we caress
I never wished for us to be apart

Maybe I was right all along
All my doubts and second thoughts from the start

If only love would last long
If only it could last longer than this
Then I wouldn't have to admit that I was wrong
and we'd separate with more than just a kiss

to me:
oh **** your insecurities
and your worries about life
(there's an old tale i reread)

I.
those books you've read
have corrupted your heart
you've become so cold
you've forsaken the world

II.
dark clouds begin to bundle
on that mountain you call your head
then tears roll down from yer empty stare
hitting you fast like german tanks
falling on you hard like Jogjan rain
and still you think its the world's fault
you blame others for this assault
open your eyes, my man, and realize
that its you who'd be terrorized
if you kept on calling on wraiths
to show you the way to the grave

III.
stand your ground and endure!
do not fret in the face of doom
because i know that in you
there's still something pure
like the steppes of Burkhan Khaldun
where Konguroy placed her lure
during the mornings covered with dew

IV.
i never liked myself
i never wanted to live
i never loved anyone
i never speak the truth

V.
in a chaotic rebirth of all things true
i believe you also would see yourself
anew

I’ve been writing you many letters, none of them has reached your hands, and I would never give them to you. I would not give them to you, I would never let you read them. You do not deserve to read what I wrote for you.

I’ve written many hundred pages long letters, all of them talking about you. The way you move, the way you look at the world, I’ve put many small details which you yourself would miss into my letters. But in the end these are just what I perceive you to be. Maybe what I wrote wasn’t even you, but the “you” that I could feel.

You see, I am not obsessed about you. Not even the slightest. But you have this ability, one which you aren’t aware of, to pull me into fixation. You constantly draw me closer, you force me to examine you from head to toe, you force me to understand you inside and out; you possess a power to control me, one which I myself do not possess.

I am indeed aware of your flaws, but they’re not that interesting to write about. Look at yourself in the mirror, and instantly you could find what you lack of. Try battling your wits with someone else, and they would pinpoint exactly what’s wrong in your way of thinking. But these aren’t interesting, there is nothing interesting about your flaws. Flaws are facts that you need to accept, you can’t deny flaws once they’re established. But writing about you minus all of those flaws is another thing, it’s something that not everyone could see, it’s something that needs a degree of attention to realize, it’s not something that easy to spot; I behold your beauty, that’s why I could write endlessly about you.

You’re really something else, and you don’t realize that. My job here is to make you realize all the things you are, and not to make you think of the things you are not. I’ll leave that job for you, or for anyone that would oblige to take on that duty, but it wouldn’t be me. Ever.

I am naive, I realize that. I only think of you as how I perceive you, and not as everyone else does. It’s subjective, and anyone with common sense could spot the flaw in my logic by adhering to this subjective view, by hearing me repeat these words: you are flawless to me. If I was a scientist I wouldn’t be a very good one. Luckily, I am not a scientist, nor am I a philosopher who could convey their concepts systematically, I am just me. I am just in love.

I am in love with the thought of you.

Lord give me strength,
to fight the demons inside of me,
so I may be free from their tyranny.

Lord give me strength,
to endure the darkening skies,
to overcome and finally see light.

Lord give me strength,
to love those around me,
to smite all the hate and envy.

Lord give me strength,
to carry this cross I bear,
to endure the thorns I wear.

Lord give me strength,
to conquer these thoughts that possess,
to realize that this too shall pass.

tears and joy, and laughter broke.
and the fear of commitment ringed.
lonely souls searching for a bright light,
walking under the the rain. freezing.

at night before time slows down,
they scream, they cry, they stop.
shouting out prayers to something.
while all the flowers they planted died.
while their beliefs are withering. cold.

is it right to escape? one begs an answer.
getting plastered, singing songs, crying out.
celebrating life without enduring the pain.
in life we learn, in alcohol they drown. fear.

nietzschean rhetoric and boredom.
reading under the moonlight is hard.
i am sorry. be well and happy like always.
without me you’d be fine. i know that now.

I wrote a poem about you yesterday. I wrote down things about me and you, and I swear to anything out there, it’s not something easy to do. I don’t know how much poems I’ve written and for god knows how many girls, and this one may not be different. But this one’s ugly, because it’s the truth.

The poem was about every scenario I imagined about us. It was all the plans that we made for the future, the plans we made in my head. The you and the me in my head are lovers with nothing to separate them, a companionship of two anxious souls, en route to the abysmal fear of what’s going to happen next. It was all the things that we could do, but at the same time we don’t even know if we’d ever be. And it’s not only ugly, it’s scary, because the truth is I want us to be able to realize my fantasies.

But though it’s only in my head, when I wrote it down it felt real. It was as though I was writing down what I’ve experienced with you on a piece of paper. And that’s just what we are, a blank sheet of paper, destined to be one of the greatest love stories ever written; or thrown into the trash bin as garbage, without any accounts of us, because nothing ever happened.

And maybe it’s only my thoughts that’s been going on and on about this, while you don’t even think of me enough to start any stories of our future days. I don’t know how you feel about me, and I haven’t told you the whole truth too. And maybe that’s good enough for now, because I can’t afford to lose you.