He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

I will block out
the two hundred poems in my head
and write this one
for you
instead.

Do the stars gaze back at us, and wonder?
The love we have that sparks like thunder
Does the moon admire?
Our longing desire
Does the universe envy?
Our never ending story

I must confess  
I have been writing about you...  
In my hidden rhymes, I can scream.  
In my lost poems, I feel seen.  

I'm afraid to confess how much I feel.  
I'm scared to overwhelm, to isolate, and push you away.  
But these words may never find your eyes,  
hiding in these lines that I will never say.  

Saying that you stole my heart would be a lie.  
You took so much more of what is mine...  
You have my attention, my memories, and my dreams.  
Fine, you have my art, my poetry, my time.  
F*CK IT... keep my salvation, my future, my life.

In the ocean of your eyes
I drowned
In the warmth of your hug
I burned
In the darkness of your hair
I lost
In the whispers of your mouth
I learned what words taste like

You walked on the holy grounds of my soul
Made a joke out of my idols
And burned the altars of my Gods

You are me... if I loved myself.

I loved you.
And then I hated you
in both
I was hurt.

I am tired.
I just want want to watch TV.
And write poems.
I want to lay by the sea.
And love someone more than me.

I wanna cry.
But I have no tears.
I want to dance.
But I have no ears.

But then, you came along.
And I realized that we are both sinners of the same kind.
Singers to the same song.
Both are pieces of a broken mind.