When you sharply stare at nothing but midair
Unseeing into the particles of space,
When you let your thoughts drizzle down upon you
In spite of the mess that you are a part of,
When you recap your life till yesterday
Those haunting memories you keep thinking of,
Smiling at some, skipping the ghostly ones
Moving restlessly and touching yourself;
These five seconds of blankness
When you stare at nothing but midair
Can either build you up stronger than before
Or tragically destroy all that you are
You know the odds, you know how to win over your thoughts
But you play with the loudest of your emotions anyway.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I remember he had the dreamiest eyes I could think of
They were as deep as that sultry voice of his
Well, a charming shade of brown
Ebony, to be more specific.
When he was out in the sunshine, I still remember how they used to glisten and sparkle
Overflowing with wetness which looked like warm liquid gold
Like an ocean of nostalgic summer waves, his eyes hid something.
So much. Another world, perhaps.
Whenever I tried to get to the core of his mysterious beauty, those lips used to curve into a smile gently .. slowly
Without notice, like how the sun rises up from under the horizon
******* out all the strength it took me to not touch him.
He was the Prince Charming on drugs, I'd say
A drunken Romeo at night with ripped off clothes
The love of his dreams is a crazy fantasy, he says
And he always messed up his fantasies so fine.
I would never forget how he asked me to stay away
How artistically he put it all together, trying not to hurt me
He used to say "love is unhealthy for me.."
How delicate and effortless he made it sound
Maybe he knew that anyone who looked deeper into his eyes,
beyond that beautiful brown, would fall for him.
And fortunately or unfortunately, I *did.