Here’s a story for you, dear
About a girl who had no ears
Could not hear of the world’s fears
Here’s a story for you, dear
About a boy’s vision so unclear
He could not see his mother’s tears
Here’s a story for you, dear
About a dad who loved his beer
Too drunk to know the end was near
Here's a story for you, dear
About a man who worked cashier
With wish to be an engeneer
Here’s a story for you, dear
About a helpful volunteer
Who most times was insincere
Here’s a story for you, dear
About a woman’s failed pap smear
Preparing for a condition so severe
Here’s a story for you, dear
Although we try to persevere
*We all want to disappear

The collision between two passionate lips,
I miss holding onto the hips
and embrace the blazing feelings fuming beneath my ribs.
Take my breath away,
I mean take away my life,
look me deep in the eye,
get closer,
toe to toe,
knee to knee,
chest to chest,
listen to my heartbeat,
allow your eyes to compell me to shut my eyelids,
strike me dead with a passionate kiss,
let my soul elope into a secret place,
kiss me to death,
because there is eternal life in you kiss,
...

"Hello," she said.
It was dark
and the concrete below our feet
was a plateau of acerbic teeth
snapping at us,
compelling us to stay in the ring of light
cast by a streetlamp.
Fear of the unknown keeping us right where we were
together.
Lesser of two evils.

I miss you now.
I didn't then.
In the orange tint of the streetlamp
in the cold.
It was impossible to miss you
so stuck in our ways
our daily comings and goings
our morning
"do-you-want-coffee?"
ritual, two mugs already down
before the question is finished being asked.
I couldn't see.
I couldn't - wouldn't -
look ahead. Into the dark.

Teeth gnashed as we waited for the words to stop.
I looked up at the sky,
somehow seeking comfort in the stars but
now I'm not sure if they were there.
One lone helicopter
piloted, I'm sure, buy someone.
But not a star,
not what I needed.
And I was invisible to them.

Not to you though.
And your words shuddered through my skin
to lodge, like a vicious choking noise
in my bones.
And I miss you now.
But I didn't then.
And when you left,
I couldn't follow,
for fear of the dark.
For fear of the unknown.

Whenever I think of you,
My lungs lapses to respire.
Whenever I think of you,
My heart forgets to pound.

They say "at least we are under the same sky and we gaze at the same shooting stars and crescent moon"

But what if... That was not enough.
What if, my soul was not fulfilled with romanticized sadness.
What if, I'm drained and shriveled from this sadistic sadness.
What if, the texture of your hair and the shining pearls in your eyes were enthralling for me.
And what if, you were all that to my soul,
and I,
only seeked to be...
complete.

Only seeked to touch you,
tumble between your arms;
to fall in your heart.

These words, were carved on the curves of my lips...
And left me to fumble whenever I surrounded you.

Whenever I think of you,
It is a never ending sadness.
Because I crave to worship you... You do not crave the same.

In fact,

You do not crave me at all.

Hey,
I don't know your address.
I hope you never read this.
My therapist says that this is the way to get it all out of my head.
I was under the impression
that writing to someone
ended in burning the evidence.
That it was a kind of healing ritual.
Cleansed by the flames.
But no,
electronic almost-correspondence
appears to be the answer.
Here goes:


I got drunk today.
It seemed like the thing to do.

There was a couch,
it was grey.
Yeah, that one. The red wine stain
is still on the underside
of the cushion cover.

I prefer white.

I sat on the couch.
That's what they're for, couches,
so not much of a surprise, I guess.
But I don't know what to say,
I'm filling the void with
obvious facts.

I didn't even use a wine glass.
I filled a pink mug
full to the top.
Had to sip off the rim of it
so it didn't overflow as I carried it into the sitting room.
With the bottle of wine,
of course.

And I drank.

So I'm drunk now.
I keep laughing.
Of course, I'm not a happy drunk,
but everything is
wrong
anyway.
There's no one around to
tell me to shut up,
for one thing.

Not that I would mind
if there was.
It would fill the silence.

A silence punctuated with
pathetic little
giggles,
as I mentioned before.

I'm not sure what I'm laughing at.
Could be the man outside yelling at his car,
the alarm has been on for an hour now.
Maybe it's the fact
that you took the kettle with you,
and I haven't bought a new one.

I make tea in the microwave now.
Ridiculous.

I don't like you.
Not at all. I don't like the way
that you can't seem to
say anything of importance
and I don't like the way
that your absence
is like

it's like

being stabbed, but that's not enough I feel like I don't have the right to claim that kind of physical pain, I don't feel like I have the right to cry or even walk out my own front door for some reason, and for some reason I was not good enough for you even though neither of us tried our best because we thought we were enough but we weren't and I don't have the words to describe what you are to me, or what you were to me, only that grocery-store sushi used to be that pathetic thing you bought at past-eleven-pm-sometime and now I hate it so much that it's the only thing I can eat and I

I don't need you.

I don't. It's impossible for me to need you,
in the scientific, explainable
rational sense.

But explain it for me,
please.

& me