Thank goodness for the world that I cannot love you. Otherwise, what do you do when you fall in love with your brother or with your best friend. You die, or you suffocate yourself and lie. It's a blunder.

But not really, you die, only metaphorically. Which is worse.

And then you meet them, the ones you loved, love,...... and end up with improper goodbyes, empty conversations and the love decays, except not really, because, he, still smiles. And you fall in love again. Except not really.
Not this time.

i guess it's good that you're never here. because it's given me the opportunity to fall back in love with some of my past loves that my obsession stole from me.
holding a book feels a lot like holding a lover. i don't just hold it, you see. i gently run my finger along the edges of the pages, i take in its scent as if it could cure me of every single thing that pains me, i touch each word to see if they feel any differently, and when i'm done reading it
i don't toss it aside with disdain the way you do me. i place it on my chest, i let it feel my warmth and my beating heart and i let it stay right there until i cannot bear to be away from the beautiful pages of my lover anymore. so i open it and only then do i realize how much i truly missed it, how graceful the pages look when they are turned, how it fits in my hand so perfectly, how it fills all of the empty places inside me. but to the book, i never left, my beating heart was always there

My heart leaves out no space
For captured princesses
And those fairy tails
Where the prince must marry
A beautiful maiden pretty as the moon

My heart is rustic, too bold to appear
But somewhere in the closet
It is also sincere
And it is love that my heart also knows

Except in a man.

In italicized words, my heart is gay
So is my body
And my lover, of no name.
Who is too shy to appear.

Last night, I saw a clear blue sky
In the darkness of the moon
And my lover said
that blue are just the
color of my eyes.

So, I turned and looked at him
But he looked just the same
And my uncultured heart screamed
That I loved him


Two days later, he rings me and says
That his eyes never saw my bleeding sexuality
And was sorry
But my lover always knew
That I am not okay
And I would let the darkness in
In hope of him.

So much for the night sky
And so much for his love.

But my lover, he has no name.

I feel ashamed
That the heart that I nurtured
Is now in its stunted form of blossoming
Ever so eternal

My hands
reach out
For the arteries and the bleeding veins
Prying, Prodding with force.

I am crippled, unraveled
My sexuality, bleeding.

But so long as I smile as I walk
and nobody notices me bleeding
None shall stop
Or mutter a word.

To muster enough care for my heart to nurture again
For life, for love, for sensuality.
And for days to come.
But only when, someone shall stop.

It is half past one, and you
are more restless than I, when
this day had started, when
you and I met.

The air that parts the window from the curtain, is
colder than I guessed, and now
I fear that I might freeze to death.

And so I move, towards
the closest thing for warmth, and
I find you, wrestling for sleep.

So, I kiss you, gently on your cheeks
And it’s wet now, colder than the rest of you
But there are other things to worry about
Because the gentle peck on your cheek
Wouldn’t even be there, when you wake up.
A message, disappearing, before anyone reads it.

There is much else to be worried about
Like, the coldness, in between you and me
and beneath all of us.

I would,
in the loneliest of the nights.
Light candles from moonlight
and sunlit stars
To celebrate, this loneliness.
And stare.
at The same moon, and the stars
who also, like, lonely lovers,
promise me a glance, and I
in their promise
Would look upon the lovers.
who died, in tranquility.
Gazing at stars and the moon alike.