I broke too much
of myself
thinking someone
could fix me.

I should have not
turned myself
to pieces
in the first place.

Because no one
would ever keep
a broken mirror
in their pockets.

I really like you
And it's still a mystery
if why I do.

But I guess,
It's about how you talk
With a full sense

Or is it how
you adore darkness
like your own safe haven.

Or is it how
Your sad dark eyes
Gaze my soul

Or is it how
Your poems feed
My inner being.

Or is it just how
My loneliness gives me reason
For you to be my prey.

I like you still
But wanting you
Would be a wrong choice.

I don't know how to write
Like those with deep words
Because I only write
What causes my wound

I don't know how to start
A poem that would last,
Since words couldn't go along
What my heart wishes to tell.

I never write poetry
But I write what I feel.
It cannot be greater than stars
But I write what I couldn't say.

I was never a poet
Nor a writer of my own
But I am  lover
Who only write to be loud.