An old florist, dressed in black
Hands a white rose to a guy.
While the beggar pets a stray..
A bicycle falls by.

It’s the westerly winds again...
Rain peeking through the sunless sky…
Though everything is getting moist around..
It’s my heart that’s running dry..

There’ goes the artist’s beret
And the lil girl’s pink umbrella..
A child pays a sixpence..
To the friendly pretzel fella..

The street lamp winks
While it listens to the accordion..
Lovers falling in love again…
While I wait for my old companion

The sea isn’t getting any wetter with the rain…
Though my hands are  getting wrinkled and white…
Then the same old man in his mackintosh..
Comes into my old ,weary sight..

We just saw, gave a reserved smile..
Then I cursed the different ways I chose…
Yet he melted all my regrets…
And held out that white rose…

Can't seem to find a place where I belong,
Not just like last time, when I thought I did but I was wrong.

And I remember all these things that happened to me,
I just wanna run and forget not wake and remember this tragedy.

Take it back now, take back the words you say.
I don't ever want to remember this day!

How can you live knowing you did this to me?
I hope you suffer everyday knowing you're guilty.

You said to trust in you.
As the walls shifted and doors cracked,
as the gasoline dripped and you attacked,
as the ashes piled behind our backs,
you said to trust in you.
You said we'll be okay.
Days, months, years passed by,
my worries transitioned into war cries,
your stern actions became civil in my eyes,
you said we'll be okay.
You said please don't go.
My feeble body couldn't withstand your hold,
your reoccurring apologies soon became foretold,
as the beast inside of you came out and controlled,
you said please don't go.
You said I love you.
Those powerful words meticulously said,
pierced me - all at once there was red,
your pastel lips gently glided onto my forehead,
You said I loved you.

|s.s|

"O Pen."  Addressed the paper.
"You keep writing on me like a painter.
You fully know i never grumble like a tree.
Why do you pin and make holes in me?"

"It is not me." Replied the jolted pen.
"Only is my holder that causes you much pain.
Be it child , young or old.
They also fold you and unfold.
My life, too, is similar.
I am used and is thrown away by the user.
O my eternal friend! No use of such a groaning.
We are destined to suffer without healing."

my palm ,
i cut,
my palm
i stared
my palm,
was bleeding,
i watched it bleed
until it froze
in the cold
my palm's now
warm
burning
with heat
maybe its the painful emotions
trying to pour out
of my cuts
thank god

they can now be free,i wish,
after they are bled out
they shall disappear
oh,i wish

i am
watching my scar now so timid and quietly pouring,and again
it froze.
what a scene.
no?
:(