I

If I leave, would you weep?
Would I still be cradling you to sleep?
Or will the thought of me keep you awake?
When I'm gone, would you then know what was at stake?
When I die, you'll see the breeze
Will it make you weak in the knees?
Like maybe I did, one lifetime ago or a half
Or will you blow it a kiss on my behalf?
I don't know how you'll cope,
I don't know who you'll blame.
But of one thing I can assure you-
Nothing will ever be the same.

If I'm gone, will you cry?
Would you mourn, or want to die?
Would you write a rhapsody in my name,
Or accept denial, and call it all a game?
Please don't cry till your eyes are sore..
Accept it! Reality isn't real anymore.
Existence is a sham, now do you see?
Who do you think is dead-
Is it you or Is it me?

II

My eyes are now closing, I see the wind blow
I see the stars and the moonlight put up a fanciful show
Still dreaming of your silhouette waiting by the sea
All of the sensibility dawned upon me-
If and when I'm gone - you wouldn't care
Sure, for 6 days, in the voids you will stare
On day 7, once you down all that caffeine
You won't miss me as me, but as just a change in routine
On day 40, to the memories you'll bid adieu
As day 50 comes by, your life is as good as new

So convince me now,
Before I slash my soul with this knife
That bogus is not the only definition
To my presence in this life
Before your life fills
With unjust guilt, grief, and despair
Please learn to value me-
While I'm still there...

Flames.
Flames result in something burning into ashes.
The stronger ones, that resist, are not saved from the effects either.
                                                                ­                             They blacken.

And when a fire and passion as strong as ours burns out, one of us is going to be reduced to ashes and the other one is going to carry the weight of the darkest heart around.

I strive to keep us ablaze because somewhere I know that the pain of being reduced to nothingness is much lesser than carrying around a broken piece of what once was.

                                                           ­                     Burnt from all sides.

And I know that I'm the one who's going to resist.
                                                         ­                                         Oh, I fear.

The Art of Stealing Hearts-
A curse of the purest kind.
I mistook myself for the divine.
Now I lay on the corpses of who my suitors once were,
as part of the history as every single one of them.
I lay still atop,
with a knife slit through my chest,
and a drop of regret in my eyes.
Little had I realised,
whilst I slaughtered your love like
every single one of theirs,
that your heart had mine in it.
And I carved it out with a lonesome bloodied knife,
And now I lay here still,
still.
The curse was probably never about stealing hearts,
It was maybe about letting mine be stolen with yours.
Every. Single. Time.