Autumn leaves
would do
for remembrance,
Perhaps,
more than words,
or a  plaintive air
Of a yellow guitar;
a rain,
a wine-dark wind  
spraying last summer's
fragrance.
Ah! Your absence!

Your white,
present, absence 
unshields
my metaphor!

© LazharBouazzi, December 7, 2016

I will not be with you forever.

It’s a simple truth many do not wish to hear, we may split apart in life due to differences of any kind, our bodies may fail us, only for our spirits to be separated for all eternity.

But no matter what happens, a part of me will always love you, and I know this. You’ve wrapped yourself so tightly into me, and I didn’t notice. How?
I will never know how, when I had pushed my walls up higher than they had ever been. If a prince could not love me then what good was I to anyone else. I had given up until you convinced me to try.

I don’t miss you like I feel I should, I know I am broken but I hate it, it is not fair on you. Should love be suffering? I’m not sure, I never have been sure.

I develop crushes, I watch tv shows – all to distract myself from the thought of you, the thought of loving so deeply again.

Please understand that I do not understand, but I theorise it is because I am terrified of losing myself. I’m scared of splitting into pieces that I can’t stick back together because ****, the last time I loved, oh the last time I loved I gave my entire self in all its forms and it wasn’t enough.

But I’m trying to make sure you stay, because, without you, I’d be so lonely and lost. I am trying to communicate and...

I'm sorry.

I imagined myself leaving
someday.  Trading
plains for seas, exchanging
something loved for something
unknown.

And maybe it's the fear
of quietly whispering
goodbye that unsettles me.
Maybe it's the inevitable
end of familiarity,
like the sun's western descent
after a day that should not
end.
And when it does,
we all pack our bags
and say farewell.

Eventually,
I will trace new roadmaps on the
back of my hands;
I will find the familiar
creaks in the floorboards.

And when the sun sets,
someone will leave a light on
for me.

If a writer falls in love with you
Your pockets will be poor
Should you choose to love too.
If a writer falls in love with you
You'll never get straight answers
To questions that matter.
If a writer falls in love with you
Your tears will be ink
And their ink will be tears,
But you will remember everything.
If a writer falls in love with you
Sometimes you'll hurt
But you'd hurt anyways
Had you loved another.
If you love a writer, it may just be love
(Though that, in itself, entails enough!)
But if a writer falls in love with you
Know you'll live forever
No matter what you do.

It might be painful
It might be disdainful
It might be lightning
It is so frightening
Could be the thunder
That has my number
It could be Jesus knocking
concerned about my mocking
It could be my future
or my lack of culture
It could be those fried reasons
maybe it's Jackie Gleason
It could be the hollow
that always seems to follow
me into the night
so black without any sight
It could be a light
from my star at height
tumbling through the heavens
or bread that is unleavened . . .

All I know is it just happened
while I was here just napping

Only the moon
Defines our day
With orbit

Only sunshine
Allows our life

Only our ***
Creates our people

Only your love
Made me whole

New moon drifts away
3.87 cenimetres
Each year

The night shall stretch
And die

You left
All at once

Only I cry
I cry
I cry

Remember when things were simple?

When the most complicated thing in life was deciding what flavor juice box you wanted?

Everyday, I wish I still had the innocence of a youth.

Before I knew anything of drugs, or alcohol, or relationships, or love.

When I still trusted those close to me.

Remember when things were simple?

Those precious moments are slipping through my fingertips, poisoned by reality.

Art defines me...
Reading unwinds me...
Poetry keeps me going by keeping the blood in my vanes flowing
Most people judge me, even though they barely know me

That's why I spend my time on me
Yes... I'm lonely
But nobody gets me

Nobody get's that I'de rather put my head in a book
Or I'd rather write a song...1 or 2
Nobody get's that poetry is like a drug
I keep on using but can't get enough

Even GRAMMAR is fun
Thats why my friends don't walk they run

To scared of the girl who always writes
And never has time for any real fun
I mean like playing with a real gun
Or riding a bike with her eyes closed
Real stuff like getting in a bed without any clothers

Most people don't see I'm just not ready
To pretend I'm something I don't want to be
But still they keep on pushing pushing and pushing me