I sang the song of the lonely oceans
Where heartbroken words are drowned
In the deepest darkest place of emotions
Where I screamed without a sound

I longed for you to hear my voice
My inner screams suffocating
Our broken love was not my choice
But I suffer my turmoil within

Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.

He counted the stars
to prove his love for her but
she's looking away

It's not real.
I am not there.
No one is.
It's just air.
It's not true.
I'm not me.
I'm a figment.
There's no she.
There's no us.
No them.
No later.
No then.
No times.
No places.
No lives.
No faces.
Just wasted,
Wasted,
Wasted.

You being mine, and I
yours; is being sewn to each
in only three words.

I don't know what to say.
I can't speak,
You have taken all my words.
I can't find the words to describe you
And how you make me feel.

There is only one thing I can say:
               I love you.