he made a game
of song titles
just to hear
my sigh and
see my smile and
deep down
i knew
that behind his smile
there lay a
long, broken path
that led
to a blackhole
and this blackhole
was his mind.

and as the
days died, died, died
so did he.
he stopped his
game
and i started
to realize
that the game was
not about the songs or
my sighs
but instead it
was about a
cry for help
that i never heard

you were the pendulum of my clock;
without you, i still ticked
but not once did i ever have
the same rhythm
as before

i miss the feeling of

bound paper in my hands

full of secrets the whole world

has access to yet few choose

to indulge in the secrets

that rest right in front of them

imagination seems to be

a thing of the past



there's a certain amount

of personal pleasure one

seeks when reading

that not all novels are capable of.

those that are are precious,

and you feel almost selfish

when you hold it close

and read its beauty.



i miss the unspoken joy

literature and a good plot

grant me and i am at once

satisfied from heart to mind.



it's the book lullaby

i enjoy the most

the calm, rhythmic words

forming sentences, pages, books....

they lull me to sleep

and i dream, dream, dream

of worlds and people

i will never be lucky enough to meet.

people say they aren't real

fictional, they call them

but it's more than that

these characters taught me more

than any other human has come close to.

their unique originality

i cannot find anywhere else

but in the combination of letters

that we call books



and it's this book lullaby

that keeps me loving, caring,

it's the source of my passion

and the source of my dreams

sweet, sweet inspiration

that is one of a kind

like coals in a fire
we are led to oblivion

it means i'm sorry
for all the things
you've had to put up with
*Je suis désolé

It was the moment we were born.
Seconds apart, we came into the world.
It always annoyed us, always bothered us
that neither of our parents could remember
which was older, the first from the womb
We would always tease each other
But we were inseparable all the same.

It was the year that we changed
to the lonely, bitter I.
The year I went to my first funeral
and staring into the coffin numbly,
I remember seeing an almost
exact replica of myself

And that was the moment I broke.