right now, everything good is so difficult
because every step I take
towards my better tomorrow
reminds me of the future
that I'm leaving behind–a future that
I was completely in love with,

even if you were never
in love with me

What if
          I
                                                  ­Fall
In
              Love
With
      A
       Poet?
What if he mesmerises me
       With his lines?
What if
        His words touch me
        And kiss
           Through my skin?
     What if i search for
Him
Everyday
And
      Travel through
              His words
    And meet him
                  Somewhere
       And
We
       Become bare
          And he caresses
Me
          With every
      Stanza
And
       Here
           I am
                Again
Searching
           For him,
    Wanting
Him
        With
                 All
                      Desire
Waiting
             For
                 His
                   Next
                      Poem
                         To
                            Take
                             ­ Me
                          To
                       His
                   World
                Where
             We
          Will
        Lay
      Bare
   What if
               I
                  Fall in love
                      With
                  A
             ­         Poet?

© Evna-Luna

I followed the leaf-strewn path once more
Where it hugged the cemetery wall,
And made my way through the sandstone gap
Where the howl of the wind was stalled,
While snow still covered the sacred ground
And piled by each headstone lay,
Obscured the lettering, so profound
Of a love, now taken away.

And some of the headstones, cracked and worn
Cried out in their pure neglect,
Where were the ones their love had sworn
Who’d never visited yet?
But then a headstone, polished and new
With a name fresh cut in the stone,
I knelt in awe as my wonder grew
That beauty returned to bone.

My tears were frozen on either cheek,
The frost on my forehead lay,
If she could see from her reverie
She’d see that my face was grey,
But nothing stirred on that tiny mound
That covered her form below,
The wind that howled was the only sound
And I thought it told me to go.

‘Get up and leave, you can only grieve
In this garden of dead desire,
Love in this place may only deceive
It’s as dead as the ash in a fire.’
Sadly I placed the poem I wrote
For the girl, in case she’d need it,
Under a rock by the headstone there
In the hopes that Death might read it.

David Lewis Paget

Visions collide
Here, I reside
Closing doors with my mind
Chasing shadows, leaving friends behind

If only I could bend time
Turn demons into simple crimes
Sweep away emotions and trembling oceans
Can I plunge into the Earth
without leaving a mark?

Crowding thoughts
Is it all for naught?
I've turned the dreams away
Faded nights turn to gray
Corroding minds, they all unwind
Plunging into water
How soon will it be till I falter?

If only I could bend time
Turn demons into simple crimes
Sweeping emotions, reflecting oceans
Can I rise from this Earth
without leaving a mark?

I remember the way you used to hold me, as we were both cuddled on my couch, watching re-runs of my favorite show. I would laugh too hard at a joke and you would just smile and wonder how you ended up there.

I remember the way my head felt laid in your lap, the way I hummed in appreciation as you wound your fingers in my hair, my mind slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. The sound of your breath created an equilibrium I only reached when with you.

I remember how upset I was when you woke me up to say goodbye.

I would exonerate myself, telling my mind that the scars across my heart were not his fault, he had no idea.

I remember your texts at 2 in the morning, explaining in full detail the purpose of your midnight snack mission, our arguments about which fast food joint held the best strawberry milkshake seem so distant.

I remember us, but now it just seems like just you, and just I.

Good morning's and good night's aren't blended together anymore, I wonder if the world will ever smell like you again.

I still relish in those moments, wondering if one of these days, you will call me in the middle of the night and tell me you're outside my front door, waiting for me to open it. That it's about to rain and you're afraid of getting wet because you need to be held and you can't stomach the thought of me catching a cold whilst engulfing you

(due to the icy drops falling from your hair and into my eyes. Silly you, those are called tears, and they've already made their home.)

But that's not who we are anymore, because you no longer send me texts telling me why you're driving around the city in the middle of the night, and we don't spend hours in each others arms anymore.

You've discovered the one thing I've managed to keep hidden. And as you hold it between your fingers like some sort of work of art, you begin to study the chips and bruises, wondering how I could let such destructive damage be done. But you cannot see that it is you who has caused it to bleed. Now your nails are digging too deep and your grasp is too firm. And as it pumps out what is left of the love I have for you, dripping off of your fingertips and burning a hole through the ground beneath us, I know it is over.

You aren't fighting for me anymore,
you never really were.