What is it to be compelled?
What is it to have a feeling ****** upon?
Like a needle
It ******,
Scratches and sticks
Stays in mind
Repeats, rewinds and repeats
Time and time and time...

Until, another comes about
Pricking, sticking and repeating
Like the one prior
Only different in its nature
Stemmed and born to cater
The prototype that preceded
Predicated on deceiving
One's perception of the first.

And another third to sift off the second
And a forth to sift off the third...

Leaving one deaf, blind and dumb
Becoming nothing but an outcast;
A sad and lonely ***.
Immobilised and cocooned in bed;
The warm glimmering shine of sun-
Touch not registered  
Given the compelled numb.

I am your poet --
I write your name on my heart
and our memories on my pages.

I write about my doubts,
my maybe's, what if's
and whereabouts
of you; and only you.

I write about my mistakes and yours --
our past, present, supposed future;
and how I love you the most.

I write about our debates --
the shouting and crying like
a wildfire sprawled across the bed.

I write about our first date --
when we dress up so nicely
and danced all night.

I write about our first kiss --
the push and pull of our lips;
and the warmth of our breathing.

I write about the way we talk --
the sweetest and most painful sound
uttered against the wind by the heart.

I write about your heartbeat --
the way it speaks to me,
and how it says my name joyfully.

I write about your face, your body,
the sound, noise, and joy;
and how we make love endlessly.

I am your poet --
I write about our unending love
that ends on my pages.

chocolate fills
the gaps
between
my soul
and the
places
   their hands
   press
cotton
candy
bruises
into
milky flesh
while
strawberry
syrup
pools
  on
   the
    floor
and the
    ginger ale
that oozes
from
agonized
eyes
    burns their
      faces into
  my retinae