why do we still do it
when we know nothing good comes out of it?

you should do it now
but i don't want toooooooo
get it over with
i'll do it laterrrrrrrrr
don't push it back another hour, another day
i'll find time to do ittttttttt

and eventually, we all just become addicted to it
and those who can quit by themselves,
are the ones who are truly talented.

why is it that
you still plague my mind

even thought i'm sure that
i've erased you?

she whispers. "hey."

"hm?"

"you're my boulder."

he chuckles. "what?"

"you're my boulder. you're
stronger than a rock. you're
the one who keeps me
from losing myself. you're
the one who keeps me
grounded. you are my boulder."

he grimaces. "but if i'm a boulder
then i'd crush you...i would
hurt you."

she laughs quietly. "well then, you're
a gentle boulder.  soft and fluffy and
all that stuff."

he stifles a laugh. "so do i just have
a bunch of fluffy green moss
growing on me?"

she nods. "you're
my big, gentle, sweet, moss-covered
boulder."

he smirks. "well...
then i guess you're
my pebble."

she looks into his eyes. "how so?"

"you're my pebble. you're
small but not easy to break. you're
seemingly fragile but you're
stronger than you look. you're
part of me and you're
the one who can either break me
or make me whole. you are my pebble."

she smiles
and he wraps his soft green sweatshirt
that he's wearing
around her
shoulders. "mine."

she murmurs. "my boulder."
he whispers. "my pebble."

and finally,
both of them
are found
as they gaze at the stars
and into each other's eyes.

A bright candlelight
dances, enough for
giving heat. It jerks
kaleidoscopically, like
music. Near oblivion,
phantoms quietly rollick.
Shadows trail up
vapid walls. Xylography
yet zigzags.

I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
A building with so many levels,
With two big windows, hiding secrets.
Adequate, presentable outside,
Labyrinthine, ramshackle inside.
Everyone becomes disillusioned.
Who’ll fix this piece of architecture?
Who will tend it, patch it up, love it?
Maybe someday, someone will. Who knows?

our eyes shut so no light breaks through,
our fists clenched with sharp crescents digging in soft flesh,
our tears escaping the mere barrier of our eyelids,
our voice locked in deep inside us trying to escape

*why is it so hard to accept the truth?