LADY, born for Heaven's gate,
Thy nation to inspire —
Alas that thou did immolate
Atop thy self-same pyre

LADY, borne from ashen grate,
Thy nation shall aspire
To gift to thee thy heavenly trait
And raise thee ever higher

Funny how the world works
Two get *******,
Fulfil some needs and
Leave the rest

You can feel it now
And forget it later
The subconscious desire continues
In the secretive form
Hidden from the lawful society
In the lawless heart

It doesn’t exist for me
The word frequently used
Used until required
And then left
Unloved

I hate anniversaries
I hate that I remember dates
I hate that it's the first of October
And I remember a year ago
The first time
My heart got broken into a million pieces
The day you destroyed me
Without a care in the world
And I haven't been quite whole since

It’s bad when I run
Out of titles for all my
Sad poems about you.

he loved her when it was convenient
when substance soaked his system
emotions boiled over and he had no where to pour them
so he used her
like a therapist
and when the session was over
she never crossed his mind

s.s

Is there
Something wrong with me?
Why is it so easy
To fall out of love
With me?

I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I hear your laughter in my mind,
The clear ringing of your happiness,
And I just want to hear it again,
Mingled with my own.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I see your smile under my eyelids,
Your body curled up on the couch
In my favorite red sweatshirt,
Your gorgeous blue eyes gazing at my own.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I feel your arms around me,
The gentle rhythm of your breathing,
Your soft hair brushing my cheek,
And your heart beating within you, just for me.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
Every happy or sad thought
Is traced back to you;
You are constantly on my mind,
But after the world turns off and the darkness comes on,
I can see you so much more clearly,
And my ache is renewed.
Please, someone stop me from writing after 10 pm.
I don't want this pain.

I’ve made a *** of coffee
And filled a cup for everyone.
I pour the last drops for you
But my cup remains dry.

You tell me, you prefer tea.

I’ve made a cup of tea
And place the sugar bowl beside it.
You tell me, you prefer honey
But you’ll drink it anyway.

Since then,

I’ve kept tea in the cupboard
And honey by the sugar

Just in case you’d come around.

And I can’t remember if I, myself,
Preferred coffee or tea.