i am
a pen

afraid
of loving

like how
the ink

kisses
the blank
paper

but dies
and
leave me

for
my words
to live

in poetry

time is
the nemesis
in our story

but i always
choose you,
my poison

i recognize
this place,
it reminds me
of how
our love story
began
and ends

The remnants of memories
can be so addictive
like 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯
𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴,
and you,
alone in dark place
𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴
𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦,
longing to walk
by the shore,
to feel
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦
𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦,
to listen
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥
𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴
until the dawning light
appears before your eyes,
to find an escape
for you are caught
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦
𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺.

I write poetry
in the midst of solitude

of infinite miseries
I yearned to elude

words engraved
in a rose-kissed canvas

are fragments of hidden
memoir of the past.

You are more than a lover to me,
you are my best friend
you are t­he coffee in my morning,
you are the blanket in my cold nights
yo­u are my peace of mind,
you are in every heartbeat
you are the re­medy I believe,
you are one of a kind,
I could never find 
someon­e like you in a lifetime,
this love,
this beautiful feeling,
you ­are the only one 
who can define.

I wish I could
Package each and every single adjective that I have used to describe you thus far
And send them to you individually
So that you could have enough pieces
To make a portrait
Big enough to cover the entire night sky
Not missing an inch
So you could marvel at it the way I do
When you’re feeling down
And if it does nothing else
I hope it makes you smile
The way I do
When I’m down
I know I’m not a healer, and theres nothing I can fix
But I am a writer
So I’d like to give you this



I’ve dug deep inside myself and found pieces of you buried in the depths of my heart
Places I’ve never known
Places I want to discover



It’s funny cause
I’ve started and ended this poem about 34 times.
Today.
Alone.
I won’t address the other days.
This is a simple one...

I wonder if the lead in my pencil gets excited when I begin to write your name.

Sometimes, I’m jealous that it’s gotten to touch you before I have.

At the start of July,
I sought for the twilight sky.
Amidst the murky cloud,
A little spark shines through the shroud.
A glittering, lustrous orb,
Gleaming like a beacon of hope.

If I die, tonight
don't cry,
pick the petals off a rose
and throw the thorns
at my doorstep
with your lies,
how could you tell them
I was important
to you,
when you were not there
when I needed
you the most?

If I die, tomorrow
don't follow,
this is my way
of giving up to the world
that has already
given up to me,
how could you show
those tears,
when you were not there
when I tried to resist
the fears?

If I die, yesterday
don't believe,
I have already died
a thousand times
before you knew
this cold flesh
is in my grave,
how could you find
solace in memories,
when you left me
in the church today?

Words are trapped
in the unfathomable
depth of this mind.

Solitude then came
along this pale
moonlit night.

Ink of this pen
could no longer
unfold its mysteries.

Hope to find peace
on the funeral
of my poetry.