"there isn't anything out there for me," he thought.

a rather less-than detailed description of what some may say, a contemptuous observation.

erasing sentences that weren't worded properly,
or didn't make much sense.

"I value the life I consume," he lied.

in other words, I've run out of ambition
no longer am I able to lie to others to make my life meaningful to them.

It's that lack of that melts flesh from bone.

"Shang, I miss you," he read.

as if the **** drawing
were her.
skin flushed,
an inconceivable silence
only for my mind to take in.

the silence is now nothing short of uninviting.

all the while,
I continue searching
for something..
something not all too satisfying.

if we ever get drunk again
I'll remember that day our lips met
and that day when
you stole my breath away

but if we ever spent the next day
you wanting us to be 'just friends'
I will grab you by your shoulders
and shake the world out of you
and kiss you so hard
that my lipstick stained your lips permanently

this way
it'll be my turn to steal your heart away
and i will make you doubt
of why you ever thought
that you are better off alone

Is all concrete below ephemeral skies,
To think what is now as already made,
Riding lone, the plateaus of a minds eye,
Or is whole of nature purest esplanade?

Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
      Laid on it for a covering,
      And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
      In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
      Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

Know’st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
      Bound up at length for harvesting,
      And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?