Affable laughs glide on his throat,
they believe he's fine even if he won't.
Timidly shaking, he's achingly happy,
draining himself just to descend to the concrete,
he eternally casts his eyes with a sapphire glow.

Leave him on the sidewalk,
they move on; but he's not.
Marigold grows from his chest,
but all they see is Narcissus,
he lived very little; though it felt like a lot.

Orange was his heart,
watered from the counterparts.
Puddled with the anguish,
eventually it vanished,
I know it's quite bazaar;

but honestly,
that's his better days
by far--

This is not a poem,
I really wish I could write one again.
This a sad echo,
from someone who is already dead.

I used to be better,
when that part of me was alive.
She was the one that understood my soul,
she transformed my tears in art.

But I killed her, I killed me,
and now I can't see through my tears
I'm drowning, but I can't scream.
  I'm speechless.

I forgot how to write poetry

Shining of sun
Smiling of clouds
Songs of birds
Spring is coming says

Trees get green
İt is so wonderful screen
İf you take attention
You will like this attraction

Spring is the best
Cause your soul's rest
Smell of the flowers
Will lull you strongest