What more can you get from people that have given up on you

what more can you do if they still refuse to understand the things you're going through even if you tried so many ways, and used so many words to explain

what more can you hope for when you screams for help are seen as whinings of a small child

What more can they give you... except heartaches?

Maybe by the time it was right for us to meet I'd be too damaged beyond repair
Too unrecognizable for you

Maybe instead of saying "hello, ive been waiting all my life for you", you'll be saying "what the hell happened to you?"

A lot of *****, baby. I hope you'd accept me either way. I'm sorry for not taking extra care of myself.

Come sooner, please come sooner

It has been 217 days since you decided to leave but why is it that I can still feel you pulling me into your arms every other night?

I have been rubbing the walls of my bedroom with sandpaper, hoping it could remove any traces of you that are left...
I did the same thing to my skin

Everytime someone asks me when will I see someone new I try my hardest to hold my breath, resisting from answering

"My heart"
Sigh
*"He still has my heart"

Sometimes, I am haunted by you
But it is a relief to know
Your ability to haunt me only means
That you are a ghost left in the past
And nothing more than a distant memory
Knocking on my door
when the night gets too lonely

"I'm back"

Standing on the door, uninvited. I don't know how he found out where I hid the keys.

"You think you can get rid of me? I'll always be a part of you."

I couldn't move.

"You can't **** me unless you **** yourself"*

A sly smirk painted on his mouth. Next thing I know, I was in his arms again.

There you were, standing amongst a sea of people. I could swear this was a scene from a cliche romcom, where the main characters meet for the first time and just, knew.

My head kept replaying the same words. “So this is why it all had to happen”. On
and on and on, like a broken record.

And then our eyes locked; we both felt it.
How surreal and whimsical, but we felt it.

Whispers in a loud croud
Stolen kisses in the dark
Holding hands in secret
a vague, whimsical spark
That was us
We kept it on a hush

You were my light in darkness
To me, we were lovers
But the feelings weren't mutual
I was a stepping stone
Not your leap of faith
It crushed me to the bones

I remained your secret
And your bittersweet regret

How can something that made me feel so safe and secure be the very thing that destroyed me in the end? How is it possible that you gave me comfort but also fueled my urge to self destruct?

Your hands felt like home, and now that you're gone I guess I'm homeless. I hop from places to places (people to people), hoping that somehow one of these places would feel as cozy as you did. But all I do is compare them to you.

When will this end? I'm tired and I can no longer pretend.

maybe if I let enough people touch me, I would stop feeling your hands on me.

Maybe all I’m doing is trying to cover up your fingerprints on my skin.

I helped you heal and soothed your pain
Now I'm the one whose going insane

Once upon a time.... You felt more like home than these four walls did. Maybe I'll be nostalgic everytime i look at you, just like looking at an old house i used to live in. And maybe it will torment me forever, to know that what was once mine, is now someone else's.

But I am my own home, now. I hope you'll feel empty no matter how much she loves you. Because no one will ever fill you up like i did.

I got so addicted to it
That i was willing to settle
for anything and anyone
Who felt as good as you
But none will do

--you ****** me up

Fingertips of memories are stroking the back of my head. Night after night, it keeps pulling me back to you.

You see, wounds will heal but you're a scar; permanently engraved on me. I can never fully cut you off unless I cut a part of myself, too.

I guess that's the hardest truth to accept once you lose someone. The moment they leave, a part of you dies too. And I'm always confused who my heart grieves for, losing you or losing myself.

Believe me, there is nothing beautiful about feeling this way.  Poetry is just a bunch of pretty words used to romanticize things that caused you pain. Poetry fabricates sadness in its perpetual arrangement of letters in a poignant manner. The second you pen it down you obliquely ridicule your ache into something small, only to be relatable and 'beautifully written'.

Poetry is a lie.

It ended the way it started;
me looking at you with glimmering eyes
And you, holding my heart

*It's still yours, my heart is still yours

Perhaps in another life
I will not be staring at the moon
Whispering things I should have told you
Or beg you to stay

But instead I will be
Lying cozily in your arms
And I'll be the one answering
Instead of the one asking

What use is it to dream of angels
When I was held in the arms of one?
I was a devil, driven by anger
You tamed this heart & made me better

Was it pity you gave, or was it love?
Why do you touch me only with gloves?

Are you scared of how they'll react
But why would you be... if you loved me back

For all the wrong reasons
*I choose you

"What do you think about the loss of innocence?"

"Well, its bound to happen" i answered.

If only i knew that your question was meant as a subtle invitation.

You held my hand but chose to love her
Maybe my grip wasn't strong enough to make you stay

You’re a work in progress
And I don’t know if I have the time
To raise a boy
When what I need is a man

Strip your soul naked
Show me your biggest fears
Tell me your burried dreams
The last time you shed a tear

The lies you told your parents
Things that make you feel small
Do you believe in god?
Are you willing to climb my walls?

I guess you should know this
I fear abandonment above all
I long for your devotion
Its either all or nothing at all