White fur glistens under moonlight,
Where there was strength, now weariness—
The old creature bows to time,
Elegance remains still—

Cold month, frozen love,
Drowning in white—
Pink blossom on the other side,
A voice is calling me to where I cannot go.

I leave the shade open,
Praying for a glimpse—
Silver light, keep me safe—
Under Her spell, protect my dreams.

When dusk and thunder meet as one,
Love shall bloom beneath a dying sun.
Yet the heavens have written, the gods have decreed,
Two hearts entwined shall never be freed.

One is promised to shadow and stone,
One is born of a king on an unbroken throne.
If love defies the will of the sky,
The fates shall weep, and the world shall cry.

For the stars whisper their undoing still—
To love against fate is to break by its will.

My dreams are haunted by idyllic promises—
Who is my ghost with the siren voice?
The moon knows; I too, cannot shine alone—
Who is this light reflecting on my soul?
My heart yearns for a movie-like story—
Who is my co-star when the credits end?
Is my heart truly stuck on waiting—
or did It already choose someone unattainable?

I will do it,
Shakespeare will have a nemesis,
My words will become the new Sonnet 18.

I will do it,
You will feel it deep in your bones,
Even when our lives are never meant to cross.

I will do it,
When you bear your secrets to the moon,
A reflection of me will embrace you.

I will do it,
So I rise from this corpse of failed dreams,
Become a discipline of Eros.

I will do it,
Entangle my name in yours,
Make ourselves infinite.

Constellations of expectations
My shackles— my only relations
A walking canvas of self-destruction

Series of failures;
Dancing fire on my brain,
Torture for the game,
I stopped caring—
I fall apart at your place.

Series of abandonment;
This poem—
Who's to say I ever will.
Nothing to show off,
No father at prom.

Series of fears;
Men and their teeth,
Bitting for entertainment,
My skin is a television,
The masses are hungry.

Series of mistakes;
Memories of beheading,
All scars are self-inflicted,
Regardless of the blade's owner,
I skip the tip for the edge.

I lay alone in my bed
fireworks over my head
secret wishes, quiet prayers
another year to be a surviver