It's unusually refreshing to meet someone with such a confident personality,
Your unusual accent for a native—
The way, "Oh," sits on your tongue is superlative.
What a strange serendipity for you to come across me.

You ask about my inclinations towards music,
Listening to me wander about my playlists without a sound.
Drawing out the sound of my voice as your heart pounds:
It does the trick.

You warned me about things not to joke about,
Late at night where our minds aren't thinking straight
And my words slip as if fate...
Now you've left without a word, deaf to my shouts.

And here I am writing this poem,
Wondering about the impossibility of meeting somebody so close,
So quickly and intimately; with potential I suppose.
My heart yearns for your return, sadness its hymn.

Sitting around at the table,
Standing by the gate,
Not seeking a label,
Not seeking hate,

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.

Pride in talking of myself,
Greed in talking about myself,
Sloth in talking to myself.

Making slow conversation,
Small talk—
What a pain for reciprocation,
I just want...talk.

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.

Purple is your voice,
Soft as running fingers through groves of lavender—
Gentle on my ears.
Pink is your favourite,
Ironic with your wardrobe being a black hole
As you've called your beautiful mind.
Though it shows,
Your soft giggles
And the heartwarming way you talk to yourself
As you write.
White is our curious relationship,
Occasional exchange of calls online
And open to more.
Like the canvas you paint on.

I'd like to be close.
As my mind is too,
A black hole.
I hope you find curiousity there
As I do find in yours—
Because darkness is an unusual thing
Which pushes people away,
Yet draws them in.
Black are the shadows which follow us,
Darkest in the day,
And hidden in the night.

Yet there lies solace
In the lavender fields.

Just the other day I sat,
Atop a metal chair, varnished hardwood floors,
Within white, worn walls;
Listening to a quiet chat.

Just then —
A new character entered the fray of
Shadows embroidered upon the blank canvas.
Wings fluttering like rose petals in a hurricane,
Never settling for one spot.
Darting from point to point
In arbitrary geometric fashion,
Or elegant steps around the ballroom
Of air and space around its still den.

The shadow of the hummingbird reminded me
Of life's fleeting moments.
Similar to how one describes themselves in a resume:
Linearly, in point-to-point fashion;
Ignoring everything,
The far and few between sways in the wind.
Such blasphemy.

The moment came,
And left the room never the same.

Stuck between venting to
no one that understands
and
suicide.

Wading through the sea of people
I surround myself with,
Learning my efforts often go to naught;
Stressing over everything,
When really I should be fretting over nothing.

"Where's someone that will stay,"
I wonder,
"When will I find that reassurance again."

How can I live
When I dwell in inaction,
Sinking in the sea of nostalgia and remorse,
Absent-minded to the plethora of boats that sail above me;
Filled with oodles of opportunity,
Obtained on their own.

So I'll try to swim.
Thrash my feet against the pressure gritting against my ankles,
Yearning for my stay.
Begging me not to go to where a sliver of me
Dreams of being.

So I stay,
Sinking,
Soothed by sorrow
While the sliver inside throbs and screams,
Scratching against my skull
Sobbing.

*You can be one of them,

Contemplating marriage,
Among other things.
The thought of having someone beside me
Whose completely, consistently, confidently
By my side for the majority of the day
Is exciting.

Especially one such as myself,
One whose mind is filled with consternation
And an inability to assauge inaction.

Something as simple as holding hands
And introducing her to several of my favourite bands;
Strolling along the sands,
Traveling the world and all its lands.

Boys around me complain at the thought of being cuffed,
But I'd consider myself chuffed --
Seeing a mutual love that wasn't bluffed,
Teasing her with little jokes as she huffed and puffed.

Only having met you for several moments yesterday,
The conversation having begun with something similar to a, "Hey."
Your friend Jude seemed to keep you at bay,
A bashfulness overcoming you, something you couldn't allay.

If I may,
You reminded me so much of Shae.

Talking to a friend amidst the crowd,
He asked me a question quite aloud;
Yet my eyes were met by your own
Locked together as if they were sewn.

It was only a matter of time,
The chattering mouths around us all but mime.

Turning back to face a friend at my side,
My lack of attention I had tried to hide.

I have never regretted anything
Until I looked back then.

Staring at the wall,
The screen,
Hoping one will speak.

Lately the crows have been keeping me company,
silently watching.

Pollution, chaos ensuing the sky,
but beauty to the eye.

On a scale of 1-10, if you could save one person,
and one person only;
who would it be?

Venetian beaches and Parisian streets,
on the other side of the world,
someone is drowning.

Literally.
Drowning.

But on the flip side,
1+1= 2;
or a window to peek outside and see that blue flamingo.
That one,
right there.
Yes, you!

You.
You're the one I would save,
scales impossible to measure the beauty of those architectural realms.
Hurry up and float to me,
you idiot,
because U+I= love.


Or is it the other way around?

I wish I could delve into the depths of your mind,
And so that way...

I wouldn't have to deal with the constant thoughts
That drive me everyday into a corner.
That make me want to just...

Die.

So then I could help you out of your many problems,
So I don't go on the adventures that would make me fall in love with you
Over and over again.

So...

I can just be selfish.

It isn't love
If your heart wasn't broken.

I can weave the seas
using your heart strings alone.

There is no horizon
When you're drowning in the sea.

We're both alone,
Separated by thousands of miles.

*It's okay.

Sometimes I catch myself imagining
how you would look,

naked.

Just when I thought I've found you,
Behind my back,
Speaking of the most wretched things,
Breaking me.

Her horoscope was ready, and she wanted to read it.
It was 12:30 AM.

She's a Scorpio.
I'm an Aries...


*but a Cancer at heart.

uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ pǝddıןɟ ʇoƃ ǝɟıן ʎɯ ʍoɥ ʇnoqɐ ןןɐ ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ ʍou

.I should stop shouldn't I.

This isn't a poem of rhymes and games,
Oh no.
I'm here to tell you that Love isn't something that hurts.

Your mind believes all the lies you constantly tell it,
The wishes that create problems that,
Guess what?!
Were never there to begin with.

Just embrace the fact that you're in Love.
Nobody falls "in" and "out" of Love.

It's not a substance.
It's not the catalyst to living a
"Happy life".

I feel like people are constantly
Corrupting what Love is.
You don't describe a word,
With more words.

It is,
What it is.

Don't try to make it something it's not.
Don't try to make it personal.
Don't try to define it.
Don't try to possess it.

Just...
STOP.

/breath

I'm not here
To tell you a poem of rhymes and games.
I'm here to tell you that Love doesn't hurt.
It never will.
Never should.

Ever.
Should you think otherwise,
Just look back at the person,
Place,
Or thing,
That you associated yourself to loving.
Think back.

Take a breath.
Breathe.

Don't
Invoke
Calamity
Through
Ignorance
Of
Not
Always
Remembering­
Yourself.

A toast to the bread that went into the toaster.

Letters are really outdated, aren't they?
Lately I've been getting into them again,
Writing to people whom I want to...

Mmm.

There are no words in the English language, unfortunately,
To describe the emotional crisis I'm feeling.

Clinging to conformity,
Craving crisp, new ideas
To install into individual ideas.

Instead newborn newbies,
Never knew the needles
That would nip them if they came close to,
Anything else.


*Down came the rain,
And washed the spider out.

Buttercups,
Lilies,
Orchids,

Only
Manifest.

Me,
On drugs?
Nah.

Or rather
Thinking about it just makes me sick.

One-of-a-kind, sick.


Nobody really thinks about
One thing at a time, instead they'll try to
Understand pictures in their entirety.

*Silly people.

Sometimes people don't really
Understand the
Remarkable,
Perennial, things of
Regretting seizing the day.
Instead, they'll dwell on it and
Sometimes,
Everyone is suddenly brought
Slowly into the problem that was never there to begin with.

kisses your forehead

A promise is something you keep between one another.

kisses your nose

The result isn't anything the two have ever seen before.
Broken, or kept.

kisses the bridge of your lips

It's something that bonds two together.
And if there's a third, well.

*kisses your lips


I don't see why we can't make room for one more.

Placing my hand
Along your neck,
Touching the place,
Where everything started.

The pulse point beneath your chin.
The place where I can really,
Truly,
Touch your heart.

I'm slipping away,
So this is all I'm writing.

You wouldn't think twice
As you pushed me over the edge.


You never loved me.

I think you're dead.
I'll think it so much that I'll believe it.

Then I'll discouver,
Some day,
Whether or not you're really dead.


I'll be dead by then.

I don't know what to write.
My inspiration to has left me.

Just like everything else in this world,
but few;
But even those few,
Leave occasionally.

"Hey."

"Oh yeah, definitely."

"I see."

"Wait."

"No just a minute."

"Who are you?"

"I'm talking to you, but am I the one talking?"

"No no, who are you?"

"Are you talking to me? Or is it the other way around?"

"Who are you talking to?"

"Your mom."

"No seriously, who are you talking to?"

"Your mom. Seriously."

If someone has a problem with you,
Remember:

It's their problem.

You wrote to me,
"I don't have to write too much,
because I know we'll keep in touch over the summer!"

But you're gone,
And the one thing you despise the most;
You've done to me.

*Do you know how that makes me feel?!

Constantly suffering like this is never a good thing.
It's peculiar to think otherwise.
I mean, I can't really do anything stupid.
Sure, I'll suddenly gain that rush of temporary popularity;
Since the dead are always so glorified,
But when they're living, they're trash.

I mean, isn't that how things work?
Well, that's the cynical, dark way of thinking about it.
What about the reverse?
Alternate dimensions, multiverses of beings that are you.
Six or eight, I forgot the precise number to them.
But the importance is that there are other outcomes,
To the solution you long for.

Then again,
Problems can't really be solved by the conciousness
That created them.
Just like wishes are only a success plan for failure.
Well, what's more important?
To be or not to be?
Pacifism or aggression?

Earnest Hemingway was always active with his words,
But there's nothing wrong with being the other.

Synonymous to...well, chalk.
You know, the things you would paint the nearby sidewalks with
Your imagination of the world you lived in.
Whether it be slaying dragons or
Flying to the moon with the local-to-your-world unicorn.

Then Mother Nature would come along and renew your canvas.
But really, aside from myself;
People always thought Mother was a pain in their childhoods.
Taking away time from going outside and playing.


No...going outside wasn't an introvert's Life.
Moreso than plucking away at the nearby,
And invasive raspberrie bush.

Well, I never thought

I could disappear into the night.

Really...
Just sitting here in front of my computer screen,
And I'm supposed to write this composition about my feelings;
Or whatever.
Something like that.

But really, I don't want to.
I just want to expose those "feelings" to people,
So people can just feel the radiation and pressure of everything
I'm going through.
Don't worry darling,
I'll bear your problems as mine melt into yours.
You needn't worry about simple, and trivial things like...
I don't know: Love, Life, & Happiness.
Just let me come into you.

Coming closer isn't a bad thing.
I mean, as much as I despise *** and all that weird
Tentacle stuff that human males do to women...
Okay maybe that was a bit explicit,
But don't worry I'll check the box down below;
Because that's what people nowadays want from you.
Right?

They don't want your heart as much as I want it.
They want your body, your clothes, your money.
All that nonsensical phooey that is absolutely unnecessary.
I promise you, I can live my Life without those things.
Happiness isn't money, and your clothes don't determine your louver.

So don't fret.
Just take me in, and I'll take you in.
We're not going anywhere,
We're not going to fall;
Because I'm not strong enough to catch you.
I won't steal anything materialistic from you,
Because it's unnecessary to me.

You on the other hand,
You have your problems with these things;
But again, don't worry darling.
I'm here for you.
Well, not really;
Since eventually we'll become one.
I mean, you are giving me your heart right?

Of course, in exchange for my...well, what I would personally call:
my Book.
Now this isn't any book. No, you won't find this in your local library,
Or somewhere in the depths of the sea with the other ******* people call treasure.
But this is certainly a treasure of itself,
I mean.
It's mine. What more could someone want?
Perhaps that sounded sort of conceited, but that wasn't the point.
The point was that I'm basically giving you me.

Now, I don't know who I am;
So what you make of this Book is of yourself to choose.
But again, you won't be yourself anymore;
Because my Book will replace your heart.

Don't worry though.
I'll cherish your heart,
More than any boy or girl out there ever will;
Because I'm not human.
I'm a tool.
A machine.
Because without me, the World wouldn't function the way it does.
The same goes for you.
Without you, the World isn't the World anymore.

Now you're probably thinking,
"Well, this person is just absurd.
I mean, we die and then we cease to exist...
Or something along those lines, right?"
Yeah, right.
I mean, we don't know what happens after we die;
Because we're not dead yet.
So we can't confirm that
But we can confirm...
I mean, you can confirm...
I mean....
Wait. If you're giving me your heart,
And...
I'm giving you my Book,

*Where do we go?

Sitting on the horizon, gazing down at the world...
Because that's what it seems like right?
I mean, when you're at the beach, the horizon always appears
Above you.
But the horizon is really the middle of nowhere,
Because the horizon isn't anything much.
The world isn't technically a sphere,
And there are no such things as "straight lines" in Mother Nature's world.

So really,
The next time you "expand your horizons"
When battling your problems;
Why take the effort to,
When you're already on top?

Lost in the snowstorm,
The sun is nowhere.

How rare...

With wings encompassing its
Heart, stretching into the infinity;
Tears still manage to trickle down and ripple along its side.