If love is a religion,
And you're the God
I'd probably be an atheist

If the things you say
Are holy gospels
I'd probably burn them to hell

You're on my mind again
Attending your company
Like mass' on sundays
But I'd rather be at home
Rather than to worship
Your hypocriteness
The things you do
Doesn't match the things you say
You've made oaths, vows, promises
But that's at least what I think
You broke every single one of them
And it's ****** up, it's ******* me up;
You split my heart
Like how moses split a river
Crossing it quietly
But when you crossed
You left an unholy mark
Making it bleed, making me hurt
I have no idea what I did to you
But next time I see you,
No more, I wont;
I wont worship you no more.

i only want you to be happy
                                                even if it being so, does not include me

i want the best for you; even if i couldn't be the one to give them to you

i want to be the one makes your heart melt;
i want to be beside you ever single second of my life
and most especially when you've had a bad day
I WILL MAKE UP YOUR DAY,
EVEN if you tell me to stop wasting my time on you
i would gladly waste all my hours, minutes,seconds
days,weeks,months, EVEN YEARS
just to see you happy,

i want to give you all my love; but i don't have the chance to do so

clearly you love him; i love you
obviously i should stop trying;i love you
probably because i love you too much; its true
that i did not see the knife coming
that's about to go through my heart
and rip it apart, now it's gone
but,, at least your happy but just not with me
and now i'll stop trying; because just like i said before

i want you to be happy
                                       even it being so,does not include me

Happy anniversary.

Can you believe
That it’s been a year?
I can still feel the first time,
Your hands danced on mine,
A soft presence, almost shy.
I could barely pay attention
To the film playing on television
Because there, right beside me,
A story was already unfolding,
One that was far more fascinating
Than any other mystery.

And it was.
Here we are, a year later,
The story continues to be
The most gruelling mystery
Of two people ceasing to be,
Of you & I never becoming we,
Instead, a strange, foreign word
To each other’s vocabulary.
I thought we both saw ourselves
In this picture perfect future:
Lying together on crumpled sheets,
Watching Sherlock on repeat,
Reading poetry and drinking coffee,
A state of being indescribably
Happy.

We were never meant to be that.
Only a manuscript tossed in the trash.
We loved too little, and bled too much,
Too proud to break the silence.
Too scared to end the sentence.
So let’s scrap the ending,
And go back to the beginning:

Happy anniversary.

the skin i wear does not feel the same,
yet your touch still lingers, still stays.
i want to claw my skin out until it bleeds.
maybe then, you would finally leave.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.