Vow's were said. His finger's crossed.

Myself.
I went out,
Stripped naked
To the cold.
And looked at all
The pieces of myself
I had not yet sold.

Satisfied there was
Still enough of me left,
I went back in
To the warmth
And safety
Of my nest.

I made you something pretty
The only way that I know how

And if only it could but a reflection
Of the beauty you emanate
The earth around would shine brighter than the sun
In the glory of your resplendence

I stabbed my emotions into computer keys

I projected my innermost desires onto a white screen

I shivered in repose as the world outside my window grew colder
And I warmed myself with your memory

I was foolish to think I could convey
The cathartic rush of my soul experiencing your own

There are no words for something so otherworldly
Something from the eternal
Something beyond all reason and limitation

I tried best I could to capture your essence
To crystallize all I'll know of you in poem

But there is no reconciliation with the impossible

That poem is gone and the introspection with it

I'll be the only one who knows how deeply I feel for you

There will never be a sufficient way to explain

Carried sorrow her brow.
Unnoticeable till now.
Sadness dulls her features.
Misunderstood creature.
Framing within life.
Violent as knife.
Actions less planned.
Make no more stand.
Time for rest.
Deeply guessed.
Pain flows.
Tears show.
Pawn.
Gone.

She is
The size of a flower petal
Attracts me
As if she is the size of Jupiter
Pulling me straight to her core
Crushing my being

She smiles
Whilst playing with her hair
Blinds me
As if she is Betelgeuse
But still my eyes glued on her
Destroying my retinas

She touches
My heart with her little fingers
Pulverises me
As if I was squashed by Olympus Mons
Yet I still reach out to her
Completely *wrecked

Remember that you are a work of art.
That with the sun light hitting you as you glisten or a shadow creeping upon your skin, a master piece is still a master piece ,with or without the lights on, crowded or empty showcase.
Do not forgot the splattered paint you call your failures, built you into who you are.
You were an art exhibit he did not wish to enter.
Remember that just because he didn't look beneath the covers, that there wasn't a Mona Lisa waiting to be revealed.
That the messy days were bad enough to leave.
That the good days weren't good enough to stay.
That just because he looked that way instead of your way, that you aren't okay.
In the end, you were just too much. A man's ego is never one to be tampered with but you had the power at the tip of your fingers and he took it away. Not only that, he took it away without saying that the simple fact , those were his problems not yours. Because you are a master piece.
You are a work of art.
He was the one that chose not to open his eyes.

The silence spoke about a thousand words.
While the sentence caught up in their throat
While the words twisted in their tongue
The pause of not giving an answer, was the answer.
While the mind was unknowingly tinted
The eyes were what explained it all.
Arms became stiff and shoulders became tense.
Physical body language is a master manipulator.
A kiss should mean feelings but the heart was not one to beat for the other anymore.
The ears and brain did not coordinate anymore, when your name was called, their nerves didn't dance around at the speed of light.
It was a malfunction, an error.
It was signs of something shutting down.
You knew it was coming though.
The knowing of an end, while still being in the middle.
You knew, even when you didn't want to.
Even when they didn't.