and so what have i to offer you beyond
a collection of cheap and naive sentiments
matted in the dust of ineloquence?
i miss you, is all, but not even you:
an image of you, but not even an image:

the ghost of a fantasy. yes, i am
haunted, haunted by your absence
your senseless existence your
orbit without mass or distance
and all the rest, in its restless fabrication.

all that remains are your artefacts
with i among them, not quite intact.

Addicted to this strain of pen
The pain and rain embraces melt
Away in her oblivion
Still numb to opioids she felt
My love at last is laid to rest
In unrequited sleepless nights
And answers of indifference
To questions of my greatest heights
Free-falling fears I left behind
To see depression's comatose
Was riddled with my lucid mind
Still hers was what I craved the most
A stronger drug I've yet to find

Been living beside the river
All alone and still
With no one to talk to
No one to share with

Your body is cover of ***** mud
You disgusted yourself because of how ugly you were

Then someone picks you up
And put you to the group of clean stones
The look on their faces was unexplainable
Yet you know for sure;
They don't like you
They don't want you
And they feel disgusted the way they looked at you

Tears fall from your dolorous eyes
The rain suddenly poured and joined into your sadness
The raindrops clears the ***** mud on your body
And suddenly you shined brightly

You are not a ***** stone you think you were
You are not ugly people think you were
You are not disgusting
You are not what others think you are

You are precious
You're like a star that shines brightly;
and twinkles beautifully
You are everyone adores and treasures
You are a diamond


A diamond, my love

I love the voice.
I adore the beat.
I connect with the lyrics.
Our song moves me in ways nothing else can.
As I listen, a memory begins to stir.
You are there in my car; laughing, smiling, looking at me with those heartbreaking eyes.
How can a memory posses a song?
Like a sickness the song causes me to weaken and become sad.
I slow down and reflect on my loss of you.
How can it be so wrong to love what I once derived joyful feelings from?
Now all I obtain while listening is heartbreak.
Our Song is a haunted song.

i met my soul mate last night
he introduced himself as the perfect mix of drunk and high
a crumpled cigarette hung loosely between his lips 
as he intoxicatedly fingered his lighter
i gently replaced his hands with my own
lighting the cigarette with the flick of my thumb
"a beautiful girl who lights my cigarettes?
 they said death would come slow 
 but they didn't say it would come
 with you."