I cut my heart into stanzas and tainted fragments with your name
Written on skin with shaking hands disconnected and insane
But I found it weak and fleeting; washed your ashes down the drain
Developed bruises where I’d scrawled so hard it hurt — but I liked it.

Disillusioned and dysfunctional she murmured, “Have you loved before?”
I was thinking, yes, but gasped out, “no,” so she wouldn’t worry more
What she might have felt settled in me; I shook, unhinged indefinitely
Had you held my heart?  Or did you break it from a distance?

I’ve given up on order.  It’s just subdued the chaos.
I’ve given up on life, but I’ve stayed here all the same.
He asked me if I wished to die — so I said, “Yes, but that’s not why.”
I’d done it so he’d notice; I’d done it so he’d care.

Quite obscure and rough, I think, but I’ll teach you to love it
Sometimes less is more, y’know — sometimes I’m tired of it
Simple words can break you down like simple blades you’ve lost and found
That missed the mark and fell apart to leave a scar above it.

These dreams are what we have to build on
What we have come to know

Our minds have been ravaged
These voices echoed so many times
Controlling who we are, and how we get by

The road seems long as ever
As we grow restless to escape this place

As I remember
I am everything I have ever wanted, And everything you didn't want for me.

All I wanted was someone who believed in me.

We are daydreamers
With aspirations that touch the sky
And now I know this is where I lie

We may be blind
But we can see what we were meant to be
All I know is that this means so much to me

Tired hands and waking eyes
Will tell the story of how we lived our lives

As I fall in my final days

These are the memories that will never fade away.

I'm always the strong one,
The positive one,
The funny one.
But strong ones don't mark their skin is secret,
Positive ones don't think about suicide everytime they close their eyes,
And funny ones don't lock themselves in the bathroom and cry to the point where they can't breathe.

So do not call me those labels, because it is simply not true.
-a.c

may be i don't care about you
may be i don't like you
may be i don't love you
all these were
my wrong assumptions

Sickened he was by her bad word choices, special need for
incongruous expressions,words spelled the way she likes,
blanks that can never be filled, invented quotes, fabricated realities,
thunderous "****" repeated in intervals, as if  each an inlaid jewel,
and then, having no fixed meaning for that favorite word of hers,
nothing more than an intention to denigrate ******,
                                                                ­                   and women as a whole,
a subconscious compulsion, strangely included, her's also in it's ambit.
He understands her compulsion for such expression thus--
fulfillment of some innate need, an expression of her own worthlessness,
resulted from some grave injury of the mind that happened,
sometime early in her childhood, one could guess.
He took the decision to mark her "UNREAD" for ever
with deep anguish of course,after reading her many fine and sane pieces.

do you glue this, fix that,
or do you simply replace.

you must know by now,
we eat off mended plates,
and rise when  birds sing.

it may be a forgotten thing,
those cotton hankies, darning,
repairing old , hung together
with string.

yet, it may be you do the same,
standing tall, waiting.

for pins.

sbm.