I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.

I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.

I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...

I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.

It's hard to stop
loving
the things that
hurt you,
especially when
they're hurting
too.

i think that writers have a hard time loving people
because we fall in love more often with words
than we do with the people w beating hearts standing before us.
"just remember that the way you think about someone is the way that they actually are."
we fall in love with metaphors and similes and conceits.
we fall in love with the idea that we're the hopeless romantic
and that they're our savior.
but the paper has its limits.
and one day,
our pen will run out of ink.
our pencil will be out of lead,
and our hands will have cramped so bad
that we'd probably believe that we'd have carpel tunnel.
and what would we be left?
heartbreak.
because we'd be left to fall in love with nothing but
smudged lines, faded words, and crumpled up papers.

They say to
write what you know
but I'm just so
sick of
tragedies

You're a one night stand
But we spent too many nights
I lost count of it.

You're that unexpected kiss
On a drunken wasted night
Of vomits and *****.

You're that awkward hi
Exchanged by strangers who
Thought they both knew each other
But were clearly mistaken for another.

You're the bruise that turns blue
When I accidentally bump my leg
On the corner of the bed.

You're the scar that I never
Knew I had.

You're the bittersweet taste in
My mouth every morning.

You're the last thought lingering
In my head before slumber takes me
And you're the vagueness that
Haunts me in my dreams.

You're the scalding hot shower
In a cold freezing morning.

You're the boiling tea that numbs
My tongue for the rest of the day.

You're the obsession
I will never learn to let go of.

You're that person I will
Never get to call mine.

You're the one that got away.