from the moment,
you stumbled into my life,
i was in the palm of your hand.

and from that moment on,
i knew that i would be be awaiting the return of,
you.

waiting for the next time i find myself entangled with,
you.

leaving me breathless,
heart racing,
chest aching.
i want to run but there's no escaping,
you.

which is to say,
that i can never leave,
you.

- a.r.

trees will fall
and skies will turn to dark eyes.
i'll fall for you
and my heart turns
to black nights

I brought your favorite flowers again
Tulips blue and yellow
Laid them down before you
Adding to all the rest

You’re running out of room
It’s starting to look more like a garden
Than a grave

I would stop bringing them
But I don’t feel that they are enough
They don’t convey the amount of how much I love you
And that you are missed

my heart soars
everytime i hear your steps
fluttering weakly as you walk closer
and closer and closer
it dies as a meek little thing
as you passes me to another flower

1349

I’d rather recollect a setting
Than own a rising sun
Though one is beautiful forgetting—
And true the other one.

Because in going is a Drama
Staying cannot confer
To die divinely once a Twilight—
Than wane is easier—

I am obsessed with my own mortality
or maybe the fact that I believe I am immortal
how could I die?
how could any thought of mine be final?
it can't just end
I wake up everyday
eyes peeled wide
and comfortably rise from where I lay

sure others pass
but they are not me
they don't walk in my shoes
they don't see what I see
they aren't special
and I am because well...
because I believe I am
I just know I can tell

but maybe there's truth to what they say
the groundwork which they lay
treasure life every second
because it could end any day
it's sobering
to think you're nothing but a ticking timer
that someday it will eventually end
that whatever you have won't last forever

"Life's too short," they say,
Much like a haiku, I guess,
Just shorter...

Teacup on the tabletop
With blossoms rising 'till they drop.
The buds are fresh but soon to bloom,
They see the gardener's sickle loom.

The porcelain birds and blossoms bend,
Their feathers reach up to pretend
To be a part of foliage green
With hues as deep as seas Aegean.

While painted plaster outlasts all,
Irregardless Spring or Fall,
Ceramic birds sing with a sigh
That flesh or stone, all men must die.