There must be a wound!
No one can be this hurt
and not bleed.

How could she injure me so?
No marks
No bruise

Worse!
People say 'My, you're looking well'
.....God help me!
She's mummified me -
ALIVE!

You speak the language of despair.
I can hear you calling out from the depths of hell.
I know because I've been there.
My dear, I understand all too well.
Slowly killing yourself, but nobody cares.
Truth of the matter is, they're just scared.

You're the manifestation of all their worst fears.
A reflection of their darkest desires.
Everything they try to repress:
(drugs, rock n' roll, ***.)
Dancing with the devil in fire.
They close their eyes to it.
No wonder they're so distressed.

But there's another class out there,
and of them, I say,
Beware!
They don't understand but pretend to care.
Their lives are such a bore that they'll drink from your sins.
They'll tell you encouraging words as you struggle to swim.
But you're nothing more than a jester to them.
If you ever make it to the shore,
they'll just push you back in.

You wake up in the morning
With dust on your pillow
From the nothing that goes through your head
Trying not to remember
The hurricane
That ravaged your mind
And the reason
We don't speak anymore

~~
Sometimes Loudly
Sometimes Silently
Yellow leaves have fallen,
Becoming dry
Pale
Passing through as the grained Sound on the Street

Slowly dark flees across the evenings
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
Has Shuffled
The Past
Present
Future

Your form that creates metaphors
And what a wonderful feel
Through out its gravity
Night dancing,
When aroma of Night-Queen
Moving in the air,
Plays with the moonlit
As if Reminds
The First love Poem

Has burned within the form
Standing to fascinate
Away, a dense bunch
Of vine Forest
Bored Air moving
Listening the murmur
Of dried leaves
In the passing wind of banner
As if Someone Calling with
My old name

Empty
Restless Heart
Today is the tune that somewhere else
Like a flow
Of a distant river melody,
Surging waves of the attack
In the Strange night of Spring

Continuous grey leaves falling
Falling on the Floor
Whispering the words on the street goes through
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

get closer to me
climb inside my tree
is it where you want to be?
I think, from what I can see

open your heart this time
feel it slowly make the climb
twisted all around this twine
I can help your ease unwind

listen closely, and you'll see
buzzing like a bumblebee
flowers feed your spirit free
have you floating in the sea

have your arms held open wide
there is no great divide
our spirits will collide
this time you cannot hide
because I love you

No, I don't love her in the conventional sense.

I love her as an artist.

I love her with the profound human greatness of hope and all the beautiful qualities of humanity I find redeemed within the motions of her lips when she sings. I love her by the ocean, by city streets, drunk under stars, with no context. Just as every place is contaminated with memory, every place is filled with possibilities of her presence. I love her with the experience of an old soul and with the passion of youth. There is no reason behind it, yet it is full of purpose. I love her mouth, not because I want to kiss it, but because it is a mouth that embodies all the things that speak violently. She is a piece of the universe with irrevocable flaws that I came to understand and unspeakable beauty that I came to admire. I love her in my sketch book, I love the flicker of emotion in eyes, I love her on painted window panes and in the darkness of night.

I love her for the sake of loving her. I don't love with expectation of my affection to be returned. And from the realization of loving her, I have come to this conclusion;

I love her purely, unconditionally, and truthfully.

It is very strange to be a man, schooled in the acts of love by the writings of Anais Nin and Pablo Neruda, living in this place. So absurd to be told by women expecting savageness that he is gentle, that he is kind, that he is something other than what they have known before and yet...this very tenderness is what drives them away in the morning. I am not an idiot, I know what a seeming contradiction this is. Perhaps I have some failing I'm not aware of, perhaps my guess at what the women I make love to really want is a complete falsehood. I suppose that is probably correct, considering my experience and what I'm told men should do to women. "Yes, a good, swift and utterly meaningless **** in a bathroom or a car, just give it to them ***** like an almost ****, that's what the girls want...your **** and nothing else."
Yet the women I've spoken to purely platonically want and need the exact opposite, but seem to have given up on anything beyond it. I'm at a loss, completely befuddled by what I feel in my heart, and what I've experienced.

What sick process turned a man's tenderness into closet homosexuality?
What terrible ******* turned a woman's need for warmth and love into a weakness?