...

Do you even still love me?
I can't help but think that
maybe we are falling apart,
like the spine of a book.
One that we've read over
a thousand times and gotten bored of
because we know how each other ends
You know that I will smother you
And I know that you will run
And even though I know this
I track down your inky footprints
with my pillow in tow
in hopes that by suffocating you
I will take your breath away
like they do in the movies.
But we are not actors and we read no script
This bleak romantic comedy
seems nothing but a tragedy
for I have nothing romantic or funny to say
all I have is the truth in that
I feel like maybe we made a mistake
So while you place your shoes by the door,
I will sleep with my pillow  on the floor,
waiting for us to lather, rinse, and repeat
the same **** cycle
that never washes clean
Never knowing if you will run away
for good next time
Never knowing if we were fated for others
Is that why you run? To find someone else?
Is that why I push? To put you through hell?
I can't answer these questions
all I know is I'll always have
my pillow

...
maybe I should just smother myself


...

Of splendid thrones of gold  
or treasures manifold  
  
Of jewelled caskets  
or lavish banquets  
  
Of Emirs and rajahs  
Of Sultan and Shahs  
  
Of kings and queens  
Of rulers and emperors  
  
Of sparkling crowns  
or flowing gowns  
  
Of their subservient stewards and obedient pages  
Of their stalwart squires and servile knaves  
  
Of poor humble, docile minions  
who tended to regal pavilions  
And obeisantly carried royal palanquins  
Oh and some were real life harlequins  
  
Of castles and palaces  
of abounding gold and silver  
in ostentatious regal splendour  
  
The sidelined fanning maids in waiting  
Yet to me only one thing worth noticing  
The minstrels who came to sing  
from afar for the queen and king  
  
For I'd rather be a poetess for kings  
so to my tunes swayed a kingdom  
than I be the king of mere subjects  
and be filled with regal boredom!  
  
So I could join ranks of  
troubadours  
and sing for the king  
some folklores.

Loneliness is;

Being surrounded by a wealth of people
Forever feeling so poor.
To observe and have so much to say
Communication a chore

The gulf of distance between two friends
Despite being so close
The desire to celebrate and entertain
But nobody to host

To be sat in the warm glow of the fire
But feel so bitter with cold
See life going on all around you
Never truly in the fold.

To know of your family's embrace
But never be held.
To understand the beauty of colour,
But only see grey.

I am here,
Can you see me?
Do I matter
To any degree?