Drive, energy, and ambition
Comes from within
Just find it in your heart
Right from the start
Of a rising and gentle nature
Victory awaits you
Just take that first step
In order to build your confidence

Time is ticking
Deadline is closing in
My brain is burning
My fingers are busy typing
The monitor starts to *****
My eyes sore
stomach aching
wrist throbbing
Yet I haven't reached the required word count

T'was the day they trimmed him mane
- an',  suddenly, he looked - just - the same
- as every other peasant boy being sent to war;
- an' they never questioned what they're dying for.

We died many times when we first met.
They’d say electric. You provided the shock.
I was in need of repairs,
a faulty motor with a clogged-up engine,
stumbling through life
like a Slinky
yawning its bones
down the stairs.

You played me well at first,
fingers on my body,
twiddled me back into tune.
We’d die again.
When we kissed
I tasted Malboro and Merlot.
I fell right into it,
you like a glossy new balloon,
a chaos of colour on my lips
left me spellbound.
We’d die again.
Then the moment would pop.
You’d be standing with a pin.

Met your parents.
They noddingly-approved between
gulps of Heineken,
but I knew we wouldn’t last.
It fell apart, of course.
Somebody ruined the jigsaw.
Started hurling snowballs
at each other, words like razors
shredding through the air.
We’d die again.

A slammed door, gone
to the corner-shop for milk
in a huff.
An eff-you blurting
out from the phone.
The shock had gone.
I think I’m dying again.

I woke up this morning
In the middle of the night
Saying to myself
such a dandy plight

Every thorn has it's rose
Every brier patch it's hare
Every Monday has it's shame
for the weekend it bares

You can buy salvation
for a dollar a shot
During happy hour
So much redemption why stop ?

All the glasses
in a row
Why they call them shots
I already know

Every thorn has it's rose
Every brier patch it's hare
Desolation is one after another
Until you just don't care

The way I see things
if I were Ted,
You'd be Robin.
All a series of broken strings.

I don't get a choice, not this time.
I'll always come back to you, no matter what.
Love is the best thing we do.
It’s our drive. To envy, lust and crime.

It's not love if I pick another.
It's not love. Not meant to be,
something silly. Forced upon, not by destiny.
You know it’s true. We've chemistry. You're not just a number.

No, it's not wise or safe to think of you -
Especially because we're not likely to ever happen.
Then why do I choose to torture myself?
Why do I aim at catching a bird, when it has already flew?

Is there a reason why I turn back?
For not trying to find a new soul to match
mine? I'm not afraid of the future.
I don't run back to the past. Waiting for my heart to crack.

Because it's love - It doesn't make sense.
I don't care if I get hurt. I don't mind beating myself up.
It's okay just looking at you and just be thinking -
How amazing you are - how wonderful must it be to be close to you, without any suspense.

You once said, that my face always brightens up
whenever I see you. And you're right.
That is that it because I see yours
brighter and more clearly than anything
Irrelevant of what you're wearing. Irrelevant of your makeup.

I don't want to part ways;
just these few months have been hell.
I want to take your hand and just hold it,
knowing it's mine for the rest of our days.

Though, I'm not clutching your hand.
Because I'm losing you. You're fading away.
I’m losing the real you. Not the idea of being with you.
And destructive as it may be, it is so **** grand.

What I’ve learnt from five great friends,
is that I can easily lose someone I love
someone who’s special. So I act.
I do something about it.
So that the possibility never ends.

Truth is, that I can’t promise that we’ll be together,
that you’ll be mine. That you’ll be in eternal happiness.
I can’t vow to be perfect. I vow that I’ll love you though.
When it’s sunny, overcast or stormy weather.

I get it why you’re scared. It’s okay to be afraid.
I, too, am frightened, lost, in between questions.
But why not think about tomorrow? The past is familiar
but as long as I’m with you, never in doubt, never betrayed.

Yet I must keep my calm. As I am thinking about tomorrow
when midnight has not even strike. Haste is not right.
If it has to happen, it’ll happen.
I don’t want to rush. So I’ll try and take it slow.

- And yes, I wrote this poem thinking of a certain bella,
taking lines from television. However, don’t discredit me
as I’ve meant every line written here, during this journey,
seeking the girl with the yellow umbrella.