Come what may,
I  want you to stay..
I know you're hurting.
I know you're afraid.
But we are just learning.
Learning to love.

I wish you'd listen
Hear out my plead
I know you're sick
Your Heart is heavy.
In the simplest way I could
Let me share what you carry.

I pray you'd see through me
I badly do...
For I'm afraid to give my all
But so are you..
It was never our fault.
No one was to blame.
We've made our choices..
Split unevenly the pain....

Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.

An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.

They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.

They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.

They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.

They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.

They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.

Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.

I was once like you,
but now I am a here,
I sit and wait for hours and days,
why can’t anyone see me,
they seem to look right through,
I feel no hunger, feel no thirst,
what is this that I have become,
I am like the moon and sun,
caught on a film that always runs,
I am lost forever in this twilight haze,
so many things I do not understand,
I walk around on a busy street,
eyes to eyes that never meet,
that spot on the road looks so familiar,
immense pain it would not wait,
I think this was where I met my fate.

Today I'm going to stop
This ridiculous destructive thing
I've been doing it to myself
For five. miserable. years.
I talk so much about
How I hate to be controlled
but this is controlling me
I'm wasting my life
and this is my fresh start
I don't want to paint over
the same old canvas
I've already painted black
I've gone down this road before
and I could have been a killer
I don't want to be her anymore
The girl no one could help
and just watched her waste away before them
I'm no longer going to count the numbers
and measure and weigh
and cry and hate
I'M DONE
it can't control me anymore
she told me she was worried about me
now I know it's too far
what do I care anyway about all this?
It won't be very easy
but I'm not going to do this to myself anymore
I'm taking this canvas and BURNING IT
I'm starting fresh
I'm done with this
I'm finished
I need to be strong enough
for her
I won't become a statistic
under the earth in a wooden box
with only a block of cement
to prove I ever existed
because pretty doesn't have a size
and for her
I'm going to stop
Five years
is long enough

The problem with Orange
Is nothing will rhyme
So instead of an Orange
I'll write about Lime.