Not sure if overreacting is a
sign of weakness or passion,
I lash out over little things
and shorten breaths over things
that live for little in my mind,
the violent expirations of chest
and mind saw the door frame
a little bigger every time,
regret comes after,
I’d call it short term memory loss,
with every responsibility I’ve taken,
steps back; I’ve taken two
the ratio is uncanny,
I’m starting to believe that
instead of the urge to change
I have the desire to
desire change,
the steps that follow
are getting deeper
and situations are
becoming shallow
yet my reactions
stay the same,
I’ve wished
and promised reversal,
the pills and reclined leather
really does nothing,
I’ll swim in my vices and
the unfortunate thing
is that I know how to swim.

What if
          I
                                                  ­Fall
In
              Love
With
      A
       Poet?
What if he mesmerises me
       With his lines?
What if
        His words touch me
        And kiss
           Through my skin?
     What if i search for
Him
Everyday
And
      Travel through
              His words
    And meet him
                  Somewhere
       And
We
       Become bare
          And he caresses
Me
          With every
      Stanza
And
       Here
           I am
                Again
Searching
           For him,
    Wanting
Him
        With
                 All
                      Desire
Waiting
             For
                 His
                   Next
                      Poem
                         To
                            Take
                             ­ Me
                          To
                       His
                   World
                Where
             We
          Will
        Lay
      Bare
   What if
               I
                  Fall in love
                      With
                  A
             ­         Poet?

© Evna-Luna

I get lost in your kiss
                   Yet feel at home on your **lips

These walls are empty
Just like me
Stale and pale
Cold to the touch
These walls are bare
And naked
Stripped
There's bruised
Dented
Decorated with wounds
And scrapped off skin
****** from the knuckle marks
Left on them like hickeys
They've been pealed
There insides revealed
It's just as dark and cold in here
These walls are lonely
They've never been touched
Windows covered in paint
No light ever gets in
No picture or frames  
Just the occasional
Electric outlet
These wall are empty
Just like me

I live  with a suicidal tendency.
It has become a necessite part of me,
I wake up every day, just hoping that it will go away.





                   It doesn't.

We fell into bed on an instance
No need for introductions
We left all of those behind
In the bar of inconveniences

As we fumbled in the words
"My place or yours ."
She reached into a pocket
Lined in purple satin promises
And handed me her keys