There was a time
I was his very breath
His rising sun and waxing moon
I am still his love

There was a time
I was his heaven on earth
His goddess, his flowing tide
I am still his love

There was a time
I never left his thoughts
I was his very smile
I am still his love

There was a time
I could be who I am
No pain in accidental words
I am still his love

There was a time
He accepted all my flaws
Danced and basked in them
I am still his love

There was a time
Distance wasn't pain
And my existence didn't break his heart
I am still his love

There was a time
My smile didn't cut
The truth of us was all he needed
I am still his love

There was time
I was naught but joy
Not steeped in impossibilities
I am still his love

There was a time
I warmed his heart with my own
Now a waning moon and ebbing tide
But I am still his love

In wanting to forget
There is regret,
Pain,
And love.


F.Z.**N

There will be no message sent to any hearts
as I tear up at 3 AM.
Has this holiday punished me with guilt
on your behalf?
I know we moved on.
I get that you are not thinking of me.
Please try to remember the good things we said.
I never wanted you out of my life.
You may be gone,
though there is still a sight of you
and all you taught me.
Good luck,
and never change.
I'll miss you.

Back to the scrawling pad
a cheap red notebook
wide ruled, with the perforated pages in it
in case I wanna punch one out easily
Those moleskin daze were measly
Thinking I'm creative and potent
but spending two years
to fill those tiny pages
Please, help me
reinvent the feel and manifest it
to real, accomplishment
Songs, verse, or vice grip words
to change a nation with
- to start a new nation with
Bokonon Bhikkhu
hurling Pikachus down from Mt. Olympus
land on the concrete with lemming splat
Get the metaphor?
I don't. Make your own up
I just an absurdest
A poor boy humming Queen
and writing rap atrocities
Nah, the rap "apocalypse"
minus all the apostrophes
Write so much anything anyone says
from now until oblivion
was just quoting me!

Never will I consider anyone who admires me
a God.
Those who admire me thus not rare,
but not many have given their gifts and time to me.
Don't ever define me
by the plaid in my wardrobe,
guitar notes on my playlists,
black nail polish,
and the innocent jokes I create.
Find me the best you can.
To anyone who could never be satisfied through the ruins of my
nonsense,
know,
that there was a point,
you meant,
the world
           to me.

11pm is for those who can't sleep,
bloods filled with rush;
because of the sweet texts they just can't wait to read.

1am is for the poets who just can't stop,
can't stop the thoughts entering --
entering their mind one by one.

And 2am is for the broken.
The ones who can't stop thinking,
Thinking of what might've been,
What could've been.