Tonight
I'll sleep under
the ceiling of stars;
in a blanket
I'd be caressed by hugs.
Under my pillow
our captured days will rest.

Beneath my bed,
my monster at peace.
she'd whisper a poem-
the love we never had.

And while the crickets
sing their hope for us,
we'd both bleed
our hearts to sleep.

Tell me something even more tormenting
than the simple act of waiting...

a little more waiting...

and a lot more waiting.

I've decided to peel off
the parts of me
you have touched.
Burn it all out;
and through ink,
I washed all
the traces you left me with.

Now I'm a bleeding sheet
with marks
I see as materpiece.

How would you know when is enough?
-When it's already too much.

Then when is too much too much?
-When you've given too much, yet your too much isn't enough. It wouldn't be enough. So enough.

-‎Or maybe when you've given too much. You've been too much you've exceeded enough. So enough.

Either way, learn when to tell yourself ENOUGH.

And to our ears,
all tick and tocks of clocks
became so familiar
that we missed
to savor each second
'twas willing to give
until it died.

I'm afraid
I might be looking
unto something
I am so familiar with
that it becomes so ordinary,
I am missing the chance
to see its worth.

Like listening to a song
I have memorized for years
without feeling the beat
anymore.

Or being with someone
I am so used to be with
without actually
feeling him
at all.