1.
Once, back
in the good old days,
all we had were

words. We were full
of them. Yours, mine, theirs.
The words were good to us;

we respected them,
heard them, breathed
them. Lived them.

Then they were gone.

2.
The other day I
foolishly tried
to bring the good words
back,

except none of mine rose up
to meet yours, and none
of yours but one broke

the silence. The brave,
one word - repetitively spoken and
asked by us both; "good?" "good."
"Good?" "good."

3.
Was it the cold that
froze our words, leaving
us with the first syllable of
The Last Word?

4.
Goodbye.

I am anger
I am frustration
I am hopelessness
I have no indication
Of any recapitulation
Mother of God, help me
Where is my salvation?

I am anger
I am frustration
Choose to accept me
Or die of agitation

Should I change this rhyme?
Or continue writing
Maybe time will fix it
Even though it's not mine

You see man
And ma'am
I have the tendency to
Write truthfully

But life is a *****
Some days feel like
I'm consciously removing
a stitch

I am anger I am frustration
Praying might help you but
There is no really escaping me
Despite trying

I am anger I am frustration
Would you have accepted God's
Invitation to life
if you would've known

That this would be your reality?
I don’t think so haha
How funny is humanity?
Relax, I'm talking sarcastically

However, I am still anger
And I am still frustration
You will rise above me
At one point or the other
I still control your words
but not forever.

Up until last week
when we used to see each other
accidentally in the hallways
of this second home,
we'd nod, sometimes smile,
rarely did we say a "hello"
or any other word.

This week
we saw each other
accidentally -  
or so you think, my dear -
and we hugged,
on the staircase of the third
floor and I was a stair lower than you
and you kissed my head and I rested
for two seconds on your arm and
accidentally (or so it seems,
my dear) kissed it.

Today
I looked into your eyes
and prayed to whoever is there
or is not      that one day
it won't be odd of me to whisper
in your ear, a word or two;
my own synonyms to "I love you."

Today,
after looking into your eyes,
you walked away
but all I wanted to say
was how I now understand
the "falling in love" metaphor
of Hazel Grace.

There is another couple
sitting beside me in my place.

They must be hopelessly
devoted for they chose

this spot to share their
lunch and secret love.

I'm hopelessly devoted
to this poem and

the metaphor I'm about
to break

for my love is
not with me.

As we drove
in pouring rain
a metaphor
found me.

The excitement
rushed through me
as the idea of the birth
of another poem lit my

wiped out morning mind.
"Something about how
raindrops fall and
open up when they

hit the window wall;
just like them," I thought,
"we need to open up
when we fall apart."

But it was 6:30 A.M.
and my mind slipped
into a quick nap and hence,
this poem instead
I trap.

But if I just
stay in bed
for the rest of today
and tomorrow
and the day after

and if I just
not care about studying
for anything and if I just
keep the words inside
and let them rip my veins
and shred me apart

and if I just stop fighting
the pain or if I just stop
moving maybe then
just maybe
I will become too numb
from feeling too much
and I will cease to feel

because all there is right now
is pain and hurt and frustration
and when they are asleep,
happiness is awake

but my happiness is
too fragile, and
like a stranger in a coffee shop,
it has its own depression.

I wrote a poem
about how much
I do not understand
the idea of death

Then I hit
ctrl+A
backspace

That's death.
I still don't understand it.