I haven't been writing these days and I guess
   I could blame it on a lot of things
    like how I could've written about how your eyes
    remind me of my guilty pleasures
         chocolates. oh! so delightful, oh! so sinful
             (it even describes you perfectly)
    and how much I love the the way
    you say my name
    and how I wish you called me more
         even if all you need is a hand
            (and not because you missed me at all)
    I could've written you a prose and your name
      could've been the only thing dripping
      on the pages of my journal
    I could've written all your favorite lines
      and pin them on my corkboard
    I could've written you songs after songs
      wishing that they will soon be your favorites

   but I guess I can't write about things
        that can be mistaken as my suicidal note
        because you're just killing me
        but I can't help but love the sensation

it took me 365 days
  to get over you

guess now I'm back to square one

maybe the reason why i do things so recklessly within the mere presence of yours is because i can only hear the loud thumping and the loud crashing of my fickle heart and the hazy infatuation continues to seep through the atmosphere blurring my vision.

  i used to promise myself to never lose my cool around guys because they shouldn't have that power over me but theres just something about you, you, you—maybe it was your carefree disposition that makes me crave freedom too or was it because your sad moments never seems to stop and i feel compelled to bring you out of that shallow hell you build around yourself—you are flooding my thoughts and tangling up my words into bundles of anxious thread and my lips tremble to the beat of my shaking fingers

  i once told you to never say goodbye because it kills a part of me. i wish i also mentioned that you simply being here also takes my breath away

  *—L.m.

i told you not to make
   me the anchor that tames you down
   whenever you feel like you're
       drowning again;
you promised not to look at me
   as if I'm the sun and you haven't
   tasted the light in such a long
   time inside all the frigid darkness
       you’ve enveloped yourself in;
you said you won't cling on me
   like the attachment a flame has
   on all the cigarette sticks you perpetually have
   between your lips, waiting, until each fire coughs up
        its last smoke;
       (it wasn't long before I
          coughed mine.)

i told you, i told you, i told you,
     the I wouldn't stay long—
     that I wanted to lessen the damage
     that I'll inflict on you; so I made you
     promise and
you promised, you promised, you promised,
     that you'll never depend on me
     as if I'm the only person who can ignite your soul
  
but you didn't keep your words
    and I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I kept mine

    *—L.m

you told her
scars are there to be a reminder
that she once survived
death (and won)

but she knew
deep in her heart,
those gashes on her wrists
are there to remind her
that she once wished for
death (but failed)