Even quitting cigarettes
Was easier than quitting you

Those eyes
Those ****** eyes
As much as I hate to admit
They give me butterflies

If I could
I would want you to stop existing
I am feeling all these emotions
But I swear I'm resisting

You're not even the last thing I want
Not someone I would trust
I have to stop thinking
I know that I must

Isn't it crazy?
To fall for someone who looks like a heartbreak
But you make me want you
My mind goes numb, my hands shake

I guess it's okay
To think about you sometimes
Just to make myself satisfied
I tell my heart all these lies

I can see it in your eyes
The wilderness speaking for itself
The assurance that you can get anything
Like a game, without any help

I really want you to know
Not everyone is easy to buy
I don't care how pretty you are
If behind my smile, you can't hear me cry

You're fire –a beautiful fire
And I'm not ready to burn
I am more than what you see
But I notice, it's none of your concern

i am the moon.
small and insignificant,
almost pointless,
almost being the keyword.
people say i light the night like the stars do,
even though i am a floating chunk of rock.
floating chunks of rock do not illuminate,
no.
floating chunks of rock are illuminated,
but only by the stars.
i reflect your light on to the world at night,
and i am worshipped like the god i am not.
you are the beauty,
burning at temperatures unheard of,
touching every planet in the solar system,
gleaming off of me.
i am not envious of you,
your job is much too important.
and like i said before,
i am almost pointless.
but what is the world without your light,
even when you’re asleep?

As for the romantics turning to poetry, in constant streams, knowing
all too well, about their own transgressions in their fragility, wishing
for another life, the theatre of emotions, heightening the world of
melodramatic, eyeglasses, blinks of love. Generally they’re with one,
rather than destiny’s choice in the other. And sometimes, the void
and despair is always self-created.