isn’t it funny
my dreams and thoughts of you
have given me more
than you ever could

when the world ended,
i fell to the floor,
tears rolling down,
the future tore.

heart in my throat,
my jaw felt weak,
you held me tight,
you kissed my cheek.

when the world ended,
your hand on mine,
softly caress,
fingers entwined.

no whispered words,
you let me be,
your quiet strength,
meant the world to me.

And on that day, when the world ended,
you held my hand,
you stayed with me,
you made me see,
my world could be...
mended...
again...
someday.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come