Maybe you will come back and say hi once again
Maybe we will start over and never let go.

af.

Your memory is a blistering, red coal;
I step on it everyday.

Stop making me miss you this much.

We kept moving in circles
And circles—
Until we were so tired
We couldn't walk together anymore.
And so we left—You this way and I that;
Our shoes in our hands,
Our feet thoroughly bruised.

hate him for his inaccurate tendency to understand emotions
hate her for always being in a fight with her own feelings

he doesn't get it,
she cannot forget it

he doesn't show he cares
she cannot stop caring about it

and it's not just as little or as much
as that.
or as stupid

both of them kind of know it
both of them will kind of forsake it

It isn't fair what becomes of us people when someone leaves.
It isn't fair how someone can have control over switching our mood on and off based on nothing we can get explanations for. When you don't give them the power and they still have it-- that's the root of this misery.

I miss you every day.
I look back at our past - one I've devotedly saved but shouldn't have had -
And trace back our steps:
I am desperate to know what went wrong, why we couldn't stop it
From changing us.
It brought me harm and I'm still hurting and
I'm not sure about you

like inhaling
rotten ****
bile in your throat
a lump
chest tightening
night frightening
never-ending
agony
messed mosaic
of broken dreams
hopes and wishes
glass shattering
veins smashing
mixing, mixing:
blood and tears
tears and memories
tears and promises.

is not optional.

It's so obvious that I miss you.
Don't wanna handle it delicately.

Was it so important that we said goodbyes? Couldn't have we just always remained?
Why are there no possibilities to just always remain? Why?

the embarrassment, hopeless anger on past
the humiliation
and the inexplicable, insoluble longing in my hollow heart

When I wanted to draw flames
Poetry came to me.
Now that my life is burning,
I have lost my muse.

What worth is my poetry
if it's not for your eyes to read
or your lips to say.

Oh no you don't care
Of course you don't care.
My demons are mine
My fights are mine
My wounds are mine.
You don't care, of course you don't
And why would you?
And why should you?
**This my own battle
and I am going to lose it
myself.

Crossing the street, in the most sparkly attire
I see a woman spitting on the shop windows
Singing songs merrily••
Or is it melancholy?--
But she does smile and her white teeth shine
Her lips invite
And her hips sway
And it looks like all the jewels of the world
Have come surrendered on her feet, so white!
But she spits on my face too
When I ask if she would like. . .;
And moves on
Happily.

and I won't be here.
Not any more.

times like these
when everything around you asks
for a step forward. up. come... believe.

and all you want to do is go back, back, back to where your heart pulls
where doubts live
but with the safety of your undeniable love.

If you wanna be sad it's okay
Be sad.

2.
If you think you can, block him.
Delete his messages and his number,
and his emails.
Delete his poems if you can't delete his thoughts.
You will get to that. (If you want to. It's fine if you don't.)

3.
You think you're happy one moment- exuding joy, energy, ecstasy-
and melancholy the other. You feel you're fluctuating between two shifts
I want to tell you that's okay. It happens. Breathe.
Let it be.

4.
You show me your arms that are tightening with some sort of feeling you're abiding, your feet hurt
You can't name this, words don't get it, I know.
I know we can't know. I know it's Real, though. It is.
We are in it together. It goes away. That's what they all say.
I am believing in it and I hope you can too.

Happy New Year.

SOMETIMES ALL I WANT TO DO IS SCREAM YOUR NAME AND CALL YOU BACK
AND NEVER LET GO.

I don't understand why
we got nights with 2:40 and 3 a.ms
and hands that yearn to touch the same faraway star.

We can't afford to be sad again this hour, darling
It's too late and you're already so tired
Already so half.

Why, you say you miss him and your bones begin like they're cracking
Your eyes, I mean those holes! They are already empty vessels, sweety.
As empty as any other star that has had its day
Are you becoming a black hole?
Or are you just another history album, showing photos after photos of the same old wreckage

I can't bear to see that, sweety, I can't tell you how it spikes into me. This grey gleam. This scarred self of yours.

We can't afford to be sad at this hour, darling, or I would've certainly showed you something. Might've sung a song, maybe.
But right now it reminds me of your voice that held heavens up in rapture.
Right now I can only think of your laughter that I cannot listen to, anymore.
Your silence. It's already biting into you but you won't know!

So we can't be sad again, you see.

Nobody is gone. Nobody is unhappy. Nobody cries at night. Nobody is scared of little things. Nobody is losing. Nobody is fighting. Nobody thinks about ending life.

Nobody hates anyone. Nobody envies. Nobody turns a blind eye. Nobody is indifferent. Nobody is cruel.

Nobody is sick. Nobody feels weak. Nobody is giving up, ever.

you lied to me about your feelings
you thought it was easy for everyone like it's easy for you but
it wasn't.
that's a real life you played here with and you think that's okay
it isn't.

I am afraid
to ask you
if you missed me
(or not...?)

Because last time
you asked me
I didn't tell-

though I did.
and I do!

But I could not make myself
show you
that I have nothing else to offer.

-Just a heart that beats in another sphere,
seas apart.-
and no promises.
and no symphonies, poetries, realities.
no dreams.

I have no dreams to give you.

It's not much, right?
I only can't share this song with you that you really ought to listen,
and can't tell anyone about my dreams anymore.

You won't come back
And I won't get over it.
Hard deal.

Do you realize
that you still think of him
when you're thinking nothing?

It's all too simple, really: You miss him, you text him
Or you favorite his tweet or write a comment. Initiate it just
Otherwise if you're really up for it and feel bold --
Call. Shoot an email. He will reply. You will talk.

It's really simple, really. You feel pain, you go out
Take a walk, deep breaths, sky, nature, peace. Yes.
You wanna vent, vent. Tell this guy it was pathetic of him
To treat you like a loser. Say it on his face.

It's really simple, really. You write what you like, give no ****
You draw what you want, the world is yours.
It's not so simple really. It never will be.

too sad, can't poem

My Facebook screen knows how many times I write and erase your name,
my search seems endless and also pathetic.
I know where you are: far from me.
I know what we have become: not us.

She was mad. A mad writer spitting up words, vomiting poems, and finding salvation in her rough scribblings. Her days and nights were normal for she wore a mask throughout. A facade for everyone.

"7 billion people, 14 billion faces", she wrote once.
"And you are the king of double-faced people. Most fake." he had replied.
"Oh no. I am a queen!" she had laughed...

She scribbles down everything in her diary, or her blog, or her mind. It is what helps her maintain her sanity. But at moments when you are far, like very very far, she just cannot hold it. I have seen her dying daily, and writing your name with her finger on her palm. I have seen her gasping for air on the most normal of occasions, as if her throat was choking with a word held in, her chest burning with a poem unsaid.

It was you she had ever wanted, always missed, blindly loved. It was you who made her a writer out of a normal, moderately-concerned human-being. You made her over-sensitive. You killed her!

I enjoy
ignoring you now.
It gives me pain,
but it's lesser than what
you made me
endure
before.

In the realm of my mind

every conversation, relation

ends on its time.

There are no unsaid goodbyes.

it's so funny how you're always on the top of my web history

and always so far in real, so far, like nowhere

Poetry
so
stupid
it
makes
you
puke.

****** novellas,
flirtatious chats.
Poems.
***, ***, lust.
So much for loving a woman!

I am

with the thought
of you.

INDIFFERENT
you are
with the reality
that is me. A girl, in love
yes, so?

I stalk you
I think of you
I write about you
a poem,
a story sometimes
a letter to you.
It gets tougher
and crazier
and messier inside
As I write your name
and rub it off
and write your name again.

What do I do?

Heartache shows.
From your drooping arms
heavy-lidded eyes
sometimes, loss in weight.
Fever shows.
You get a cold, you keep hearing "Bless You!"
Every other illness finds an expression, but
Obsessions.
Secret little hellholes.
They eat you and you only call a poem for help.

Of course I miss you.
What makes you think I don't?
Your luring chats, your **** texts
your pen, your poetry,
singing lullabies...
Of course I miss you. How can I not?
Your challenges, your debates
your authority, your fuckery
your slang, your bang, that pang
"I do, I do, I do."...
Of course, I do.
You left me an option?

You'd probably be so shocked if you learn someday how much I search for you still. But then how would you?! You are not here. You are not here, you are not here.
I miss you sometimes. And then I'm no longer strong. No longer so fine...

you heard one of them give an answer to which everyone was applauding
so you quietly put your paper back in your pocket
and sat down, your previous energy dissipating into yet another nothing.
your face devoid of its real smile, because now in place of it
sat a plastered curve. a curve that couldn't quite reach the end
of your eyes.
Your eyes which murmured soft words to the pillow later at night.

Today I have that paper in my hands and I find myself helpless
against lost potential and lost time.
I can't even fight that.
I also can't fight the times you just let others take credit for your gifts to the world.

I also can't fight these tears that come to the verge
to never spill
like you never stood
for yourself or me.

the same pinch of obsessed
the same twinge of distance
the agony, the agony, the agony of love.

That maybe one day you'll return
And the universe will make up
For all that we have lost.

I know that because I found her lost;
searching for you...
In places you had gone,
poems you had read,
artworks you admired,
people you once met,
and music you listened to.
She looks for you, in your world
and in her world, and in her dreams.