I don't believe in coincidence or destiny
But I know of algorithms

Hello
It's like hell
With an O
Or halo
it's like hell
With an O

I have baptized myself by immersion of studying your photograph, examining as each constituent lives under my scrutiny. I have been waiting for my brain to acknowledge the imperfections on the details of your physicality and introduce itself to your blemished deficiencies.
So far, it has already shook hands with the distance between your eyes, and the murk residing below the pair, the defined philtrum proudly standing in the middle of your nose and your mouth, the abnormal upward curve at both ends on the side of your parched lips, and the scream from your pupils that seem to sympathize with my observations.
With utmost patience, I have waited for my brain to perceive you under the category of ugly.




But I think that's just an excuse I say to myself so I could reason out why I'm still staring at your portrait after we have come to a compromise of parting.

You tell me I was good with words
And you fell in love with me

You tell me I was good with words only
And you fell out of love from me

You've already killed
Too many parts of me
It's a massacre
What we need is mass genocide

Is it
A field of stars
Or
A constellation of orchids?

"I'd do anything, just so that you'd look at me again the same way you look at him."

"Like leave completely?" You ask. While you look at me the same way you look at him.

I press my lips against your lips
And wrap my fingers around yours
Now that you're gone,
All my lips press are cigarette tips
And all I'm wrapped with is remorse

I want to give you
A thousand final kisses
And rip you into
A thousand little pieces

If you put sand
In a bucket of water
Eventually,
it settles at the bottom.

I'm not sandman,
But I'm at the bottom
In the lake
Of my tears.

Not settled
But drowned.

I polished the stars for you.
Now, it's time to polish your shoes.

January came, she kissed my cheek
Under the moon, filled with mystique
Late of the season, I braided her hair
In the light of dusk, I embraced her there
And when midnight came, I named the stars
Twinkling after her in the latest of hours
Hundreds of billions-little lights in the skies
Each one reflecting her incandescent eyes
Roses are maroon; violets are grey
Enchantment is purple; though sounding cliche
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Excellent and exquisite; an elegant arcane
Long after August and the months of -ber
Unraveled whatsoever lies inside of her
Carving a smile across her face
I waited until November days
Next I held her hands--soft and warm
Quiescence overcame my repugnant form
Unctuous--for times I was
It's what she can and what she has
Not but only gleaming little lights
Inside her yet also morose little frights
Come December and January again
Oh I kissed her cheeks and then
That... was it