I hate to say it
But reading his poety
Breaks my very heart

Do you think he means it to hurt this much?
Is love a fault of nature or the very binding of it?
Beauty is a treacherous thing.
every flower wilts,
all the young age,
everything dies.
Nothing lasts.
not even "love"

The loss of innocence is harsh,
I used to find nothing lasts forever
a terrible thing
I was dreaming for a happy ever after.
But that's different now.
I find it comforting,
to know one day the waves will no longer hit the shore.
The birds will fall silent.
The stars will be lonely,
for lack of admirers.
The whole universe will one day die.
Human existence doesn't matter,
not one bit.
and I love that thought.
Its all fleeting and small,
like a movie trailer for a film you'll never see.
But not all is lost,
not the things we feel,
because they live in the depths of our souls.
and no matter what happens
that place is completely and utterly impenetrable.

My "poetry" *****
But I can not stop writing
I am such a ****.

The happiest day of my life,
Began with a whisper,
My best friends and I,
Addmitting our innermost insecurity,
A body,
Or the thought of failing,
Or an imperfection with the eye.
She talked about it,
How embarassed she was,
That plain on her eye,
It was there,
"A horrible blotch."
"A sty"
We continued talking,
Moving on to senselss topics,
Ice cream,
Doctor who,
Our favourite jokes.
But I stole a glance at my two friends
He was whispering in her ear,
Just loud enough for her to hear.
"You are so beautiful"
He rejoined the conversation.
Just as a solitary tear ran down her round face. She was smiling.
I continued talking about Doctor Who.
Like nothing had ever happened.
Because some moments are meant to be stolen.