addicting is the thought of you,
enticing is the view—
until I take a step closer
and there, find nothing new.

it's not even that I need your love,
or want it for that matter—
it's the comfort that your love provides
that my heart is really after.

Freckles of time
Fly effortlessly by
Leaving me behind
Closed doors–what I find

is a knack for creation–
Indulging syncopation
In establishing my mark;
I desire differentiation

in my work to designate
The things I’ve done
Quite innate
Is my notion to be unique–
yet

Like a speckle of dust
Surrounded by stars
In vain, I do rust
At the thought of my existence–

in comparison to my surroundings
my hard work isn’t astounding
or significant at all;
my life–like dust–
is smaller than small.

what  is  love?
but games of tug
and war with self
on who to pelt
the cupid arrow
with, i narrow
down the candidates
and find
there's *nothing
and no  one
i sincerely like;
no to mistake with lust
which rustles with
my hormones
constantly.
basing on chemistry
i can't find a
soul who's harmony
will ever
understand me.

falling under
twisted thunder
my bones thrive
on pain and wonder
filing out
in single file
entrance to hell
sure takes a while
my soul cries
at my surrender:
apologies,
from the offender

in reality
there's only me.

stumbling into a lake
of confusion, my life at stake
can't help but wonder what I did wrong
for fate to end my simple song.