Now,
You
Are
Reading
My
Poem
And
You
Might
Hate
It
Because
It's
A­ctually
Senseless
And,
Right
Now,
You
Would
Stop
Reading.
Oops!
I­ guess
I was
Wrong
But
Now,
Really,
I know
You'll
Stop
Right
Here
.
Guess
I was
Wrong
Again.
This
Time
I won't
Be wrong
Anymore
Because
You
Would
Really
Stop
Reading
This
Right
No­w

She hugged him so tight
So tight that he thought
     his bones would shatter

But he let it all night
Because he would let himself die
     if it was in the arms of her...

The orangey sun would soon die,
Dipping in the warm open oceans
Black unfeathered birds would fly,
Accompanied with teeth of draconians

The blue sky would be painted black,
And rounded moon would be lighted up
Little suns would start to spark,
With the cricket sounds, abrupt

After 12 rounds of the shorter hand,
The ball of fire will start blazing back
And by the shore, I would stand
Still, wide smiles and plenty laughs I lack

Dreams are much better
Than my forsaken reality

Every moment of it, I savor
Because when these eyes open
I'll wake up into a nightmare

Here's to me.
Here's to keeping up all night reading a good book.
To doodling your professor's face in classes.
To waking up late on weekdays.
To getting all tired after a volleyball game.
To listening to piano music when it's raining.
To getting your shoes all soaked up...when it's raining.
To crying...when it's raining.
To watching fireflies at night.
To listening to crickets...at night.
To watching the sunset while being nostalgic.
To singing out of tune in the bathroom.
To wasting some precious time while on the toilet bowl just thinking.
To eating too much when you know you shouldn't.
To painting while being in just your underwear.
To turning your headphones to the highest volume when your mom's shouting from the kitchen.
To eating midnight snacks 3 times every night.
To crying over a good movie.
To hating yourself because of wanting something you know you can't get.
To loving yourself because you know you're still you no matter how much tears you've wasted.
To spending all your money for food and books and  bookmarks and pencils and pens and paints and paintbrushes and...food.
To going out with friends everyday or night.
To not wanting to go home because you've got so much more to talk about.
To thinking how much you hate thinking about dying.
To hating Peter Pan because you know he never gets old.
To hating Wendy because she chose to leave Neverland.
To trying to get over the fear of death.
To hoping you'll never grow old and die.
To dying right now...

I took a knife
I took a pen

With it, I started to write
With it, I stabbed my chest

On a white piece of paper
Deepest so it would hurt

But no ink would come out
But no pain could be felt

It would only tear the paper
It would only wound my heart

I thought I could write, but I couldn't
I thought I would die, and I was right

I wasn't a writer
*I was a killer

The thirst for love,
Isn't caused by never having tasted it
But by savoring it once,
Then losing it on your way through;

You won't crave for something
you haven't tasted yet.