only smoke lives inside
this empty chest now

and a book lying in my bed
is the only companion I have
during most nights
and for the following nights

I can't confide with it
or exchange words with it

only it fills the little gaps,
small spaces
that I recently have made room for

it will take time
to remember how to take
a few steps

it always does

but I'm in no hurry

one good thing
about it is it doesn't hurt
like it used to
and I wonder if it really
mattered,
all those four years
because I couldn't feel anything
from it

and I keep having
this thought in mind
that loneliness
granted for a long
period of time isn't so bad
after all

I could use some solitude,
some peace, privacy and
time and time again
to reflect

however loneliness
isn't good for
a heart that chooses
to take action on its own

it doesn't matter,
for I can always cover it up
for as long as
I could

there are plenty of women
out there
but now's not the time
for that
since
I have no use for
relationships built within
the confines of the social
standards
especially nowadays
where no one wants to
keep their happiness to themselves

hold it like some treasure
bury it deep down like
you wouldn't want anyone else
to find it once you
get your hands
on it


and this poem
is as horrible as,
serves as a tribute
to
the last relationship
I had.