i cant touch the keys
i cant touch the strings
i cant touch literary
i cant touch eevrything
i cant touch them
i cant touch him
who once did,
i cant touch me.

"us"
at first, twas good,
me, him, everyday
is fun-filled,
so thrilling,
those enormous
subjective emotions
which rush from
his spine
to mine.

those vigorous
sweatful and youthful
days were lit,
firey, no trickery and mockery.

he doesnt understand
me before,
but he tries,
he says he'll try
and the he tried.

but now,
"us" came crumbling down,
too loud! too loud!
oh such a frown!

i dont know,
maybe i missed him too much,
not talking,
communicating,
seeing,
and smelling each others
scents and humor.
i feel he s moving,
in a backward and sad motion.
he draws attention,
that most cant do,
he draws companies,
that most cant do,
he is subjected to every crowd,
that most cant do,
even being stupidly being chased
by the homecoming,
that most cant do,
and even I cant do.

he ia far too wise
far too nice,
far too dark
and very apart.

he closed his doors
for my rants,
for my sounds,
for my music
words, and love.

i thought he is the one
and i still believe that
he IS that one person
who can share
these unapealing
sounds at night,
these unsightly
paints of gestures,
these seemingly
truthful facades,
these explicit and
exclusive love.

i wanted to go far,
far from where he belonged.
i wanted to go near,
near to where he resides.

i wanted to tear
this contract,
i believed, has faded.

now,
if i did do it,
what comes next?
sorrow?
this grief i must hold,
this woe i must cease,
this beauty who once
loved me i must leave,

either i disappear
or i will leave
this kind of habit
he became.