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Aug 2015 · 1.4k
The Otherwise
Death knocks Life
and asks,
"Can I too live?"

Life responds,
*"You can't, I am afraid.
For I too dread myself,
And envy you instead."
- - -
Aug 2015 · 808
Long-ing
I have slept in many beds
Yet still with constant dream
To have someone kiss me good-night
And smile at me with the sunrise.
\ˈlȯŋ-iŋ\
noun
: a strong desire especially for something unattainable
Aug 2015 · 758
Love or Hysteria
There is sometime
in a year
when I think that

Love is a hysteria.
Aug 2015 · 1.0k
22 Words in 4 Lines
I gave up my pen,
And tore all my dreams.
Poetry never was my friend
Thus my journey as poet, here ends.


- qyf
"The saddest poem a poet could write."

I often sit in doubt with overwhelming self-pity--- will I really make it? Will my pen able to cut through souls the way it cuts mine?

However, me learns that mine doubt is irreversible. It will forever be inside me...not to hinder...but to enable me to strive to surpass myself...to still be true with my writing. It is only, after all, mine pen which is able to hear and understand the deepest sighs of my soul.
Aug 2015 · 717
Collections of Pain
The way he looks at me,
with magnificence and praise
Slices my heart to bleed
in hopes that,
May his love
looks at me
the same way
his lusts do.

But the truth is:
While his eyes worship me,
His heart sees me as nobody.

- qyf
#costsofbeinginlove #passion #nolove #pain
Aug 2015 · 756
Ironically
The fire
That was lit
On our first
Hi and Hello
Had been
Extinguished
With our last
I love you.

-qyf
Jul 2015 · 229
15:3
Steel bars stream
  from my eyes, are the
    bulwarks of my heart.
Jul 2015 · 522
Assault (Haiku)
No Greater Assault There Is
Than The Assault Of
Insincere Kindness.
Jul 2015 · 551
3 Word Story
Jun 2015 · 569
Once Was His Flower
Once was a flower
in the garden,
blooming with pride

A man, a lover, came
and my beauty he admired
My smooth red petals caught his eyes
gently he picked me,
and mouthed a praise
"The most beautiful among all"
this was what he said.

He brought me into his mansion
with a garden full of weeds and stones
and he placed me in a vase
near an opened window with a dust-covered curtain

I saw, at the corner, a gray waste bin
Inside it is a rose, lifeless and pale
I wondered what happened
or what he did to her

Days afterward, and he just passed by me
I lost my confidence; he did change
my leaves started to slouch and dry
my petals slowly falling off and died.

His usual fervor admiration was gone
and noticed me once again,
yet for the last time
only to pick me up
and throw me into that gray waste bin
with that lifeless, pale rose I had seen.
Jun 2015 · 341
BULLET
I need but to bite the bullet,
unless I will let it hit me
straight in the head,
and watch myself,
blood pooled,
lifeless,
dead.

— The End —