I'm not weak, i just feel alot.
I'm not probing, i just observe a lot.
*I'm not a poet, i'm just a broken soul.

i miss you and this is as much poetry as there is in me

Amelia can you hear
the calling of my heart?

Amelia can you see
the tears on my eyes
as I hide it through the smiles?

Amelia can you feel
the scars on my skin
inflicted by the people
I loved the most?

Amelia can you smell
the decayed and withered body
of mine

Amelia, oh my darling Amelia
can you pick up the pieces
of my broken heart?

Did you hear it shatter across the floor
the moment he said goodbye?

Did you see the way he stepped on it
The way he steps on his cigarette?

My darling Amelia
so innocent
fragile
save yourself
from all the pain

and i tell you this
because i couldn't save myself

learn from my mistakes
my darling Amelia

'If a writer falls
in love with you
You can never die'
Even if this were true
I will **** you tonight
I will **** you tomorrow
Until I run out of ink
I will **** you
In each and every one
Of my rhyme-less poems
I will write
Of your death
In my blood
When my quill is dry
So when I die
You die with me
And you are dead
Even in immortality