Love letters and suicide notes
Torn out page
Scrap of life
No one stopping
To read the last lines
Forgotten envelopes
Lost life post
Another dead heart
Another souls ghost
Everyone dying
To find themselves a home
After writing their
Letters and notes
Just so they
Could feel less alone

My dreams are getting washed away in fears
My life is drowning away in tears
Dear smile....where are you???
Why are you so elusive?
It's been ages since i've seen you
My soul is dying to meet you
My lips are dying to greet you
In fact they are aching for your touch
My eyes are dying to see you in the mirror
So please just meet me one of these days
I want to capture that elusive moment on my camera
I hope you're not too camera-conscious
Honestly...life without you seems tasteless
So wherever you are...
...please just come out and meet me
Don't feel shy now

No, dear.



You did not leave a hole in my heart.


                                                    
                                              The hole was there, long before you
                                                   stumbled into my life.


                          
                             ­  It will be there long after you turn to memory.




Tearing it a little wider is the only thing
                                                           ­   **you
                                                      ­                  managed to achieve.


                                                    A couple more inches of
                                                                ­        scarring
                                                ­                 and the repulsive stench
                                                     of your rotting soul.

I don't know how to write of love,
It's unfamiliar territory,
Like a hand in an oversized glove,
Or a moral with no story.

If I could write about the way
I put all faith in you,
And how you returned that faith to me,
That alone wouldn't do.

I could write about attractiveness-
Of skin as smooth as milk,
Of eyes that heal my sadness,
And a touch as light as silk.

That still doesn't quite do it though,
It doesn't seem enough,
To quote the cannibilistic king-
"This subject is quite tough!"

I could write about the words we share,
When we're together and alone,
Or of holding hands in public,
Or crying on the phone,

Or how we long to hold each other,
Or hear the other's voice,
How just being with each other
Feels like the only choice.

Yes, I could talk all day about the way
Your feelings make me feel
But as fishing-rod designers say;
"It's time to make this reel."

Because real love's not as romantic
As the the love seen on T.V,
Or how it looks in certain books,
And classical poetry.

There's arguements at midnight,
There's anger and despair,
And times when you may feel like
The other doesn't care.

There are times you feel you're talking
And the other doesn't hear,
There's feeling you're not good enough,
Caused by jealousy and fear.

It's giving the other power
To destroy your hopes and dreams,
To tear your heart completely
And sometimes that's how it seems.

No- I don't know how to write of love,
Because the realism shows through,
To quote the cannibal king once more-
"This subject's hard to chew."

So I will not bore you anymore
On things I can't convey
And feelings which I am not sure
You're feeling anyway,

But I'll leave you with some sound advice-
Being in love can be the best,
Or else it turns your heart to ice
(To which many can attest.)

I won't recommend you plunge right in,
Or back off altogether,
But it will not stay as it begins-
Love changes like the weather.

Here, where the sphere remains quiet,
Here, where all torment rightly seems
As do breathless winds before the riot;
And clouded visions o' cloudy dreams,
Do watch the pastures there growing,
For harvesting lads and such sowing,
For the reaping hour and the mowing,
A sluggish world of sluggish streams.

I have grown weary of sobs and laughter:
And folks that crow and those that weep,
Of what may come there in the hereafter,
For those that slowly sow and swiftly reap;
And I tire of days that grow weary of hours,
Wafted buds of those stilled lifeless flowers,
Desires and ideas; and also of such powers;
And of every single double thing but sleep.

Here growth has ruination for a neighbor;
And far from seeing eye and listening ear,
Pale waves and ****** winds force labor
On flimsy ships and temperaments to steer;
To drive out of control, and therein wither;
And woe not do those who place them thither:
But no such ****** whirlwinds ******* hither -
No such wrongs felt, seen, or so perceived here.

Am I doomed to become like her
A distant cold shell of a woman
Who seems like a ghost that no one can put to rest
Hardened over time of being misunderstood

Or will I grow up like him
Angry at the innocent people who cross my path
Self absorbed and manipulative
Someone who people avoid when they're out in public

Better yet will I find myself in the middle
Angry and hostile
Cold and detached
But twice as alone