He gave me his
jacket
and it smelled like
him and smoke
and I knew why
but I wore it anyway.

The day he
disappeared
it was cold outside so
I wore his jacket
and
wiped my nose on the sleeves.

We got the call from the
psych ward
three days later and I couldn't
see him
or
hold him
so I buried my face in his jacket
even though it smelled like smoke
and I knew why.

I kept it
stuffed in the corner between
the wall and my bed
so on the nights when I
missed him too much to sleep
I could wrap myself in it
even though
it didn't smell like him anymore.

When he came back
a month later
and I saw him in
a crowded hallway
he looked at me and
smiled
when he noticed I was wearing
his jacket
and he
hugged me
so it smelled like him again.

I still
wear his jacket
when I can't sleep at night.

something about the cold drew me to you
the temperature of your bedroom kept me there
"i always liked the cold" you'd say
i wondered why
now I know it's because you craved inseparable proximity
you required love that i couldn't give, though i wanted to so desperately

you turned me into ice
because as soon as you made me melt
i cracked
and ran

We create a web around us
With our feelings and emotions
To secure us from any danger
Getting caught in that world
Unaware of what’s happening around
Obstructing our vision
Somehow getting caught in there
And realize quite late
The world has changed and moved ahead
Leaving us behind
Only to reminisce what has been
Before we realize, it’s too late

Home is where my heart first shattered
And sought things unimaginable
Quenching for love and enlightenment,
Seeking for guidance and hope
My days were once evergreen
And raging red as my blood stirs and flows
Denying the pity as each eye stares
Watching each flower bloom
Then slowly rot and perish

A huge pail of liquid was showered upon me
And air turning cold as ice
The room was covered in a blackish-gray cloud
That growled and thundered
Leaving a mark that no one could hide
People see beauty in times of merriment
But I see mine in my hard, abandoned shell
I could no longer speak for no one would listen
Why would I aim for a goal that was never there?
All there is, is a dusty shelf
That mourns and weeps
Waiting for it's master's return
In the days that were long gone.