Post-it notes are a breath of fresh air
The remind me that I should care
Of things little and big
Like my dreams of buying a wig

They seem to be the epitome of innocence
But at times, they ooze wicked essence
Intentions are what post-its are about
The truth it is, without a doubt

They look fancy even when stuck to a tree
Or when thrown on top of a pile of debris
When pen touches paper, on its journey does the post-it embark
Like pollen, may it cross the seven seas, stuck to a majestic lark

Post-its in and of themselves are quite sad
'Cause most of them are but reminders of resolutions gone bad
It's existence is nothing short of poetic
Except when used for cheesy love notes; then it's just pathetic

I hold my breath so as not to wake you from your sweet slumber
And stare at the ceiling with sleepless eyes
I wonder if you're dreaming of me
I want to hold you but I'm too afraid
That I won't let go if I do
I shut my eyes as tightly as I can
Until they hurt and start to water
And yet sleep eludes me
It's pitch black outside, or so it seems
Through the crack in the curtains
The darkness oozes through
It envelopes me, leaves you alone
I'm a body bag waiting to be unzipped
There's not a hint of suffocation
The pain neither comes nor goes
Alas there's light
But it's at the end of the tunnel

The night sits heavy on us all
As the well dressed persons leave the ball

There seems to be joyous celebration in the air
And a moment's silence they cannot bear

The ruckus floats away through the night sky
Tonight ain't a night of goodbyes

The pristine eyes now filled with lust
Inhibitions are lost, found is inebriated trust

Numbers exchanged among mostly glances
The night fondly reminisced, retread the dances

Some leave with friends, others with strangers
Forgotten are the daily fears and dangers

And yet the night sits heavy on us all
As life suddenly slows down to a crawl

I could not stop walking into walls
Oh, how I twisted and turned
Until the day I wrote myself over them

I am but a passing muse
With a couple of eyes and a couple of hands
Walking, and yet not moving
And with these hands I wish to build
Not castles, not palaces
But bonds that last longer than our bodies
That will stand the test of fate
Though these eyes shall never appreciate them
As they are but blind to all that doesn't move
But once in a while they do notice the patterns
Among the endless sea of static
And I let out a squeal of joy that falls on deaf ears

Dwindling down to the last morsel
And yet we cannot stop
Losing men left, right and centre
And yet another pawn we shall plop

History has to be written
Stories, another must
Forgotten will be those who died, frostbitten
Their medals now gather rust

Clearer waters have flown between these banks
That time has past, and will yet come again
History will not celebrate these hideous tanks
The ghost of their memories will be washed away by rain

Philosophers gather and discuss
The heavy sitting toll
As the commons turn away in disgust
And take a leisurely stroll

You live out your dreams
I dwell within mine
I'm but a part of your world
You've made mine