If you stick a knife through your heart,
be sure to stick it in deep,
through all the years,
through all the tears,
through all your pain,
release the spirit of darkness,
set it free,
let it float through the clouds,
let it kiss the clown.

If poems were ***
then,I wouldn't be a ******
i would caress the letters
fix a foreplay with title
i would literally **** the words
to give birth to soulful sentences
if poems were ***
I wouldn't be ******,still.

I miss home so much
But it's not really home I miss

It's you.

My stomach feels tight and my airway is constricted
I want to cry tears of sadness
On your neck in the moonlight

I miss you so much it hurts

They say home is where the heart is, I'm no where near home.

4 october 2015*

Inhale.
I hold the smoke in my lungs.
One. Two. Three. Just as you taught me.
To think;
I’ve never even thought about a cigarette
untill I met you.
The januari night is piercing cold,
my hands tremble as I bury my head in them.
The moon turns my pale skin blue.
Exhale.

Listen,
I am not crazy,
though two strangers are not meant
to yearn like we do.
I do.

Listen,
maybe I am crazy,
though I have never been before,
not;
untill I met you.

Inhale.
I know you are drunk right now,
or leaned over a toilet lid
with rolled up money between your fingers.
So I am not in my bed,
but here,
with a cigarette between mine.
Exhale.