All I wanted was for the music
to remind me of you
not of my heartbreaks,
my pain, my doubts, my stupidity.

All I wanted was for the rhythm
to flow mellifluously along
the beat of my heart
as it synchs with yours.

All I wanted was for the beat
to move me along
just as how you did
when you first tugged my hand (and eventually, my heart)

All I wanted was for the notes
to make me think of your voice
just before we fall asleep
and immediately after we wake.

(Is it possible to lose the ear
for the tune of your favourite
song?)

All I wanted was for the pieces
to fit back to its jigsaw
where it (rightfully should and) used to be,
but how is that?

When every song in my storage
reminds me of the failed
last act we did and never had the courage
to actually fix?

Burn me -
everything I have:
my lungs, my body,
my soul, my sanity

Engulf me in your flames -
along with my all:
my memories, my sorrow,
my happiness, my tomorrows

Leave me in ruins -
among ashes,
among matches,
and an empty cigarette packet.

My heart literally aches
with my everyday breath.
4 days in, without you,
without your voice that caresses my ears
every night;
without your genuine laughter for my
stupid jokes;
without your touch that I have craved
since the moment I met you;
without you.

You have infiltrated my daily ways,
my everyday routine, my tiny gestures.
You have conquered my needs, wants, and all of which makes me, me.
You, you selfish *******.
You made my ways all about you.

The way I cook (without you
tangled on the width of my waist)
The way I wash the dishes (without you
landing your fingers on my nose)
The way I watch the tube (without you
nuzzling the contour of my neck)
The way I walk (without you
intertwining your hands with mine)
The way I do things, my every day things-
without you.

You, you stupid *******.
You made my life about you.
You, you shameless *******.
You made the tiniest thing special.
You, you ****** human.
You made everything perfect.
You.
You are gone.

And now I miss you.

I have listened to a single song
a hundred of times.
I have watched a movie
five times in a week.
I have read a book
over and over again.
I have inked quotes on my arms
a million times over.

I am good - no great
- with repetitions.
The idyllic sound of it in my ears
The calm, soothing visual on my eyes
The insatiable want for familiarity
The loops, and returns, and hoops, and lavish rhymes in my mind.
I am good - no great
- with repetitions.

But you - yes you -
made me sick of what I once thought
as beautiful.
You fed me words, phrases, tunes, sonnets, lines, quotes, rhythms
(over and over again)

You know what they repeatedly whispered
in my dull, aching ears?
"I don't want you anymore"

And you know what my stupid,
***** of a mouth said?
"Give me one more chance"

Never have a repetition made
my stomach churn
with sickness and
loathing for me.
Yes me.

If love for you
is repeatedly running away,
continuously throwing everything,
brutally shutting me down,
and forcing yourself to never mouth,
then cut me a piece of your love
and I'd gladly give it
to someone who's masochistic
enough.

I used to romanticize chases:
the sweet gestures,
the undeniable want to get something –
someone, anyone
the unconscious submission for love –
lust, want

I used to romanticize being chased:
something –
someone following my every breath
someone forcing himself for my love –
lust, want
someone who wouldn’t give me up

someone proving that I am neither wrong
nor right
someone giving me the privilege of wanting
tomorrow
someone constant, someone
just someone

I never thought that consistency
will soon become undone,
that the only constant thing in one’s life
will soon go back to ashes,
that willingness and love –
lust, want,
will soon disappear
like he did

I used to romanticize the chase:
the everyday with gifts and kisses,
the unconditional pain it will deal you,
the reassurance that you will never have.

I used to romanticize the chase,
but I never thought that
I'd be the one who
*chases.

**** up
your daily dose of caffeine
and face the world
with nothing else but
an empty slate for hope
and
a drained cup of faith