The first step is admitting you own nothing.
You have borrowed a vessel of perpetual motion,
transforming matter into joy. Or sorrow.
You prepare a lament for
every object being shrunk in volume  
to the point of liquefied singularity.
Your soul resembles a berseked monach
harpuned by the overflowing thoughts
of a whole world outside his sacred temple,
rediscovering GOD through a moment of NO BIG TRUTH.
Every item is handelled with utmost care.
Every hour of every day carefully measured,
overligned, overlived, predicted,
enjoyed to the highest crest of pleasures.
The excitement turns you into a dormant rage
of two incandescent lovers, sharing their last kiss.
A particular moving object (which borrows your empirical mass)
runs away over roads and tracks and clouds and temples,
from the decay measured in seconds of standstill, if at all present.
You left the last version of yourself at the doorstep.
The footsteps on the street are an echo of
your forthcoming change. Your exhaltation.
How am I supposed to fight this disposition,
the everpresent catarsys in each corner of the soul,
as the end is postpond by the black guitar’s lament
in the indigenous version of history.
Sometimes things overlap without obvious reasons.
Sometimes the foundations of our sorrow -
buried deep into everday house hold objects,
is the only threat which holds the secret
to the way back.
To the memories bookmarked in your going-away-ness.
To the saved points in your story
(to which you could return back in case of a disaster).
Like a tale, in which the bad prevails,
but
as she lays in your arms,
in a particularly ephemeral moment
all that matters in the end
is the desired absence of space
‘tween the most lonely abbrevations of
the two of you.

I feel like I'm five years old again.
Trusting the world like everyone's a ******* saint.
But I can't help it,
If I shut it all out, I would push them away again.
I am no romantic, but they have my heartstrings,
And they're playing them like we've never seen better days.

I wish I knew what to say.
My life's out of control,
I'm a heartfelt mess.
All this gushy *******'s gone to my head.

But I don't see a way out ,
My eyes are closed
I want to be left in the dark,
With only you to hold.

Even as I scrawl this ****,
I don't know what I'm saying.
All I know is that you're to blame,
But it's no one's fault,
This isn't a problem.

I haven't felt this way since the beginning of time,
And I'm finding that I finally give two ***** about life.

I won't give up,
Not on you,
Not on me.
Not on these crazy ******* feelings that I can't believe.

Because I want to feel this,
It feels like hope,
And maybe, JUST maybe,
*My life isn't a joke.

i've been thinking about
now
too much that i've forgotten
before's and next times also known as after's
still exist

We have moved on already,
But why am I not ready.
Things have change ,
But somethings just can't change.
I knew every inch of you ,
But now you're now hiding in the shadow.

I once asked you to be more then friends before,
Now I'm asking you to be my friend once again.
I know things did not work out for us,
But you should know that I did every thing I could.
We trusted each other,
But trust is what we need now.

It's there a second chance in life?
Or will it hurt twice as much?
Can we ever be friends again?
And maybe this time will be different from the last time.
Because when you fall in love with someone,
There is no going back to "just friends"
~ jhonpritse tacaisan

, but depression seems the more obvious
topic to exhaust recently.
and i went running this morning to feel less fat
and stretched afterwards in a short-winded burst of resolution.
An hour later i collapsed into the arms of a friend
and exchanged ambiguous signals with him until night fell:
(he wants a friend, i want a kiss, you see).

I'm actually happy right now,
energetically kicking the can down the road.

I remember when we were One,
Me and you.
Together, us, inseperable
Before it all.

Catastrophe.
War, that killed,
Emotions, people, our love.
That split us into one,
Two, three, four
All the same
We are no more.

No longer is our love,
My love.
We are individuals.
We are many.

We have lost us.
And we've lost ourselves.
Before we became
Ourselves.