You never wanted recollection
of what we were, what we'd
                           become..

There wasn't an us,
           there was
        more of a him over
there,
    her looking into a reflection of
no where's.

We were hand in hand trying to
push the other over a cliff of
                        regretful memories.

But we held on to the memories
                                 of me and you,
Because not all of them were rockslides.


And realised that if we looked at us..
        our reflections were together.

        Be it side by side of raised voices,
               but we knew that I loved her
and you loved me.

We were just a land slide of emotions,
             but always had the others hand

                           so they'd never fall alone...

Orchids,
bird wings,
moonlight,
deep sleep,
and your small hands

Can you touch it?
Can you hear it?
Can you taste it?
Can you see it?
Can you smell it?
Let me ask again.
Can you touch the broken shadows?
Can you hear the painful bellows?
Can you taste the bitter truth?
Can you see the dreadful youth?
Can you smell the putrid words?
Can you feel the movement of one’s action?
Can you perceive the sensation of your nerves?
Now let me ask again.
What can you do—
In a world that went through and through?
What can you give—
To a person who is desperate to live?
What can you...

My hand trembles with the weight of the quill pressed between my fingers,
Each stroke an ever so remarkable miracle.
For my strength falls weak as I strive to write even more.
Though the ink has long since dried up, and all I am left with are scratches on a blank page.
Perhaps the fault does not lie within the weary pen itself,
But instead with the unstable hand that holds it.