i trudged through frozen rivers
passed through red oceans
i bottled up my feelings and tossed them into the wrathful sea
fishing ships skimming through the vibrant bay
caught wind of my hopeless message floating meters away from where they cast their nets
tiny thoughts floating through levels of salty sea foam, devoured by the vicious waves
breaking, scattering and tossing seaweed into the briny air
“land **!” they bellowed, tying a thin rope to the side of the vessel
wonder if that truly makes a difference or that the boats just don’t really desire to depart
with unwashed fingers and hands, they ripped the bottle from the ocean’s greedy grasp
observing it with curiosity, they tapped on the glass of the object
the bottle cap popped open, revealing the suspicious contents
pouring it out onto the dock, they whispered when they saw the small yellowish letter lying flat; my letter
the captain read it to himself quietly and deemed it unnecessary to repeat to the rest of the crewmen
“perhaps, it is time to rest. the moon is almost at her peak.”
the captain uttered a couple words, for he was astonished such a hopeless thing could float ironically in the most teeming ecosystem to ever exist
my feelings were daggers, and not knowing where they originated from worried the captain

but everyone rises and falls
everyone lives and dies
everyone hopes and becomes hopeless
water carries secrets,
and in that, it holds stories

  -happy ever afters don’t exist in the ocean

as I stared blankly at the wall,
and a constant void against the surface stared back at me
i knew
an hourly gloom can not be forestalled
with the clock constantly ticking
like a bomb about to explode,
with my body frozen
in a once warm place i used to call home;
what could have went wrong?

perhaps,
the time was not for ours to behold
whether each hearts do really belong
to one another;
mouth filled with thoughts
that are tightly sealed
and shoulders carrying hundred folds
like two hostages dying to make a move
with words left untold
what else could save us—
and our love that has barely bloomed?

Finishings can be
The hardest part
In these final steps
All the craftsmanship
Has already occured
The finishings are
Mere inevitabilities

You must
Come to terms
With the idea that  
Perfection is a
Necessary goal
Precisely because
It is unattainable

You must reconcile
Yourself to failure

It's not perfect
You have to make
Your peace with that

How?
Well..
You lay out
Your tools
And you
start again

I will begin at my life's end,
Since, I would like to arrive faster.
Correction universe! Depart sooner.
You heard me now, at the times end,
I feel, I have experienced everything,
From then, now and after.
For a decade or more, I felt like going,
Away from life's simplicity ,
Till I got on the fast lane,
Drove myself to madness,
To the worlds end, much sooner.
Complicated and confused,
Disillusioned and petrified,
I have managed to complicate ,
The movement of time to faster.
My cosmic reality from freedom,
Got switched on to *******,
At lightspeed, in a place much darker!
Freedom from this physical self,
An escape from life is what I seek.
I know this is not the right way ,
But to end this pain, it's faster !

~blissfulnobody
(not so blissed out:)

Just for practice, I'll test out my bars
to girls inside of my words. Written on paper,
pencil scribbling sonnets with a close eraser.

To fall in love; only in fiction,
is it fact; that I'd be a love guru to all women?
I doubt the fact; but the idea I'm in love with that.
Overly kind; for the hints of girls going over my head,
I take too long to make a move, and we end being just
friends.

My kindness mistaken for flirtatious manner,
attentive of every detail, the stories, experiences
wrapped in life's scandals. Cracking crude jokes,
and quick wits. Through juicy looking lips.

So I was told; but cocky as it sounds, you're talking
to someone taking years to be yesterday's bold.

The best of words only at their prime out of love,
out watching couples, and still someone awkward
at long hugs. Who loves referring to past scars.

Speaks the best sweet nothings to nobody listening,
Positive eyes towards love; dwindling, in the limiting
facts of love's feelings often being sickening.

A hopeless romantic writing hopeful pieces on love.