Sweet envy,
I'm envious of how she was blessed by the gods to have looked into your eyes, eye to eye. To study their color and watch how they look when you lie.
She knows the way you blink and how you close them when you sleep at night.
I hate thinking how you've both spent some nights.
The thought of her taking granted of breathing the same air as you boils my blood.
I'm jealous of how she was able to graze her fingers upon your skin, let them travel across your back
and how her hand once held yours... only to foolishly, finally and thankfully let them go.
I curse and bless the day she broke your heart.
I curse each day that I have to live with this jealousy.

Holy jealousy,
I'm jealous of the kind of jealousy you've made her feel, like when you would glance at another girl when you're together.
Or how you'd talk to a girl in a cafe or bookstore when you thought she wasn't looking over her shoulder.
Or how you'd talk to anyone about anything at all without uttering her name.
I'm jealous of how you two probably used to stand across each other in a room and throw blames.
I could imagine countless of scenarios but then
I also imagine I'm the one feeling that too.
I can take that any day, as long as we're together too.
Because the only jealousy I feel is jealousy of your past. This fiery envy towards your history.

****** history,
I'm reading into every words you said like memoirs and piecing every excerpt trying to look for answers. Answer as to how and whyㅡhow she broke your heart and why she did it.
Would you change a thing about everything you did?
I ask and scream these questions to the moonlight.
Yet if you tell me and show me the answers yourself, there's not a single battle that I would win and fight.
Yet I search for clues in every old photo, in every message and through my sly, secret ways.
Must I scour every corner and highway?
So I can come up with answers to my own 'how and why'? How can I mend your broken heart?
Why do I love you this much?

Because above all, I am a revolutionary.
I acknowledge my envy, work through my jealousy and respect your history.
But then again, with every dark history comes the need for revolution and change.
And I am the catalyst who will spearhead that game.
I am your new age.
I am your renaissance.
I am your vengeance, nirvana, revolution and everything at once.

I never cease to wonder
At the dawning
Of the
Sun

His
Glory, bright –
The Mercy-Light –
It leaves my heart undone

.

If ever the dusk settles on dry bones
I'll drink my ***** for wine
And celebrate
The impotence.

Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?  
When, into sleep, we drift and yawn,
So thoughtless of His hand...

We never think: "Someday it may
Forever cease to shine!"
We never thank – with thanks, befit –
For Morning Mercies' rise.

Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
But to awaken life at dawn
As He, in Goodness, planned...

We never, then, have an excuse
To fall into a dream
We never, then, can e’re accuse;
His Glory’s, daily, seen.

.

I’d trace your spine until you felt the love from my fingertips burn hotter than the pain shrieking in your bones.

I’d fiddle with your lamp until it was the perfect shade of indigo.
I’d keep watch for you in the dark and shield you in the blinding light.
I’d run you baths that made you feel pure.

you’d never sleep alone,
unless you wanted to.
even then,
I’d be sitting against your door
with a glass of tea,
fruit,
and your pills.

I’d write you pathetic sonnets.
I’d sing you off-key songs.
I’d read you poetry that brought us both to tears.
I’d draw you stupid doodles and try to make you laugh.

you’d never be alone
on the miserable floor.
those *******,
with all their relentless,
maddening buzz
wouldn’t be heard over me.
louder,
or more demanding.

I’d feed you Nutella: my very last spoonful.
I’d clean your room as often as you wanted, or never.
I’d take you to bookshops and cafés and nowhere at all.
I’d sit with you and play with your piercings.

you wouldn’t be alone,
staring awake at dawn.
the dark,
it wouldn’t be spent so restlessly.

I wouldn’t quieten my desire.
no.
not this time.

I’d say I’m sorry when I laughed so hard I spit.

I’d love you when you couldn’t love yourself.
I’d care for you when all you saw was waste.
I’d carry you wherever we went and tell everyone you’re mine.

As an answer of pray
You imagining me
And the open hand is this city
Overgrown with chaos, silence,
You, and similar complexity.

I have to fall, somewhere
Because this thin cable will finished over.
Tired of bearing the burden on my body.
Tired of bearing conversations
Which often ends with confession
And uncertainty.

Lamentations that fill the air
Will not take me anywhere
The sky is gloomy, the city
Knowing sorrow much better than before.

I must fall, my love.
I won't fall anywhere but to you.

But I couldn't finding you.