your lips so soft and eyes so green
your smile is reeler than i've ever seen
band t-shirts and skinny jeans
we feel so old but we're just sixteen

it's dark outside but there's hope in our hearts
the silent rain is a work of art
midnight sky's full of moonlight and stars
we keep on dreaming 'cause the night is ours

Eyes
loaded with
pain
slowly raise
on the heavy
dark curtains;
hoping
longing
to see you
again,
but they return
empty
deilluminated
heavy as dark
skies
raining fiercely;
my cheeks are
drown
in the storms of
broken memories,
burning my lips
with the
bitterness.

- n. ib

MAYBE on the lips? Because there I like to interpret bitterness.

Or on the arm? A pair that is not long enough, but enough
to always embrace, dim, nervous.

Or on the neck? The circular ladder, like a rubber tree, and
I was a tapper who could not bring heart to wound there.

Or on the forehead? A thin line of hair, always silent.

"Ah, do not have much guessing," you say, "let me read it,
The old verses of poetry, which I have always kept secret ...

I don't think I'll ever love you but if you want the rain I'll be a thunderstorm
& if you prefer the warmer weather I'll burn so you can see the light of day
I'm not saying you'll ever be the one but I'm so used to all of these thoughts making me crazy
and with you I swear I never think at all
maybe I stopped believing in soulmates a while ago
but if there's such thing as bodies meant to dance and lips meant to touch
I think that's you and I

Is there something wrong with you?
Are you okay?
What happened to you, Lina?
You seem depressed.
Where is your strength and determination?
Why do you sleep so much?
Get up and do some work.
I work several hours a day.
You don't see me complaining.
I feel perfectly fine. Perfect.
Maybe you should try to be too.
Be perfect, Lina.
Be perfect, just like me.
Stop wearing that dark eye makeup, and listening to that horrid music.
You only get one shot at life.
You need to make the most of it.
Stop lying around and wasting your days away.
You aren't gonna get anywhere.
Stop devoting yourself to those stories, music, and those god ****** angst poems.
Stop spending your time writing that *******, in a world where people that get degrees, succeed.
And stop picking at your lips and chewing your nails.
It's disgusting.
I don't care if you think it helps or calms you down.
It looks disgusting.
You're ruining your lips like you're ruining your life.
My lips are perfect.
Smooth and glossy, like the hair that sits upon my perfect head.
Why are you so far down?
You need to be up here.
Maybe listening is some kind of crime to you.
Otherwise, you would have listened to the billionth time I told you to stop picking at your lips!
Stop picking your lips like some kind of garbage.
You cannot be garbage.
You have to be perfect.
Be perfect. Just like me.
Stop telling me how you feel.
Because you need to be perfect.
Pay attention.
Stop daydreaming and staring up at the sky.
Like the clouds are supposed to give you all of your life's answers.
Because it won't.
Because your life is a mess, just like your lips.
Cracked and broken.
****** and red.
Stop writing Lina.
Stop wasting your life away.
No, I don't hate you.
No, I'm not mad at you.
I'm just trying to help you.
Trying to set you up for a bright future.
Trying to let you be successful.
You have to let me love you so you can be perfect.
Perfect.
Just like me.