It’s 3 AM and I haven’t laughed this hard in a year
It’s 3:30 AM and my heart hasn’t felt this full in too long
It’s 4 AM and my eyes are so tired but my soul is full of your energy

It’s tomorrow and we haven’t spoken, I spoke too soon.

I was an idiot.
I was a fool.
I mixed some things up,
and I'm sorry.

Ridicule me,
slander me,
taint my status.
Just please,
forgive me.

We all make mistakes,
some less than others,
others more than some,
and I more than others.

I didn't deserve this,
I didn't work for this.
I didn't need this,
So why did you do this?

For your own gain?
To point out a mistake,
which I regret so much.
I said sorry,
And I really meant it.

It must feel so, so good
to do what you've done.

The road winds and winds
until we lost our way back,
back to where we were.
As the clock ticks away
the image of you fades away.
You might be unforgettable
but I’m afraid my days are reducing you to a decimal.

The road winds and winds
and I’m standing here on your spot,
the spot where I picked you from the sea of climbers.
You were grooving to your playlist like I was; a rare sight.
The memory of you hanging on to those rocks, not giving up
like a stubborn chipmunk.
I knew I had to talk to you.
“Do you want chocolate milk? It makes you stronger.”
And just like that
2 walls built with earphones collided; a rare sight.

The road winds and winds
but I keep looking back,
back at that night when sand in hour glass stood still,
back at that night when the crowd was just the 2 of us just chill,
back at the time before I said what I shouldn’t have said and it went downhill.
That was me trying too hard, that was me being a ******.
I put us six feet under,
and now i will forever be in wonder.
I could have said ANYTHING, ANYTHING instead
but my ego denied your breakfast in my bed.

The road winds and winds
and all that I’m left with are the memories of
your charm
and
your calm
and the way I made you disarm.
You laughing at my cheesy rhyme,
it was as if a ray of sunburst gleamed on my crystalized heart
melting the cold away,
but most of all
I remember
the way you challenged me in the game of silly witty jest.
No one has ever kept up but you, you kept up; a rare sight.

The road winds and winds
leaving me behind phantomly blind,
phantom… because we were never anything.
I want to say please don’t go, oh please don’t go
but we both know… that’s not how it’s gonna go.
It’s easy to say *“That wasn’t me! I’m not actually like that.”
But that was me
I did that and I hated me
So now i gotta own it
Now i gotta live with it
What I did haunted me in the night
woke me up in cold sweat
and your fainting silhouette stuck on my damped chest
I took a misstep
and made a mistake
And now i feel nothing but ache

The road winds and winds*
and I don’t know the way back.

Where do you see the moonlight in the darkest of days and the worst of nights?
Where do you see the warm sun-rays among the storms and the terrible weather?

Perhaps you are mistaken,
and there never is any light when days are dark,
and there never are any sun-rays in the storm,
and you're conceptions are simply askew.

Are you delusional?
Perhaps I am insane,
for never looking at the moon at night,
during the cloudiest of days.
And I am so, so insane,
for never checking for any sun,
while I struggle to survive the winds of life.

Will I try and search for the moon's light,
in the wild forests and with the pitch-black glow,
and allow myself to get lost?
And will I try and search for the sunlight,
in the plains and amid the harsh hurricane,
and allow myself to get attacked?

e r r o r
i cannot function
the mistake is grave but I will not yeild
my life's a mess before I met her
but now it's messier
and even brighter
her mind's all over the place
my heart was once trapped in a cage
now we're here, let's cut to the chase
i can't make another error of waiting for too many days
i'll give her this raging beast,
so she keeps her mind in one place

Drunk with anger

were the eyes that blinked

his thirst and hunger

were his last mistake.

As he stood at the edge of the world--

his creation in his hand

made of glass

that slipped between the fingers of time.

And fell--

was his last artifact

of perfection.

My poem is me
Everything related to me

I saw myself like a paper
That lifeless without a letter

And my experience in my ballpen
When I mistaken
And then I'm going to erased
But then the mark is still there
Always reminds me my yesterday

So now I disided to used a pencil
So that my mistake
Will come to be lifeless and buried with a grave