what is love, I questioned myself
if she was a flower in a garden
I would  write poems,
describe her in the most elegant ways
I would love her more than myself

I would manifest
about her eyes, voice-everything
I would draw,
and add colours to make her stand out
I would tell about her
to this world- filled with misery

I would  try to recreate her
so I’ll never be left alone

we don’t pluck it out
just to spend a day or two with it
instead we let it thrive
that is love
And to love is to leave

I want her, I want her so bad
without her, my life’s like
sugar without the sweet, a flower with no colours

I want to be the nectar inside the flower-her

but I’m just morning dew-worthless
Why, why 
didn’t I love her enough?
in my poems- her; in my thoughts-her
she wrote and even thought but just not about me

even when she wore those diamonds 

only her face shined

asked her what she applied to her face

she replied: nothing 

when she chose that ******* over me 

I was furious

but
why did I love her?
was it not to see her smile?

was it not to see her enjoy?
She is happier than ever-without me
in her happiness my world finds peace
that is enough.

Locked inside the walls,
Sitting in the hall,
Trying to recall,
Yet I slip and fall.

What is it that inspires you?
What is it that desires you?
Is it inside these walls,
Or is it the outside calls?

Did I do something wrong?
Or have I been wrong all along?
Is it me who doesn’t belong,
Or is it the world that belongs?

The struggle is hard,
The game isn't fun,
But the process is an art,
And the player is one.

The inner voices ask,
"Am I done?"
The player removes the mask,
Killing himself with a gun.

You left your typewriter in my apartment,
Straight from The Tortured Poets Department.
Your antics made you look so classic,
Lost in the world of your semantics.

My veins of pitch black ink at a chokehold,
As I yearn to begin again with a new fold.
At your worst, I was here first.

As I enter into evidence, the story of us.
I had to recall why I made such a fuss.
The allure of you had me drawn to you,
Pulled by a siren’s call.
Rising from the waves, at the brink of night
I left it all.

I wonder how you ended up with me,
Hatred spread like roots from a twisted tree.
I know you inside and out,
I don’t know how I survived all those sweet nothings
right out your tainted mouth.
Remember when you pushed me over a stout?

The first cracks in this happy-ever-after,
The silence that swallowed my laughter.
They say,
What’s not broken, don’t fix it.
Kintsugi finds beauty in the broken,
But the crimson-laced pieces,
The caricature of our faces,
Bolted into the typewriter’s fresh white pages.
Shattered and broken,
were left as my only token.