Love is the curse
Which poison my bones
It eats me up from inside
And makes me cry
When I'm alone

I don't understand it
Why do I always smile
The times he's here with me
Are the times I never cry

But there's nothing to do
Since I know his heart belongs to her
Her, who makes him smile
And helps him through tough  times

I know he'll never look my way,
But somewhere inside me
I tell myself that it's okay
'Cause atleast, I am a friend.

But what is love?
I ask myself
To me it's a sickness, its cure
I have yet to invent.

When you're doing something against the grain of society's flow you're either magnificently aware or pathetically wrong. Good luck finding out which.

There's no way i'm letting you drown, you have too much going on for you to press the cancel button and end your days.

They say they are selfish, but really they feel the rest of the world is.

I can't blame them,it's a cold hard shell to get into. When you stay in line and people keep cutting in front of you, it's hard to get in the front every time.

I'm on my way
To the promised land,
The streets
I saw myself walking on.
Fall leaves clipping
On the sole of my shoes,
Fall leaves jumping
From my BMW's windshield.
I can taste the rain
That is now on the floor
From the night before
And I am daydreaming,
In that same street,
Breathing the crystals
In the air,
So soothing and sharp
At the same time.
I am leaving the house
I promised I would have,
I am going to enjoy
The rest of the day
Because God gave me
The weekend
To give him thanks
And rejoice
In all the glory
That he has made.
It's so beautiful,
I cannot wait.
I started walking,
I am on my way.

Take it off off off!
Further away, way way off!
To before it was made.

No consent was given or made,
Yet your purpose here lays,
like seeing it is gonna make it stay.

Nothing you said, you said,
Keep it in place.
I’m going away, way way off,

Death can’t change the way!

Anxiety in the streets, insomnia in the sheets.

When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronaut. I told myself, "I want to see the stars and the planets up-close." I think probably we all had that stage in childhood where we all wished to be space walkers like Armstrong.

But eight years later, now I don't wish to be an astronaut anymore. I wish to be a writer. Because I have already seen all of the stars and the nebulae in your eyes. I wonder how they all got condensed in those two small circles like the moon. I whisper to myself, "It's so lustrous."

I already felt the weightlessness of space in your kisses, and your hugs are like oxygen tanks -- I need them to breathe. And when I see you-- just looking at your gait and smelling your perfume is even more enthralling than being in a launching rocket ship that pierces through the clouds and breaks the invisible mantle that separates the Earthly skies from the cosmic tapestry called "the rest of the universe". And I float away from reality and just revolve around the idea of you and nothing more like how the satellites of Jupiter revolve around it almost eternally.

I don't need to see the constellations anymore nor the planets or the meteors because I have seen them all in your skin-- I painted them on your skin. Others might call it bruises, but they do not understand that your body-- your neck, your arms, your chest are empty spaces and it'd feel like a sin not to embellish them with love marks -- the bruises that do not scream pain but* I love you's. *And I love you.

More than all the splendor of space, I still find your hair and the arch of your back and the gaps between your fingers and your clavicles so much more beautiful. Even this galaxy we live in seem to be unfit for its name: Milky Way. I think that name suits better your complexion alone. And when you smile-- oh, your smile! -- it is more radiant than the brightest comet and more warm than the hottest blue star; even the sun in the most arid summer-- it just gives me sunburns, but your smile, only yours, renders my heart melted.

When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronaut because I wanted to see the space. But now I don't anymore. Because I learned that astronauts are just spectators and I want to write about the universe. I want to write about you.

From his explosions,
Our sun spreads antimatter
Into the cosmos
And orbits around the core
Of the immense Milky Way
To make a low-speed cyclone.

Poem by Marieta Maglas