Everyone I care about

Will have one or two

to say about me

one or two 

To say bad things about me

While I pretend to not care

It hurts

Being honest

So I fiddle with 

The lies lived between the days

As the real things 

Are lived through 

The night

Loudness 

bring about the words

Would you

The books are there to be opened

Yet flowers do not grow out of them

It hurts more than

To have nothing to wait about.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Andalusia

It must be Because of the light That Days are turning to wine There is a painting inside you That encaptures the weather Stealing dimming gray lights On floors The summer's rain Doesn't seem bad Now it has become a song That keeps you away looking At the skies Dreamer. If I could go around the clock Take in a little time Just keep looking away I can pretend to look At the skies I can pretend Because it can be you too Just Let Life be longer Than a minute a day. 🎵: Soren
Read more

In Each Light

The dusk  remembers  the day when it does not see  Its morning in nights  Like eyes  lt sulks  It does not see what it wants  hides when it wants  it leaves a track of dreams  That does not come to life  writing onto a raining day  it becomes muddled  even then the richness does not die  it breathes like a lemon  fragrant such  on a gentle light.
Read more

In This Unopened Letter, I

  “Church had always been like a field of poppies, one day it would wake mid-bloom and tell the Sun to move on. In the nab of thunder, nimble clouds would swarm in the sky, in little islands, to call the day of rain. Soon my window sill would be full of water and days will last in slumber.”  It is important, that in homilies, one must make haste to write of what may stray on one’s mind. This brief sensibility may have been why I had found myself to you, Iris. When you said that what makes us cry in music is when melancholy collides with specificity, at the time I had thought I understood you fully, that in all odds, we were a half of a half, that we shared the same kind of sadness.  I remember you wearing that dress, the one I wanted at Kaash’s, I still want to know what you meant, when I had gone with you that night and we were drenched from head to toe. Had I been upset differently, would you have smiled when you said those words? Would you have brought me to a quieter ...
Read more