You can only say you're sorry so many times
And it's been one too many
These apologies you keep emptying are as shallow as the puddles after it rains

Don't get me wrong, I'll forgive you again
But hear me clearly, no more second chances
Nothing is changing, you're not changing
And if you ever do, good for you

I won't waste my time on another whim
A hope that maybe this time would be different
But we both know **** well, it wouldn't

So take your feelings and move along
Don't get me wrong I'll be there as a friend
But I can not, I will not...*let you in

You feel like poison in my veins,
but maybe you're just good
at disguising damage,

I could make a mosaic
out of my own pieces,
but I'm choosing to share
my canvas with you,

So why do you insist
on painting me blue?

Lover, every poem I read,
I read with your face inside my eyes.
Beyond whiteness I climb,
Tinge that breaks on bookish cleavage
My iris wishes bonfire for such darkness.
Glow, glow, glowing ceremonies of
Our blessed letters swirl
Like the freedom of a thousand fireflies,
From the translucent jar named
Childish amusement.
I am that child
With drizzling thoughts on twilight toes,
Who walks mile after mile to drink light,
To polish the white nails of moon
Beneath midnight fantasy.
Sipping pages, caffeinated self,
Watches your feet in ballerina dream,
Rhyming rapidly.
Flamboyant ribbon-like memories
Adding colors to every breath I drop,
Clapping like cards of familiar hearts,
That fall one over another
Like I fell for you, being that scarlet.

please forgive me
if I don't talk at times

it's already loud enough
in my mind

I am a firm believer
That those who are meant to be in your life
Always have a tendency
Of coming back.

And I am lucky
To have found
Someone like you,
Who wants to stick around.

Good men are slaves
to a system
that has them
trying to stay strong,
trying to pay rent,
to feed moms,
and their children.

They do the wrong thing
because they need money
for food, cloths, shelter
for car insurance,
for maintenance, and
for medical emergencies.

So, the goodness,
We would like to see
gets buries out of
necessity.

Kind hands
become calloused tools
and the hardworking man
dies at the plant,
were other good men
are struggling the same
with some minor variations.

a brand new
atmosphere
to breathe in
made of
whispers
from my dreams
lifts my heavy
heart to light
new stardust
decorates
the night

brand new
air to
fill my lungs with
scent of nectar
to collect
and lubricate
our twisted
tongues with

brand new
sweetness
like a wholly
different
world bloomed
to become it