The moon witnessed them.
There was great intimacy.
Not physically.
Not sexually.
Their hearts wrapped around each other's fingers.
Their words caressed their empty voids.
There was no denial that the moment was surreal.
It seemed too good to be true.
Then again, all good things come to an end.
When was the last time someone touched you?
No, not in-between thighs or chest.
When was the last time your heart was touched?
In the background were victory noises of strangers that seemingly depicted the joy in their smiles.
They didn't have to say it.
Their dead cigarette butts and weeds that were stuck on their skin were witnesses.
It was pure bliss.
A blessing-
that's what they feel towards each other.
This is not a poem about lovers.
Soulmates come in various forms.
Love comes in many perspectives.
Sometimes, soulmates don't stay together forever.
Sometimes, they part.
Sometimes, they don't.
It is all in their hands.
The same hands the cold wind kissed.
For the warm to match with the cold.
For the broken to find it's missing pieces.

( FAH )

i wanted to commit romantic suicide
by hanging myself with your fake hair
i wanted to commit romanic suicide
by cutting my wrists with your hair clips
i wanted to commit a romantic suicide
by drinking your beauty pills.
but as fake as you are i will just commit a fake siucide.

i feel my nose hitting the ceiling of a coffin,
am i already dead?
i heard her crying and a fer whispers,
sorry,our love was hangng by a thread.

my head hurts I should probably go to sleep but I can't stop thinking about you