it’s difficult
to romanticize the past
or even
remember it as
genuine
when i keep discovering
more and more each day
that everything
you said,
and everything you
promised,
and everything
i thought was true,
was not.

The hallways seem strangely silent
a wistful sense of emptiness fills every room
rammed full to the brim
with nothing but previous occurrences
and quiet, clean air.

Curtains grow duller with every second,
the falling sun creeps carefully
behind grass and trees, beds and walls.
A “climate control” unit hums
met only by murmuring voices next door.

I irritate a light switch, flicking it
on, off, on, off, on… off.
There is nothing of interest in this room.

I turn inward, sticking my thumbs
into my ears and hands over my eyes.
At long last, serenity.

its 10:53pm
and
i'm lying in my bed laughing because i think i can do anything
and yet i can't even decide if i'm gonna **** myself tonight or next month.

That paper was still me,
Today, I found i m still the same
I still hate rain
I still make paper boats.

Stupid rainfall of march
Stupid me, not carrying raincoat
But that paper was with me
I still love making paper boats

I m still the same, who don’t go restaurant alone
I m still the same, I love standing alone
But that paper was with me
I still love making paper boats

The rain stop! Finally i can go
I still love doing Ha..a: to feel the fogs and act as if i m smoking
I didnt throw the paper boat, i m still carrying it
That paper boat is still with me,

That paper,
That paper(the bill) of a coffee, I had yesterday.
I m still the same.

Nature's patient,
wistful sleepers
dampen the fall
amidst sets of peepers.

Ever ancient,
ticking tempers
stir against time
to make things mine.

Nature's patient: I await,
mothers cure for all i hate.