I stare at the blank pages and think,
how much we have left unsaid.
To chance, luck and whim
We have left the fate of us.
And on the spur we err, caution our ally.
uncertain smiles and superficial trivia.
Is that all we have?
What about the roses that said too much; too little?
They have rotted and died in our Brave New World.
And in this mire of needless confusion,
ignorance is no bliss.

euge tells me its not worth it. all the hurt and anxiety is useless, needless. i guess i kinda feel this way sometimes too. i'm tired. whoever said love knew no bounds, said wrongly. the beginnings of what feels like love dies very quickly when its not a mutual thing between us. well, can i declare it officially over? very soon.
almost.
now.

Remember the rose i gave you
the symbol of our love?
yes you remember the blood red petals
dripping down, fading.
coagulating.
coldly you crush them,
inhaling that final release,
sweet stench of decay,
as the last petal falls
and time breaks itself into twelve aching pieces.

When I saw you, day broke and the soft light pierced the dark morning sky. Chasing away the chills with your very presence, I felt deliciously warm. Laughing, dancing, we drew near. And nearer. The proximity became maddening, while the sun rose high above in the sky. Then the heat grew unbearable. And through the haze I reached out, hoping you'll do the same too. Guess it was too much to wish for. So I stood alone on the barren sands in the desert, with salt traces of vapourised tears. And our day, my day draws to a close, leaving me once more by the shore, in the descending twilight of the night, my sorry plight. Sunburnt and colder than I ever was.