My Poems

TRUTH Series - TRUTH ideal A smile A simple one Just a single smile Can it ever appeal To the ideal— TRUTH Did you see?  The shadow that lingered,  Deep,  Inside everyone's eyes That made them see farther— Too far  And closer— Too close TRUTH and ideals— Won't they ever see eye to eye— Won't they ever realize— Reality.  Where truths are broken.  And.  Ideals are empty. 

  HATE Series - HATE H           A           T           E hatred … to hate the world… is to hate oneself… coldly… … to hate oneself… one must curse… the world itself… … hatred from love .

HATE Series - HATE loneliness A twinkling star is a beauty, born as imaginary. Lines that connect them through ages of light are also, imaginary. The stories that people have believed. The glory, the despair, and the greatness of it all…  Can only be,  Imaginary.  A dot appeared on my paper. Was it my tear? The raindrop? Or my hand drawing in my subconscious?  Inks that have stained my hands. Or was it my blood? Or maybe, someone else's?  Anyway— The grass is, awfully cold today…  And it smells, like rain…  Maybe, the moon , oh my lonely,           only           friend— Her tears…  Knows something about it.  Right? 

HATE Series - HATE nothing void empty null zero “    “ everything that has filled my heart nothing not when it was a thing nothing as it consumes me nothing as it hates me nothing. 

  HATE Series - HATE everything I…  Am a flower…  I have bloomed…  A thousand colors…  I have mourned…  Many seasons…  Springs…  When the pain starts blossoming…  Summers…   The world in blinding yellow…  Autumn…  When wills break and fade…  Winter…  White despair…  As the cold brittled my skin…  Into petals of ices…  And made me bloom,  Once more. 

  LOVE Series - LOVE LOVE LOVE— LOVE!   LOVE?  LOVE..?  LOVE…  LO— ve. 

  LOVE Series - LOVE inertia Mosaic are memories, isn't it?  A part for a whole, and wholes As the parts,  If a broken heart were to shatter like glass— Will I be able to put it back together?  Shard by painful shard Bloodied,  By my cut fingers And yet— Will it only ever be a memory?  Still, a mosaic Unbeating,  Dead. I don't know— Tell me, do you know?  About LOVE— How— Painful?  How— Unstoppable?  How— Unbearable?  How— My hands couldn't be gentle?  How— I held this heart too tightly?  How— It broke in my hand?  And how…  It broke me Thousands, thousands a pieces Mosaic— Glued, with only regrets.