I think his misaligned jawline is kinda cute he thinks my midnight shaded polka dot pajamas are kinda hot Who says we can't count stars? My ceiling has exactly 101 stars a hundred for bulkiness and that one to amuse us to be a speed bump for the zeroes We can-sprayed my Ex's Bentley pink and stayed up overnight trying to remove that red wine stain from his mother's wedding dress Got bailed from jail by my big brother did a banksy on school lockers He has small eyes but they see enormous things I have a big mind but only junk within But he was a master of DIYs from garbage We said our goodbyes today Diverged our tracks rolled our roads and packed them in our bags You came with lightning in your eyes A slight drizzle and sunshine, life hacks We were more than friends but never lovers Just meant to cure each other then you waved with your rainbow hands I refracted my sunset of a smile but never waved back Cause I might've almost felt guilty (almost) For stealing away your heart and worse, Keeping it hostage
I've written about men and their lovers their stories naked in the limelight their fears and all of their selfish desires I've inked a lot of strangers In blue-black and blue and black each shade from a different lover's heart In hope that even by chance, maybe one of the pairs could be us
You don't know me. I don't know you but I hope you are doing the same Inking some couples in mixed feelings I Looked into my heart found your face in 100% blur I looked at it but I wrote about stars
When we'll meet We'll grill some sandwiches We'll take our picnic on the roof of my house And we can talk about that cemetery five blocks away And I ask 'do you think there was really a bang when big bang happened?' and I won't care you can answer me with your vision I won't really mind If you'll give my lips a mini heart-attack and when the fireworks will commence I'll know it's our cosmos regenerating the one we gave away limb by limb to paper and weaponry used in those lovers' dreams
With me, you don't have to pretend that you don't like the pain It stings so sharp. Sweet but poison I still can't get over the fact that you deny us watching The Mission Impossible marathon fifteen times is this what a pinky swear means to you? Or did you get so used to me clinging over your arm to support my broken limbs Everything you ever said was cryptic (I'm not less than a tongue twister myself) But at least I tried to decipher You left with your dry throat I can live without you But you have all my records And half of my wardrobe is in your bedroom Do you ever wonder that maybe your feelings just went dormant Maybe a little shake is all we need A touch of hurricane?
It's okay if you don't wanna realize Maybe when we're older If we ever meet again We can talk about your Mother's perfume and my brother's emo costumes We can talk about the Mustang we once stole and left it there on an abandoned road We can talk about the lollies we licked and drugs we took And maybe we can also laugh about how hilariously I fell for you and how you broke my heart (and you moved on for something new)
This town of mine never brews lilac skies So we (Don't you remember?) Painted our murals in pure pastels I came with satin sheets in my hands And I'm ready to let all your mistakes go But I'm not the girl you are taking home(kiss you) And I've done all the tiring work slayed all my dragons You only have to do the part where you bring me some flowers (The usual. Tulips) I heard you Whispering to the big guy upstairs that you want to have a personality transplant(kiss you) But (Don't you get it?) I want you with all your plot twists and all your loopholes And I'm begging for that summertime When all your hoodies were mine(kiss you) And the buttons on my shirt were your slaves We can't go back because you think Love is a cancer And you tell me to turn away Cause I wasn't your Sunray anymore? (knew you will get sunburned) I was supposed to stay But never that fast have I run(kiss you)
Look This Saturday is wasted (So are you) now that I've given up And when you are on your deathbed With this 'Love Cancer' Know that
I will not kiss you (Too late, hon. Too late) I will not kiss you
//He will never know that once a girl has loved him so deeply//
There comes a time When a poet must Let go, it is a Cold and crushing despair That tells him that The last love story Was told a thousand Years ago, and Unknowingly all he has Done is carry on the Legacy of those that Came before him But today is the day That he finally decides To bury the gift Of his ancestors.
It is a universal truth That the readers maketh A writer, but you must Know that every word I Pen is a fragment of My soul that I willingly Forsake, they are children Of a God that rarely Answers my prayers If I must kill characters That you have grown to Love, it is because they Must die, it is a decision I make without remorse But always with conscience.
Cerulean is my salvation It is a word I seek out Over and over again But all it has done Is led me down a Path bereft of redemption My eyes can still see In diagonal lines but They are clouded by A film of tunnel vision It must go, and it must go Tonight, because tonight I have faith that a new Path exists, but tomorrow I might find myself hurtling Towards a one way Ticket to perdition.
It was a strange day when "The Kashmiri Storyteller" found herself walking in unfamiliar territory. "The Road to the Bazaar" was away from the hustle of the city, the route was long and winding and she had memorized it in her mind's map the best she could.
And yet with the rain starting to pelt down, she felt more lost than ever. In her palm, she carried "The Blue Umbrella" a precious family heirloom. It was a thing of beauty once upon a time, in a different age. It had seen many Augusts when her mother and grandmother were its owners.
But today, it was hers and she opened it up to take shelter against the inclement weather. After a few minutes, she heard laughter in the distance.. the carefree voices of young children and soon she saw their faces, a beacon amidst the storm, coming in her direction.
They didn't speak her language, these "Vagrants of the Valley", but she was in the end, a storyteller. She managed to pass the time by regaling them with tales from her childhood, the streets she fell down on, the friends she said farewell to and a tear tricked down her eye as she talked about her favorite spot in the whole world, "The Room on the Roof".
They listened with a wonder and curiosity that only children are capable of, for they had not yet been taught to not believe in magic. The rain had stopped by now, and the sun went down gradually, leaving the sky a beautiful shade of dark. She was content, and so were the children. They were "Strangers in the Night" as they watched the moon steal the light of the sun one more time.