i am always looking for…
i am nothing without…
must i fill these sentences?
is it compulsory
to tell you where it hurts and why?
the pencil bends and breaks
in my hand, but my voice won’t crack.
i think a bit of my cruelty shows
through everything that i do.
“have you ever wanted to be a person like me?”
when i ask you this, you avoid my eyes.
the often-spoken-and-never-meant words
surface on your lips,
“i love you for who you are, i want nothing more”
sadly followed by
“it is not too late to change”
The sun that shrivels up in your eyes every morning,
the dry tear that never leaves your eyes,
the soft bend in your words when make excuses for other’s fault,
the hint of self-berating in your mellowed down tales of woe.
This weakness that is similar to mine.
This weakness that I love.
I wish I could free you from this,
if only I knew how.
There were days in my life
when I knew the sun could never shine brighter
and I can never be more happy.
I thought these with the innocent belief
of constancy of happiness,
rather than the realization
that put an end to hopes.
Somehow with time the glass I am made of
has flowed silently and collected
at safe crowded corners.
And now every light that enters me
is manipulated beyond recognition
into the reflection of my own poison heart.