No

No. Not with this intensity.
Not this way. Not again. No.
Not like this. Not in this manner.
No no no no. What not will i not do.
Do not do nothing. Do nothing to nullify this. Not your choice. Not my life. No.

Eternity

Traveling alone is a way to reconnect with yourself. Unless I've proved that I am comfortable with myself in all my solitude, how do I even think of living my life forever and ever?

Yet

Maybe you are my garland
Coz you choke me as you slip away
Your fragrance just a set of migraines
Your memories like the typing history on a smartphone, i cannot really get away from what I told you
Yet, i will

Starstruck

Staring at the ceiling is a promising option when your
Heart doesn't beat that
extra lub
Dub. I would
not die like
This. Chaos is more my style.
Starstruck explosion
Is this universe after all.

Prose vs Poetree

I am lazy. 

Not saying lazy people write poetry better, but we tend to think of the easiest way to crunch something into meaning. This often helps to break free from the normal ties with language. And that miracle is a poem.

Tear (flow down / and scratch) my cheek

do not mark my (sorrow / rage) in this act

misdirection is the (intention / result). did 

you (feel / notice) the pauses in your brain?

Do we split our souls when we reproduce?

where does the baby's life come from? do we split our soul and deposit them in tiny packets in the ova and sperm? then these little messengers, carrying a bit of our history float and make up a new memory, a new life. each day, with each little cell, you scrape off a little bit of your soul. and finally, when there is no more to scrape from, you drop down dead. 

Red Velvet Cupcakes

that smell, feel, taste, 

your intoxicating being

i am addicted

everyday

sniffing bits of you

savouring

teasing

devouring

to the last bit

this is how memories are made