I Wrote This For You
Your words collided in emptiness of noise and it won't stop storming in my head. The way your lips sync and the color of your energies replace everything else I've ever learnt of. The beauty of transient things: everything I've ever loved has made me unrecognizable. Eventually, everything reduces itself to poetry. And I loved my poems, but only for the moment you lit them on fire. You're my storm amidst the hurricane and I'm the violent sea that crashes repeatedly in the calm shore. I wonder if we will always be strangers, you and I. If we will ever know each other enough. A cup of coffee, a cigarette, the penetrating aroma of its smoke, an empty room, silence, solitude & poems on paper and no more from life than this. Then there's you. I will always hunger for more. I'll always keep running like a wild soul and sink further into this madness. I'm not your Sunday morning or your Friday sunset. I'm the dark night sky of impulse and indecisiveness. And every time your cold lips touched mine, it tasted like haikus of spring and destructive work of art that were passed through royal generations. Of all the books I read in my childhood you're the one I'd often often lie and dream for hours longingly picture myself amidst a world of infinite sunshine & endlessness. Cause you're not an emotion, you're one of my experiences.