Love enough to let go.
I realised I had to let u go to those u were happier with , for keeping u for my joy would be called selfishness
With beds of melancholy under my fingernails. Among all the things I get scolded - for i forget things , you're never on the list. Give me an excuse to (forget)?
I sit here writing about u; the urge not letting me sleep, the cigarette between these fingers plead for liberty . I've become a feast for the dark - nights consume me now . They leave me with fatigue, the next day . I adopt it with a smile on my face. Bukowski must be happy, lookin at me - "it's much better to be killed by a lover?"
You compel me to write, to think about you at the hours people dream about what they long for. You compel me to pen down; I view this growing distance between us, more as poetry and less humane!













