She Who Loves Death ✓COMPLETE

The Broken Poet (Poems of the Old Louisse)

Hide and Seek

Death,
thy heart repines for you.
Death, where art thou?
Tales of the old
spoke of your  visage
They say
you creep in stealth
in the middle of the night
or even in a broad daylight.

Tales erstwhile
Narratives of time
unfolded how you come.
You don't knock on doors
through the windows
through anything
You walk in.
You just come, you appear—
Anytime. Anywhere.

Death, yield to me!
Oh hear me out
this little heart
is too scared of life.
It's chasing me
but my feet keep running away!
So please, while I hide from it
Please come and find me.

Behind these sullen walls
In this pitch-black room
is where I will be
Whilst I wait for thee.
Oh death,
do not fail me
But if you cannot come,
Hide me from this cruel life
so I could just go
And instead find you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A Painting of You

The galaxy asked
of me to paint
the one I love.
So I did
and began with
a painting
of shattered glasses
which represents
the exquisite picture
of my broken heart.

Raging ocean breeze
Stormy angry waves
Skies turning grey
Roses fading away
a sad moon hiding at day
A night without the stars
and transparent wounded scars.
My love, that is what you are.
All in all,
a painting without hue
is a perfect painting
of you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Personification of Pain

Sometimes,
when my eyes don't fall
and the clock
strikes three in the morning,
when everyone is still asleep
and I'm the only one breathing
with eyes open,
I would wonder who I really am.
There are times that I'm
so sure of myself.
Some other time,
I'm just a plain stranger
of my own self.
I am no one else.

Nobody
has ever broken my heart,
like most have,
I would never
wish for it either.
However, I
I cannot stop wondering.
My mind just keeps
inquisitively interrogating
myself why.
Why am I so obsessed with pain?

Is it because I, myself
is a personification of it?
Or is it because I just didn't notice
that the little pains and heartbreaks
I've gone through the roads
have heaped up,
crowded my heart,
and succumbed into
a monster of suppressed pain?

The answers
to my own question
are nothing but nowhere.
I just don't know.
I don't know the answer.
But one day, when I
gawked at myself in the mirror,
I heard my reflection ask:
If pain isn't the answer,
then what are you made up?
What are you?
Stranger, who are you?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

12:51

Inside the moonlit room
is where I ensconced myself,
with a hanging clock
On the wall, it tictacs.
With a pen in hand
and a bleeding heart within,
I checked the time
as I grabbed my chest.

So then
I wrote,
an oeovre of our past,
and scribbles of my broken heart.
Until I decided to write
what my heart
exactly felt that night.
That sad and lonely midnight.

The pages were flipped,
the pen was tightly gripped.
But an hour has passed.
In a blur, it passed.
But as I pierced my eyes,
my watery brown eyes
saw that the paper remained,
remained so quiet,
quiet as an empty page.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Melancholia

Sadness,
how are you?
Can you make me
for a moment
miss you?
Please,
let the answer be no.
You have been
always there,
entertaining me
when my lonely heart
finds breathing so hard.