Whir.

Counting each time

You made my heart race,

Like needles on the sewing machine,

Thumping in and out.

Fast and slow

Then turning the edges,

Whirring along the outline of us

Slightly hurting yet seals us complete.

Anew.

You’ve forgotten how to love.

You’ve forgotten your own worth.

Suppressing your needs for another,

At her beck and call.

Money, time and pride

You gave it all.

The beauty of love,

Is that it is mutual.

I’d show you,

If you’d love anew.

Pain.

Is it greater pain,

To have found true love and lost

Or to never have found before?

Hunger.

He should’ve known better.

That hunger

Was not an unsatisfied desire;

But rather

A temptation of an emotional encounter.

Baked.

200g of comfort;

3 tablespoons of coincidences;

500ml of laughter;

Whisk until smooth.

Line union tray with empathy,

Pour in happiness mixture.

Pre-heat oven with self awareness,

Bake at 190 degrees celcius.

Observe when sincerity rises,

And romance turns golden brown,

Remove with understanding mittens.

Leave to cool with personal space.

Add a dash of luck

And sprinkles of shimmery joy.

Slice for 2,

Serve warm.

December.

They say,

Home is where the heart is

I never felt like I truly belong.

I’m looking for an eternal home.

Home that feels warm on Christmas

Hugs, kisses and gentle voices.

Cheesecakes and whipping cream,

Creme brûlée’s a great choice too

One that allows my own pace and life,

Loves me on the darkest night.

Loneliness is being around people

Yet feel you never truly belong.

I haven’t found where my home is

Is it a purpose?

Tell me?

Is it a state of mind?

I’ll find it!

Is it a person?

If it’s you, come get me.

Guy.

“You’re not my type.”

But the eyes don’t lie.

And love, we might.

Let’s ride the high,

Gotta be your kryptonite.

No, don’t let my heart die.

Mime.

Life without a dime,

Deemed society’s crime.

You’ll be a mere mime,

In a race against time.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: