Writings of a Phobophobe.
Worn down facade,
Wall paint like feelings — they fade.
Her happiness,
He thwarted.
Her birthday,
He disregarded.
He wrote her a card,
But there was no cake.
He thought long and hard,
And said,
“It’s time to part —
A decision I’ve made.”
She’s scarred,
For 4 years less than a decade.
So dead in her heart,
But alive in her head.
Going double
It spells trouble.
Son of a gun,
They call it fun.
Evil is love
Masked as a dove.
Twisted fate
And undying hate.
Left at the end,
A broken heart to mend.
She only speaks
Of what she fears.
He only seeks
What he wants to hear.
Darkness forgets
Whatever held dear.
Perhaps when the sun rises
It’s when it all turns clear.
Realised ’twas a bad call,
Following a bad fall.
Passion walked out the door,
We couldn’t do anything more.
Our love was bald,
There’s nothing else worth fighting for.
Issues on a roll,
We’re on all time low.
I said,
“There’s still some rice on the bowl.”
He said,
“Don’t let the food run cold.”
Now we will go real slow,
But baby, we will reach our goal.
I gave him the world;
His mind in a whirl.
I gave him my word;
He twisted his backwards.
A life of one
Similar to the life of a gun,
Silence by a bun,
Silent and blunt.
Potential to be done,
Doing actually none.
A life of a duo,
Precious as gold,
You can’t wait to be told,
Gotta’ dare to be bold.
Someone to go to when you’re low,
Watch things unfold — you’ll be sold.
A hidden love;
A silent word.
Emotional glances;
Swift advances.
You ignited this fervour,
Now I’d take all the chances.
Your scent,
The air I breathe.
My favorite temperature,
The heat you emit.
Fondness
Missing you when we’re apart.
But — we’re always apart
Since close is never close enough.
