This pen does more
than scribe mediocre poetry...

I miss those nights
when the velvet sky...

I feel like a star
cast amongst this ambiguousness...

It's raining here,
I wonder if it's drizzling...

Lately...
I feel like my guitar...

Cosmo says
the best way to reclaim your dew...

Quite often
we spoke in...

Your heart
is no longer pink and plump...

Damn the roses
for their quiet despair...

I know it's getting late,
but I have no kisses to swallow...

I'd like to gather my poems
and scatter them...

My heart, a slope
of steep apprehension...