"It's not my fault you're feeling this way."
And it's not - but your coping mechanism...

What am I to you? A pretty vase
on a scentless dining table...

I fear fineliner on paper,
never began drawing because...

Nipping at incense, you filled the air.
Like an opium den - broken dreams...

I cannot comprehend the way you look at me
with those thoughtful, slanted eyes - those lashes...

We were jetlagged by dreams,
trying to solve our time difference...

My future is a blank paper
nestling inside a fortune cookie...

I don't want to speak in circles anymore,
and lose visitors in my colourless corridors...

A decade of desires
has sunken into bedsheets...

Breathe on my skin, slowly,
let me relish at the way your chest...

Like a snow rabbit
you ran past my window plants...

Candy cotton, candy crush,
bright umbrella in Oregon...