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I am not as sweet as chocolate
I am more like love soaked in memories,
ugly painful memories.

I don't look like beautiful flowers,
I look like broken promises with lonely eyes.

I'm no longer made with dances and laughs,
I'm only made with heartaches and crying souls.

This is not a poem,
this is me after you,
this is what you turned me into.

Do you not remember our ending?
It was I who finally walked away from you.

This is not a poem,
this is me trying to forget you,
all about you,
all about me and you.

So go ahead, hold onto my things a little longer.
For when I come to you next it will be final.

To the faded dreams and memories that resurface to old songs replaying on the radio and scents riding on the breeze, may they always bring me that warm, chest-tightenting wash of nostalgia as I reminisce on what use to be.

the morning after I tried killing myself,
I fell in love with the vivid oranges and rosy pink skies,
the chilly winter breeze teasing my skin,
the serenity of nothingness and everything-ness.
I defied all the odds, and I showed the whole world how to love again.
I accepted and understood that death, indeed, has no rush.
sooner or later, we will all be deep underground;
living is not guaranteed.
I gasped for air as if I had been deprived for eternity.
I experienced waves of emotions flooding all at once.