МЕ: Fear of happiness

I've never been more afraid in my life.

ME: The seasons to forget us

And the sky will open above you and I

And the rain will pour washing our souls away.

The lightnings will fall over us

Scorching the remains of what we used to be.

And the snow will fall down

Over the dirt with its cold purity

Hide the smell of the rotten

And bury the misery underneath.

And the sun will melt it all away

And none will be left to be found

Under the watery blanket of ice

Not soil – but a blackened stone.

All dried up and forgotten

As if it has never been

For who is to say

If it ever was anything but a dream?

ME: If only would my poems talk back

If only would my poems talk back,

Respond to all the secrets, I have told them…

If only they’d share with me their thoughts

And reason why am I so lonely…

If only would my poems talk back,

Shouted in my face their deemed opinion,

Crush at once my hopes and dream

With sticky fingers from the whitened sheets…

If only would my poems talk back,

Told me that there’s no redemption,

Blindfolded lead me to the edge of reason

And forsake me there to roam insane…

If only would my poems talk back,

Them I would’ve never been so hopeless

For there would’ve been so much of them

                                                                That I would’ve never had to walk alone.