Broken

I don't know much about you,

But I miss you.

I miss pointing letters out to you.

I still wonder why you can't read up my mind,

The way I really had to open up everything for you.

I know poetry is not about love,

But I miss your love in every piece I write.

The thought of loosing you got me lose myself.

I love midnights, because they remind me of you and how we used to be.

The last time I took black coffee, it tasted you,

Because you were close.

And every sip was worth the moment.

It was warm to my lips,

The way I always felt the warmth holding you in my arms.

Yesterday my cup was cold and it never tasted the same!

I heard them saying that, at the touch of love,

Every man becomes a poet.

But this ain't working out on me,

Because from the moment you left

I've fallen for these words

And I've started pinning every letter on my wall

It's from this loneliness,

That I learnt I can broadly speak to vowels,make sounds, and have a one on one conversation with articles,

And make Ann an art from listening to her stories

I'm afraid to invite my friends to my room,

I don't know how I will explain to them that it's no longer a living room, nothing beats life here.

I don't know how I'll tell them that it's no longer a resting room, because of the way I have turned it into pages.

Its a living poetry where I got books and pages to write

I've been addicted to fiction, rhymes, metaphors and how to make a chemistry solution, to every letter.

*The Dream chaser*