- [myar] ;

[taichi]

and so i stand, befuddled, perplexed by thoughts so grand.
head aching, nose running, nothing ever goes as planned.
in the interval, from words thoughts speak.
blood rushes down the hands, a new painter to my physique.

i grimace, grasp the corners of my wary mouth and twist.
left reasoning - is this the mouth my lover kissed?
the meaning of the heart races down my body as i swallow
lack of empathy escapes the chasm, of my stress stained tears as i wallow.

to my ears it rings: "what's it like to be in love?"
hesitantly i answer "when would i know, thereof?"
your eyes roll back and all joy held here, expires again, straight back to my fear
succumbing to inescapable repeated sneers, yet what i did to deserve this remains so unclear

[taichi]

our eyes met, in this hasty moment, wishing breaths to not exist
those curled up, smiled stained lips.
they found home in a straight lined grip.

his pale green eyes, reflected back at mine.
my heart's alarm bells told me it was time.

"madira don't you see" he asked me.
"he's in love now, he's an absent devotee"

[taichi]

efforts to paint feelings as words stay wasted.
but the hurt stays still, tears remain tasted.
is succumbing to this sadness so ill-fated?
or is revolution so long awaited?

[taichi]

lonely is not a word that would be quite often used
but ever so admittedly, the whirlpool presents an excuse.
not a sweet talker, not the eye of the room.
just a small speck laced in this self entitled gloom.
only a whisper in a crowd which roars
harbouring such passionate ardour.

wishing to be loved, the way present in dreams
as if infatuation, wires so strongly in the bloodstream.
those essences of love, play tricks on the mind
as people past by, the question is to arise.
do stars really align?
if such a thing - remind me, when will mine?

providence is belated it seems.
should the solitary man's will be controlled, should he intervene?
what to do to allow the soft "i love you's" bellow?
become propriety, and paint this greying world: yellow?

perhaps the feeling of fondness
the idolization of intimacy
is a cruelling hunger that grasps me