Why not?

I love the way you're always gone
Brimming with excuses,never just one
No this time it's not your fault
But it doesn't hurt any less
Looking forward to broken dates
Broken before they're made
Waking up feeling good
Sleep after losing a part of me
Everyday this is the drill
Unbroken spirit, Strong useless will
I still love you.
But why?
Disclaimer: This content is not directed at any one individual.

Everyone looks for a fairy tale end.
I just look for a start.
I'm sorry i love you.

Sixth sense

Voice: To be mute is liberty. With it comes expression without words and communication without language. Although being able to speak gives you freedom of speech, the contrary of which gives you freedom from speech.

Sight: To be blind is sanctuary.

When you're enveloped in velvety black you yearn for sight.

When all you see is darkness you hope for light.

But drowning in the depths of nothing

Saves you from seeing the dead, living

After all of man's heinous lies and crimes

You wish to hear but not see the chimes.

When you SEE a bleeding wound you cry. But when you feel it with your fingers all you feel is the wetness of blood and skin, not a reason to imagine pain.

Smell: To not smell is immunity. It's the key to satisfaction. Most things in this world are shunned because their odour isn't preffered. What you can't smell has more potential for satisfying you than what you can smell.

Touch: To feel is a curse. Never mind all the pleasant feelings aroused by a single touch. If one person can't feel pain it's price is equal to a hundred feeling pleasure.

Sound: To be deaf is a privilege. There are things you wish you'd never heard.The sound of laughter is remembered... for only a few moments. But the sound of a mother wailing, the sobs of a dearest friend, the screams of a tortured soul are the sounds you take to your grave. So if you can't hear, you sleep peacefully, six feet under.

The Sixth Sense is to be deaf, dumb, blind, to not be able to sense or smell and yet... live.

...

What makes a guy perfect?
Nobody’s perfect that’s what makes them human. The more human you are, more perfect.
If a guy’s good looking it’s more attractive if he’s dignified about it not egoistic. It’s even cuter if he’s drop dead gorgeous and completely unaware of it.
He holds your hand, not limply but firmly, like it’s going to take something miraculous to make him let go.
He should like you for how you look – Pretty, chubby, short, thin, tall, wide, ghastly or even downright ugly.
He should call you cute when you’re immature, pretty when you’re dainty and beautiful when you’re…you.
He should make as few promises as possible because there’ll be that many less broken.
He should respect your decisions, questions, space, ideas and even your lack of all these.
He should be chivalrous but not patronizing, polite but not impersonal, close but far enough, intelligent but not cunning, good looking but not arrogant, sensitive but not weak, strong but not cold.
He should stand behind you if you fall, beside you to hold your hand and in front of you so you can check his ass out :P.
Last but not the least he should be your best friend first :)

Little drops of torture

Rain has always had a romantic connotation to it. One that i could never understand. Besides it's usefullness to us, i can hardly find anything remotely pleasant about the clouds leaking. Little drops of torture i say. The faint drizzle when it's just started raining and not quite pouring is the most irking sensation to be experienced. "Oh i just lovvve the rain! It's so romantic, it just makes me want to curl up with a nice book, all nice and warm." The reason you want to be warm is because it's cold and it's cold because it's raining. Is it impossible to curl up with a nice book without water splashing on your windows and droplets making bullet-like sounds on the glass?
Ever gone outside right after a downpour and stepped in a puddle? Romantic really. And the smell of charged ions is enough to put flowers out of business. In case my sarcasm has flown over your head, i HATE the smell of rain and the mess it makes. For all us girls, who walk out in suede shoes, a white shirt and freshly styled hair and the worst thing that could happen to us is the rain. It's god's (i'm athiest but i think this should get the message across) time for practical jokes. He gets real kicks out of embarassing us, he does.
Get a plumber to fix the sky.

...

C-HARLOT-TE

The shard of glass lay on the shelf
Shining ruby red, all by itself
The jagged edge gleamed, to me
It seemed, teasing maliciously.
Like a child with his crimson paint
Streaking the canvas without restraint
Like a butcher looking down at his palm
At the scarlet with an acquired calm
She looked down at the pool of red
Slowly forming beside her bed
And in it she could see
Things that made her sad with grief
Her life at the slowest pace
Flashed before her grimaced face
She would have wept but her tears were dry
The bitter wetness she was denied
Her fingers searched the unfamiliar face
The slightest brush set it ablaze
She traced the unseen scars, until
Her features froze, deathly still
A gasp left her parted lips
The soft skin that had never been kissed
Her body shook with filthy grace
Her only tool of sexual trace
Then the life left her, like
A wounded soldier, giving up the fight.