Writing poetry without thinking...

I watched it all,
and upon drowning-
then- and there- I found relief...
Flying on the melancholic wings:
How I soar and aim for the sun,
and yet I fall down...down...down...

dreaming...
dreaming of the mess
I have created
as a result
of being
human
***

thinking...
thinking about her.
thinking of the what's
thinking of the when's
Then I think...
I think I may cry,
for what?
her not being in my life...yet.
lonely, lonely, lonely-
that's the tune no one wants to hear,
and yet... it plays in my head.

*fin*