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I feel the world at
   times conspires to make true my
basic discontent.
Inspired (or more aptly directly drawn from) “The Pillow Book” by Sei Shōnagon
Lips together, pressed,
as if you were the one dead,
"Wake up"-your only prayer,
but death doesn't care.
Now you can only choke,
on words you never spoke.
28/4/25
BPD
I want to believe in steady things,
but even my own reflection changes
when I look too long.
Are you here?
Do you love me?
Will you stay?
I ask without asking,
watching for the answer
in the way your hands move,
the way your breath hesitates before a word.

I know I feel too much,
ask too much,
but the silence between us is louder
than anything I could say.
So I fill it.
With words, with fear, with love—
all spilling over,
all too much,
all at once.

And still, I wonder, if it’s enough.
When I sit alone,
Someone will ask, “Can I use this chair?”
Then carry it to another table
To laugh with friends over there—
Leaving me, still and silent,
Closed off like a clam.
Have you ever felt like this?
Don’t stay because you feel you must,
Love can’t be built on guilt or dust.
Stay only if your heart beats true,
If every breath still aches for “you.”

I want your smile, not just your face,
Your laughter warm, your soft embrace.
But if your joy begins to fade,
Don’t let our love become a cage.

I’d rather kiss you one last time,
Than hold you bound by silent crime.
So stay, my love, if love is why
Not just to soothe a saddened sigh.
Some things
are only true
when falling—
slide and snag
bang and brag
a snarl
gone viral.

The trick
is not to fear
the bruise—
but love
how the bruise
proves
the skin.
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