Loop
i've been trying in vain
to write you hateful poems
i always end up
writing poems of love

hard to tell which is which
they all look, hear the same.
i do mean to write
hateful words of you.

i wish this time, this poem
would change everything now.
not a poem of love
but a poem of hate.

i can promise you that
because of every loop
this pen of mine make
is a loop of hate.

Me
was it really me?
who did all of these to you?
i don't recall touching you.
was it really me?

don't accuse me, please
when you don't have any proof.
don't turn things around for you
have compassion, please.

what am i saying?
these things are just illusions;
illusions i've been doing
it was really me.

Happy
i am happy, yes
i can tell you that.
but i can't assure you
it's sincere enough.

sometimes, and sometimes
all i can think of
are all the things you've done
all the things you're doing.

you did not mean it
tell me you did not.
and if you have to lie
oh, nevermind it then

this doesn't make sense
anymore to you
oh, even more to me.
now, don't know what to do.

just let it forego
i can't even do
forgive and forget? no.
i'm happy? i don't know.