midnight

I sit on the edge of the bed

my eyes want to call it a night

but lights still flicker in my head

in the dark, I hear a whisper

“write something,

it’ll make you feel better.”

so on a scavenger hunt, I go

through my brain

where I hope ideas will flow

and it did, straight to my heart

here’s an attempt to make a piece of art

I try to come up with a story

from history to fantasy

but in each chapter, all I can see

are flashbacks of when you were with me

I stop myself

I don’t want to write another love story

but like a puppet on a string

a pen and paper I hold on to

and all the memory that it brings

your hand, your skin, when I was sitting next to

I stop myself

I don’t want to write another love story

‘midnight’

I start to write

now lying on the bed, feeling light

four pillows surround me

remember when it was you

talking to me until three?

I stop myself

fuck, I really don’t want to write another love story

the scavenger hunt resumes

like that late night, or was it early morning?

to 7/11 we went, pajamas and dress shoes

the reason we were going?

to find a cure for our hangover

but we came back with more whiskey and a cheeseburger

I stop myself, this time with a smile

but I still don’t want to write another love story

on the third paragraph, I’ve written up

a story I try to come up

except this seemed easy

for this was not a fantasy

though in every line, I tried to find

a perfect word that rhymed

but this is no Romeo and Juliet

and I forget that I’m no poet

so I stop myself

I don’t want to write another fucking love story

but come on, who was I kidding?

this was merely a tragedy

for a romantic novel has two lovers

but my narrative only has one to cover

so I continue

because I am not writing another love story

maybe a comedy or even a mystery

because it’s almost a joke how we came to be

if people found out, perhaps they’ll even be scared of me

so I continue

because I am not writing another love story

it wasn’t even melancholy when you said goodbye to me

you turned the table and said that I wasn't ready

when it was I that lost myself just to keep you by me

so I continue

because I am not writing another love story

but now I’ll gradually wrap up with an apology

some for you but mostly for me

I’m sorry if you felt I was too much

I just couldn’t resist your every touch

you were a fantasy brought to my reality

it would help if you came with a warning

to wake me up from this dreaming

in the fourth paragraph, do you remember?

I wrote about a puppet, just like me on that cold December

now the strings I cut, as an apology

hey man in the mirror, do you feel my sincerity?

so now I’ll stop

for this is not another love story

this is now part of history

however, allow me to end in gratitude

though time, toward us, maybe rude

yet when you were with me, you improved my mood

I reread the line above

it’s quite cheesy, I scoff

but I don’t know how to end this verse

for I am not a poet first

and this is not another love story

© 2021 Benjamin Labajo

Comments

Benjamin Labajo (author) from Tokyo, Japan on February 22, 2021:

Wow. Thank you, Jodah and Misbah786. I appreciate your comments.

Misbah from The Planet Earth on February 22, 2021:

Very well done almostbenjamin

I enjoyed reading it. Something different in it kept me reading it

Well you really don't know how to end it as you are not a poet and this is not another love story...lol... :P

Blessings

John Hansen from Queensland Australia on February 21, 2021:

You may not be a poet, and this may not be another love story, but I love it. Good job, Benjamin.