You write poems with your fingertipsAnd I keep listening to the songs written on my skinBy some distant dream, similar wordsBut the verses never meet...

I was never very fond of four-letter words but there was once a man who called me Hope; and I spent four long summers craving to find its synonyms.

I wish not to tell you how I feelI choose silence so that you leaveKiss me goodbye and set me free

I'd rather be not the light in your lifeThe bright day might make me obscureI'd rather be the cold darknessFor it remains, unseen, uncertain and unsure