The Playwright Has Gone Mad Poem by Kriztan Rei Palces

You might find this peice somehow blurry
But please, by all means, believe me
If i tells you that this ain't a sad story
For this part is her story.

HERSTORY.

So there's this old classmate of mine
Who's kept his feeling for me for quite a time
Then a day after my day, he asked me out for a celebration
Surprised me with 20 paper roses and a question

He makes me laugh.. that romantic dude
So i gave him a chance- to be fair, not rude
I told him that feelings cannot be hurried so i cannot guarantee
And i won't let his time be put to waste on me

For june july i've learned many things
Things that i wouldn't know had i rejected his feelings
And come his birthday i gave him my precious sketch pad
There he can draw memories of me good or bad.

______________________________________________

Now this is the story of the boy who fell
And i will be the one to tell
Sad or not, i'll let you be the jury
So let's hear it, this one's his story

HISTORY.

I had a plan to formulate
So i asked her out to celebrate
We went out and everything went great
Then dusk came to end our date

What follows are sleepless nights soaked in happy thoughts
Befriending each rhyme and symphony that she brought
I was so high that i failed to notice the lurking mr. apocalypse
Then on my day, that damn mr. came to shut her lips

She's living yet she's a ghost
But i did not falter, i haven't lost
There i thought that her silence is the bomb
I was wrong for her coup de gras is yet to come

I am certain that i was born to tell you 'i love you'
Now i'm torn not knowing what to do...
'Cause amidst my pessimism, it never occured to me
That you were born to tell me 'i'm sorry...'