Haunted

I vowed to not write love poems
Atleast until I fall in love with someone else.
But how can I
When I haven't forgotten her yet?
There have been days when hope was my food,
Hope was my medicine.
But these days, hope is my hemlock,
Hope is my source of guilt.

Irony,
I thought I'd be writing in the same manner*
On a different muse.
But here I am,
Writing in a different manner
On the same muse.

Love doesn't die,
And so wouldn't I.


* - as in happy love poems on a different person.