I know my style kind of switched up. No one comments on my stuff anymore, so, I don't know how well received these are compare to my old stuff. So I'm asking please crit.

Why We Never Ask

This prose, as old as the philosophy of giving roses.
Saying a few words, and by deduction come up with a conclusion.
Sometimes I think in such a delusion, that perhaps the answer is already there.
Without asking, it'll just happen; like magic in thin air.
That is why these words adhere to my throat; like sludge slowly suffocating myself.

This I'm hesitant to say, even a slight variant.
A derivative of the question, wondering if you would like to hang out.
Without asking I know without a doubt, the answer is no.
Quite possibly is fear that I'll be relinquish from this childish spell.
To hear those words sprout out of your mouth.

Though, here's the epiphany. It could be the opposite.
We can see what lies beneath the mirror, beyond humanly error.
Come to a consensus, and maybe make sense of this.
That we both perhaps could be given a chance.
Instead of just discarding ourselves through slight glances.

Though this old prose is always responded subjectively.
I'm filled with negativity. Though probability always suggest 50-50, without the chances of maybe.
But the only maybe, is that the answer is yes, and no is a certain.
These thoughts are a bother. She's standing there.
The answer could simply be ascertained, with a few exchanges in converses of words.

Though, I stand there stuttering thinking of the worse.
Knowing the unknown, the air is hard to grasp.
And so I ask, metaphorically in my head.
I hope you know my intentions are good.
So I play the reel in my head.

I really hope you say no.
Shatter my world and these childish hopes in to little stars.
Scatter them across space, and there Ill blanket myself with the darkness of the universe.
Big bang, I know the truth hurts. The world is form.
My life can go back revolving again.

Stop, hit, rewind.
I play it again over my head.
Though there is an alternate ending, I prefer the original.
The format is digital, the picture is pixilated.
Though this is scripted, but truth is encrypted.

The words mutter under my breath.
This old prose, here how it goes,
"I really like you, let see how it goes"�
These words never flowed.
Though, the answer is probably, no.

lol I really like this poem.

Post more, I'll like to read more of your work.

nice

I'll try to write often. Thanks though.

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Trapped in his illusion, he wanders the earth
Endlessly searching for the answer
He found no answer
For he knows not the answer lies within

wow your style is really amazing, can`t wait for your next one

Thanks, I've been needing to write, but I'm bogged down this weekend.