All that I have, isn't all that
the world let's me give
And all that I hope to do
won't be for everyone to believe
But out of the overflow of my
love, I know I'll always have a
lot to give.

The tears of yesterday
have become the air of today;
-memories gone in the wind
Maybe you forgot how to breathe
taking so much of yourself out;
-you must of forgot how to take things in

Don't worry- you'll cry a lot,
just to live a little.

a butterfly that would represent
my suicide; is the butterfly effect
that will affect so many people in my life.

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Tears slip down my face like rain,
My eyes the wettest they've ever been.
Only in the night do they find release,
Aching with pain that will not cease.

But in the darkness, the moon appears,
A comforting presence to calm my fears.
It shines a light on my troubled soul,
And reminds me that I am whole.

Within my mind, a house does stand,
A place of wonder, a dreamland.
Imagination runs wild and free,
A world of endless possibility.

My heart is not a heart at all,
But a forest, both big and small.
Seeds of passion grow and thrive,
But weeds of wickedness do strive.

And in my soul, a fire burns bright,
A beacon of warmth in the night.
But a devil lurks, waiting to pounce,
To extinguish the flames, to denounce.

All of the misplaced places,
I can't help but misplace your name
As falling in love is almost as painful
as all of those times, falling from grace
At times saying a loud those lovely prayers,
as I'm hoping to give my thanks, saying my grace.

But as if I only wash my hands after,
these full meals of food for thought, is all awkward
As when you only get a joke late at night, with random laughter
I'm liken as a fool who smiles in the middle of the night,
in their bed and miniscule covering,
I still find it warms my heart, thinking about you
and treasuring a day with you, as if it were my only belonging.

But love honestly has to be something so funny;
I'm constantly laughing at myself
As we've all felt a little drunk on our very first love,
sipping on the smiles of its ****** mi tia
But of course you shake me up, till the recipe of
a disaster shakes away the ice cubes of my heart
My tears for you, are like syrup and concentrated upon
how I feel,— I hope you can ******* love.

I'm a moth in a firing line,
who shot his shot with a firefly
I kissed a few butterflies, but the
feeling of love was caterpillar
—I cocoon my heart, in the hopes
it will one day grow to be beautiful.

I've somewhat been a fool,
as it always seemed foolish to be in love
But still if I could never get enough
of falling another day in love with you,
—I'd proudly be so full of myself.

The days of young,
when the night starts to
kiss the sun.

An explosive portrait I tend
to see,— brushstrokes of orange clouds
Sprinkles of the hues of blue in the
pockets filled with a sky of dreams,

       A perfect scene before I go to sleep.

The camera is rolling, incessantly capturing every moment of our lives, leaving us with a world that never stops recording, where privacy becomes a luxury unbeknownst to us. In these private matters, we find ourselves stripped of any semblance of secrecy, exposed to the prying eyes of an ever-watchful audience.

As we gaze upon Mother Earth, we see her through an unsettling lens, viewing her as a captivating entity, akin to a seductive **** who has birthed and nurtured countless lives. Yet, contrasting our admiration, there persists an underlying desire to possess and consume her in a primal, carnal manner. It is as if we hold a fetishistic fascination with her, using fiery words to address her before we even think to disrobe ourselves from the layers of convenience and comfort, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

This portrayal begs the question of how mankind perceives themselves amidst this intimate performance. Are we mere objects to be stripped down and devoured for the amusement of an unfeeling audience? Stripped of our dignity and possessions, we are left bare, vulnerable, and at the mercy of those who derive pleasure from exploiting our vulnerability. It is akin to a mesmerizing striptease, a tantalizing display that leaves us yearning for something greater.

In the face of such exposure, we find ourselves humbled and powerless, compelled to seek solace and redemption from a higher power. Constantly begging to be bathed in the love and mercy of a divine entity, we yearn for a respite from the unyielding gaze of the world. It appears that the world derives pleasure from witnessing us in a state of vulnerability, reducing us to our weakest form, our knees bent in submission.

In this revelatory expansion of the original sentence, we delve deeper into the implications of a world that ceaselessly records our actions. We explore the complex dynamics between humanity and the environment, finding parallels in our treatment of Mother Earth and our own susceptibility to exploitation. The expanded content retains the core meaning and context, while elaborating on the themes of vulnerability, power dynamics, and the search for solace and redemption.

I was raised in my father’s ill-timed
           old ways: as a man saying how he feels,
           was like ash in his ashtray. And I had
           smoked up a few reasons of not finding
           certainty; but instead finding answers in
           all addictions as a troubled youth.

I remember looking for a quick fix,
          like a constant broken clock—
         without a lot of time.
         As it felt better not to admit to why I
         was crying secretly at night, and instead
         going around faking all of my smiles.


As I never once felt like I could fit an
        ounce of myself in my family, and
        sometimes the thought of being a
        mistake would be a thought I’d accept
        so gladly.
“I’ve been a fool, I’ve been a ******,
           I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been a coward,
           and I’ve been less than a good friend,
           Feeling less of myself most times, in
           saying I don’t amount to anything”—
           were all of the things plaguing my head.

I’ve been so sick of love,
          pretending to have known it as much
          And to my luck, I’ve been unlucky enough
          to know the way I lived felt like a vortex,
         cos it always ******.

Sprung out on how I forced my appearance,
        sitting on bottled emotions, ignoring
        how I’m really feeling— all thought
        to show a man in their great zealous.
        Such a lie it was; and a door to the
        knowledge of depression, that I tried to
        hide so well, with years of experience.

Cause I was taught,
          “real men don’t show their feelings”
           Still what are these feelings, I’m feeling?

Feeling sad, depressed, a mess,
          who can’t confess that sometimes
          he's a mess and not always at his best.
          Still, self-perfection isn’t what the
          whole world expects. And unless this
          boy chooses not to digress from tackling
          the feelings that have him compressed; that
          boy will only be a boy who still sits in their
          mother’s nest.

Cos no bird will truly soar where it rests—
          so would I; never be a man in this crazy
          world, by just covering up all of my sores
          in my heart with a bulletproof vest. I
          already swallowed up those bullets; choking
          up on all of the words of, not saying
          what’s beating at my chest.

Today, today marks the day,
          I threw out that **** ashtray.
         Cos the ash in that tray, made me feel
         like, the *** of the day. And I refuse to
        do the donkey-work, of pretending that
         I’m always okay.

        No, I'm not okay, because I’ve spent
        my life being burnt by the scorching
        ash, in that old ashtray.

                          It’s time for healing.

The softest echo of a heart
Are passions of someone with a secret to love
To express themselves in a manner that feels unmannered
For what I have to say feels like a ***** secret;
Something that would sound so risky

In person, I’m the furthest away from indecent
Still with the right mind set,
I could say things to leave you in pieces
And with a deep sense,
I’d whisper deeply all my unholy secrets,
Wishing for you on my wish list, that I wrote in secret

Like what forms a word, I’ve been well informed
To know that what I say is my target, I make it a goal
Whether whole or hole; there’s always a choice to take
Your servings in full, or to be left hollow in your words after

It could start with laughter, from tickling kisses that go
Up and down; to a crown of piercing sharp licks of head,
But instead the game goes well, by one being pleased and teased
And the shaking of a headboard from shaking knees

Yes indeed, a good loving is hot;
And a good reason for us being caught up in this heat
So don’t forget to breathe; but also know there’s no retreat
As a bedroom isn’t a place for the weak, caught in sheets
And neither for anyone to sound off their moans as meek

It’s a storm of passion; calm for a beginning,
Before the roars of thundering clapping gates
The pours of rain in the sweat dripping down your face,

Without haste, I shall bite the bullet after it’s taste
Another round, another round; shots of chance to pierce through you
A scar so deep,—a memory of last night,
replaying for tomorrow

...last night’s events,
where as eventful as I’d hoped for in this 10:45 hour

You neglect me in the disregard
of being discarded to the side
Like an old, dusty Bible
—thus it testifies to how
I truly feel, as feeling less of yourself
brings more of the pain you're forced to bear.

I would pursue the fortunes to sustain ahead
of time, but it seems they all come with fame
I break down with every crack of the lens,
the glass conversation that amuses me with friends.
But the companions I would have cannot fill the void
I have for you.

Throughout a solitary night,
I recount those stories of our past
As if every ending doesn't surprise me,
but rather amuses me.

I just wonder if the echoes in my room,
are of me laughing at all our memories
Or if those memories are laughing at me..

As we stand here, foolishly waiting for
love to sweep us off our feet, we find ourselves
holding our breath in anticipation.

Every second feels like an eternity,
as we eagerly await the moment when love
will finally embrace us.

But alas, time moves on, and eventually,
we find ourselves drifting away,
unconscious to the world around us.

I am a stone that held a secret,
the echo of a love that was crushed,
And a heart shattered into a million pieces.

That stone skipped over the river of tears,
and carried the weight of sorrow and longing.
Each skip echoed the pain it witnessed,
resonating through the depths of existence.

This stone, forever marked by the power of love,
continues its journey, leaving ripples of
emotions in its wake.

They've labeled me a thief,
yet I've never stolen someone's heart.

Countless times, they've called me a fool,
but I can never claim to be a fool in love.

They've called me a pretty someone,
yet I often feel like a pretty mess.

I've only cheated once,
but life cheats me more than I deserve.

They've called me the spoiled child,
yet I still act like a child, a man who feels spoiled.

I've done my best to be on time,
yet I always feel so late for success.

And I've tried to maintain a strong drive,
but it feels like I'm being driven to insanity.

Funny so
how my accent changes around white people
and I wrinkle memories I have on worn out clothes
Funny so
the sound of life hasn't an echo
and my reading voice isn't a girl's
Funny so
I read subtitles over the loud sound
and can sing a song, but read lyrics like a poem
Funny so
music can easily move your feet
yet love's symphony—makes me scared to skip a beat
Funny so
how we can smile the brightest in the dark
also telling a crooked lie through straight teeth
Funny so
how every world eventually becomes small
every person you come across—cousins yet to know
Funny so
how we call girls for dimes
but call her gold-digger later on in life
Funny so
how she calls all men dogs
but always loves barking up the wrong tree
Funny so
how we weren't taught enough about the ******
now the baby mamas we want to condemn
Funny so
we say actions speak louder than words
yet our own actions contradict the Word
Funny so
I laugh while telling a ***** joke
but will look at you as a joke, for making a dry joke
Funny so
how you can never really quench the thirst
the same way you can't water down a harsh truth
Funny so
the wife can count her *******
while the husband makes it count to always be first
Funny so
how we all have a good start, but end so poor
just like I started this piece, and don't know how to end my poem

                                    Well ****—I guess that's the end of the joke.

As I gaze into their eyes,
I am confronted with the undeniable truth
— the devil does exist.

It lurks within the depths of their souls,
casting a shadow over their every action.
Their eyes, once windows to their innermost thoughts
and emotions, now reveal a darkness
that sends shivers down my spine.

It is a chilling reminder that evil walks among us,
disguised in human form.

Oh, those sixteen seconds; —
schoolings we learnt, stories on the
sixteen streets, where a few flowers
  Would be daring enough to grow.

YOU!
Bystander to the narrative of six teens,
learning about life, through every twist
and curve. Take part in such an account,
for you too, to be flourished in what
  Truths we learned.

I was sixteen; though that made
you feel like eighty-four in a concrete
jungle, where you heard stories of
its corruption, as it scarily roars.

The novel days, but with a broken
system of old. From feeling broke;
covering holes with holes,

— You could only tap into success by
the connections of who you know, and
they know; prior sixteen years. Henceforth
  Why we all sensed being so old.

Or was it, "owed"
—dang, what youth could know?
But to be honest though, the feeling of it,
was so cold: a degree less than sixteen, for
  Any flower to be frightened to grow.

As if the promise of an improved
tomorrow would never really show,
To say—"you head in your own way
and I'll be a head, ahead of you; thinking
up sixteen likely ways of where to go,
  And how to go.

I was told a story by so and so,
who knew so and so, —that said,
So and so, about so and so, that a man
claimed this was the right time to sow.

He threw out his seeds; some that hit the
emotionless ground as cold sixteen stones.
Others were pierced by the cold’s thorns.

He spoke a lot of brave words and
eccentric quotes, that held with them
great wisdom and growth.

Some hard to swallow, some fell on
deaf ears, the rest gnawed by birds.
These teachings didn’t speak of being
owed, as we were told; but were
secrets he seemed to own,
  That shone out of his soul.

I was sixteen, a nervous teen,
who gave this story sixteen seconds.
We were careless and obviously reckless
—a wonder of which gods ever forgave us.

Feeling cold as snow, in a place where,
it gets colder as the rain pours.
The man gave us sixteen of the most
profound words:


“Sixteen seconds of the Word,
your spirit grows, — sixteen
seconds of rain, and life will show.”

I was termed a flower in that story,
given sixteen words of advice
from a stranger I didn't really know.
And it was by age sixteen, the bud
  Had started to grow.

I guess flowers are
the boldest of us all.
—on where, and through which
situation they choose to grow.

I never met a true prophet who made a million,
And I never met a parent chill enough to never
displicine their children.

But I shouldn't make a profit off the millions
of grown adults, acting like their children.

I follow the path of your memory
like the imprints of lines etched on my arm
after a deep sleep. However, your presence
never rests within my thoughts.

The darkness that consumed me made me feel like wanting
to die, even before the age of nine.
However, let's count our blessings that none of the individuals
in the house owned a nine. I find myself engulfed in these thoughts,
I make a desperate plea to hold on, just like hanging
clothes on a line.
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.

My heart remains motionless, resembling a lifeless mannequin, and if you look closely, you may witness the damages.
I cautiously open the door to my own insanity, but the idea of grappling with its dark influence feels overwhelmingly intimidating,— I can't handle this.
Fear grips me as I contemplate unveiling my eyes, for I
dread the somber reality that they will behold.
Once again, I urge my thoughts to remain steadfast, like
clothing hung on a line, as the echoes of the voices -
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.


A peculiar itch consumes my lips, almost as if I long for
the  Death's kisses. Within the depths of my depression, I struggle to maintain a sense of identity, for this overwhelming sadness has become my greatest weakness. I endeavor to traverse the arduous path of mental instability, navigating the metaphorical distance of a "crazy mile".
However, I feel invisible, unnoticed by the world as I bear witness to my own pain. The allure of escapism entices me, enticing me to run towards the temporary relief that a blade may bring,— cutting myself more this time.
Once again, I beseech my thoughts to cling tightly, like
clothes delicately draped on a line.
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.

I or you; is the question to ask of who will die first for who,
I owe you; an explanation of why I can’t say the three important words to give an account towards my wicked heart,
I O U; the three important vowels to make up that heavy weighted phrase:

                                          “I love you.”

If growing more successful and earning more money,
means losing your roots... please don't plant me in a
*** filled with riches.

If being famous means losing your soul... please don't
let me walk around with fame.

If being a leader of many means I start to become
corrupt... please don't put me in charge of a nation.

And if being heard means harshly silencing those
around me... please don't let me have a...

In the sculpture of time, as the days unfold like petals, the blades of grass sway gently in the passing wind, their whispers a soft melody that tickles the senses. As an observer of this magnificent tapestry, I find comfort in the depths of my being. With each blink of my eyes, I delve into the reflective ponds, exploring the profound recesses of my mind.

This existence, though sometimes shallow, is merely a vessel compared to the limitless nature of my soul. It knows no boundaries, no defined shape or weight. It is an essence that extends far beyond the limitations of this mortal body.

Yet, here I stand, firmly rooted in the present moment. Today, a precious gift intricately wrapped with lessons from the past, awaits me like a beautifully adorned box beneath a Christmas tree. As I carefully place it there, I can't help but hope that my future self will be filled with the same anticipation and excitement to unwrap this precious gift on that joyous day in the future. And regardless of the size of the box, I know that its contents hold immeasurable value and significance.

| Your body at first a stranger to my foreign kisses
   Learning how to speak another language in French kisses
  Ice cream painted lips of cherry lipstick, for licking kisses
I've inhaled your passion many a times in breath kisses
   And catching all stomach butterflies of butterfly kisses

Turn the lights a little low- you'll have a morning glow,
  from the bathroom, on the sofa, and the carpet floor
Rubber bands in my hand, trying to stretch you out; I had
     a lot to say, but the words got lost in your mouth
Hold my supplies, and grind on my belt—point the places
I never felt. Watching shivers of ice on your back slowly melt

| Your eyes running like bath water
   Want to dive deep in your thoughts like pool water
   Trying to train myself to breathe under water
      Pocket full of love- can't you see like sea water
Trying to quench my thirst like you're a glass of water
      And I hope you drown me in that body water

Singing a chorus of that body's natural tone,
about to overload, over the low areas sending tingles
  to already curling toes. I smelt the readiness of your body
   with the drips of scent stuck on my nose. Open to close
  the deal- peeling slowly your heavy clothes
      Entwining both of our ready and longing souls

|  Velvet skin-smooth and teasing to every bite
      Sensations running under skin in a sensitive bite
     Marking all the places I own with a territorial love bite
      And what's the point of a bark without a harsher bite

     Be at your best, stay at your best, I'd say it with my chest
        at your breast; you obviously guest that we'd lay in
     Our little love nest. Going down your West, and making
         the best effort- leaving nothing less, just to impress

In the realm beyond,
We shall discover a clearer reflection of our true selves,
Where every transgression will be laid bare,
Patiently awaiting our admission.

The darkness falls into my eyes like crushing
thunder and lightning, engulfing my soul
and leaving me in a state of despair.

It wraps its suffocating tendrils around my thoughts,
penetrating every inch of my being.
In the quiet of the night, when daylight fades,
depression takes hold, enveloping me in its relentless grip.

With each passing day, I find myself lost in a labyrinth of unanswered longing questions, each one a testament
to the depths of my internal struggle.

Yet, amidst the chaos, one question resounds
louder than the rest, resonating deep within me:
      when does it all end?

inkless
hopeless,
towing a straight line
in a numbness of not knowing what to write
inspiration—like chasing a dream
though it's reality is me resting on a Writer's block street

no peace
no peace
no peace!

on knowing days before
I could write with such ease

Sleep is an endless journey,
only the dead can complete
Time is the fortune you can never
afford to have enough of
Love is the tie dye of the different
worn out emotions, of the shirt you say
Faith is the picture frame of the
final art piece, you hope will be portrayed
And sin is the spilled ink on a paper;
the more you try to wipe off yourself, the more
stains you're still left to see.

We live for any few more seconds of sleep,
constantly on this life's limited time to do it all
Trying to have a consistent abstract pattern  of our love
always picturing what our faith can paint in the end
Yet we are all stained by our born sin,
                    -we are truly humans till the end.

Tell me the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more
Though an addiction to myself is really a lead into self pleasure, and an addiction to someone else is just lust
tell me what's the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more
I'd probably hate my right hand, cos my left hand tends to do me better, but is that the right to cut off who I hate more in the end, if it's attached to my being?
Same as loving you; I'm left with no right to claim that I own you; but aren't we attached by the hip if your hips had swayed me into being inside of you.
tell me what's the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more.
In the emptiness of my eyes, I see a fuller picture,
so picture me as someone you force yourself to like
What if I seemed like a nice guy in your eyes, and while they're shut, you pictured me as someone else, so vile
tell me what's the difference between loving yourself and loving my self.
The answer:
you could die for both of us,  but only one would truly be willing to do both.

Kissing lips; the best taste to have,
Next to chocolate and coffee,
Close few friends; for Saturday hangouts,
Binge watching series when I'm all alone,
Reading a good book, anxious for the next chapter,
A long awaited Friday to kick back from work,
Bonus points if we're knocking off early that day,
Instagram memes, and poetry related posts,
A few brave selfies to show off a fresh cut,
Avoiding "I like your cut g" reactions. Perfect.

The smell of brand new clothes with the tag on,
Socks and sandals in the comfort at home,
The sun coming out of a blanket of clouds. Shinning.

A good or ***** joke to have you ear from ear smiling,
Loud music in my ears with bass, and good lyrics
Picking through playlists to a sombre mood and worship,
Pretty flowers amongst the random walks to nowhere,
A brand new journal, and ballpoint pen to match,
Especially the ones with good grip, and black ink,
Holiday trips to new places, people, and food,
Afternoon naps, sleeping in days, and up late gaming,
Anime lovers sharing folders of content watched. Great.

Bible devotions leaving questions and encouragement,
Sunday meals, filling me up with good food,
Seeing cute kids; making you yearn to have your own,
Somebody complimenting or saying thank you for your effort,
And having poetry, stories, art and expression to channel every
emotion and thought out into physical. Creativity is beauty!

Twenty seven of my top reasons to appreciate being alive.

The solid dreams on a liquid mind,
My sober thoughts captive me into change
I'm no far better than my past self, and my current
self grows jealous of it's future self
Still,- I'd like the in between of my life,
To find the very peace of mind, to piece together
the achievements I hope for:

1. To build my life on a better foundation;
as found on the steps of what it takes to start afresh

2. To work at a better job, while I get to use
such that are my talents
Whether employed or self employed;
clearing all my deafening debts, and always the
dream of my poetry being published.

I'm ready to start self publishing my work.

3. I want to take better care of my parents,
and be able to get them on medical aid, and a
funeral policy and in a good old age home. For from
the life that they gave me, a fulfilling life for them is
what I will return.


4. I want to find my partner that will one day be my wife.
But I want to be the right person for the right person I need.
For we seek often many times something we do not have.
Still find that still unfound, and wait as it attracts
what you need.

The blessings of peace, are of course
written in these comforting words.
And to all, I speak a blessing of peace to you.

I like what I see, but if I approach you
please don't cause a scene,
I might not fair well if your glare is too mean,
so please be polite if you know what I mean

Let me start off by saying,
"I've got something in my pants to unlock
a bit of excitement, and drive you insane"
Just give me a second, because I'm a bit tipsy and I've
lost my car keys inside of my pockets, of these Levy jeans
And it's a bit taxing trying to be charming, and I can't
always afford that kind of levy,

My lungs at this point of time are quite heavy,
the brain, quite empty; so please excuse me if I think too ahead,
about me filling you up with your head instead
It took a lot of confidence for me to approach
you like this, and I skipped a couple of stairs
Your friends were giving me some intimidating stares,
and I'm just trying to be intimate with, and show you
some care, like nobody else cares

I hope you notice that I'm innovative, and trying
to be a love doctor, with my skills of patience
That line must make me sound so inventive,
and may cause your heart a bit of disorder, but I'm
good at making an intervention

I love how I'm speaking all of these bars
while we're chilling at the bar, but probably for you,
you're only hearing, "blah, blah, blah, blah and blah"

sweet dream melody,
i knew of a love sweet as an angel
but also a quiet mistress with a broken halo
all of the flashing red lights were singing xoxo,
but they should have been singing in my
eyes SOS.

the quiet ones are the lonely
the humble ones are usually the broken
the brightest smiles have the darkest shadows
the loudest laughs make the silence of their nights
as the ones you build up as having everything in order,
are the lives of people slowly falling apart.

I'd hate to shout to be listened to
hate to fight for my hurt to be felt
hate to steal to show how robbed of life I am
hate to start a war just to win an argument
hate to cry all through the night just to smile all day
hate to put on a face just to face another day
hate to thank God for one thing with so much to be thankful for
hate to get so much money if it meant I'd have to be famous
hate to tell a harsh truth if it meant I'd sound like a villain
hate to tip-toe around death and afraid to run to opportunities
  and hate to be hated by so many people, but I'll love them all,
                            as much as I'm in love with my every flaw.

Black nights; up the mountain's time of 36 hours,
to tell a princess, "I'm just passing by."
She's hidden away in her tower, at the highest
point for storms to feel like light showers. By the hour,
doing her hair, for a knight to love her of her bare.

Vulnerable to a kiss, she's never really had. Everything
is a first, until she's got the permission from her dad.
She's so sad, just watching the peasants below. Listening to the
only music of the wind that will blow. Fair and beauty, rare and
cruelty, usually of the one King's rule so unruly.

But truly;

can the simple love the complex? Trading commas, just for the
compliments. It's not love if it's meant to be trapped by the
love that made one so lovely. A heaven sent goddess, so godly
unlike those who don't believe in anybody. Oh what a story, of the song. These lyrics filled of trapped lover, in the set up of
everything going wrong.

The bravest of the bunch, was the boy who spent hours kissing her behind her house. A love in secret, a fatal attraction, to a
fatal accident, on Death's wish list. Two skins of different tones,
she might have all the money to own the world. But boy did
she make him feel like everything in it, she could tell him,
"it's all yours"

But way to many kissing dilutes the taste of arising troubles.
As he had way to many, that he took a chance to snuggle.

Bang, bang!

There's this palace's King banging on the door. Caught them both
without their clothes. Better get up quick to run, ahead of the
bullet of that upcoming gun. He went out of the window, forgetting the heights he once had to climb. Fell in love, just to
fall into breaking his spine.

36 hours, the story came to an end. 36 hours was all the time
she had before it went. 36 hours later, and her only knight
was dead.

36 hours was all they both had.

GOD; is it even for me to exercise my love
Cos I'm not fit to love, running out of chances,
running red as the blood running out my nose
the sense of smell is gone, I can never smell
any of those good intentions.

And as I cover my face at such an odd hour,
I feel uneven by how I must cover up pain with \
another smile on my face
Still you can see what drips out,
the stains are always present and on my shirt.

I need a tissue to wipe my ****** nose,
and another to wipe the tears from crying about love.

Our lives are made by the corner;
there's a few ballsy ones with ***** intentions
And I tell all of those kids to wipe the dust
off their nuts, and stop doing too much

Urgency, urgently
his lungs filled with surgery
Ashes of the past, dust till dawn
a cigarette of time burns memories on a tongue

Six pills on the bedside,
six day preparations to feel alive
—secretly wanting to die
He tied himself with his everyday necktie
that suffocating work tie; as he hates his life
he wants to die, but can only dye his hair
to decorate all his despair

The 645 alarm echoes the day's hardships
he's a mind full of everybody's problems
Always longing, and wondering if his
life became as a cult following;
Blowing consequences of a fan for insecurity
usually when you secure yourself in a tone of
crool; they'd love to give you cruelty

..I tell you,

this isn't a random man's story
it's of how life loves to bully me

Green eyes
looks of the envious
On the greener side, of tired
eyes—the young and the restless
To be labelled careless for caring
less of the attention we have for love
Sorry I wasn't taught enough about love
on how to love enough, I wasn't loved enough
                    but enough of the subject on love
                          my eyes are too envious upon
                                        seeing others in love

Loving you is like being kissed by the stars
A whole galaxy of experiences,
Caught in between that space,
—legs that are wrapped around a face
Our hair—a complete mess, and I must confess
that the taste of you is a taste of cosmic prowess
And I’m always stuck on loving you for hours

As is our nature, we who dwell on this earth
I’ve now learnt that your natural waterfall flows
After I’ve treated your wet flower source with a timely worth

A slow tease creeps up and down your skin
Your arched knees are a resting ground before another
journey of my tongue. As the sweetest taste is a taste of fun

By the skin of teeth, are the few bite marks
I’ve left here and there. Your digging fingers in my hair,
Is all the pain you and I have to share.

It all seems fair.
You’re lost for words, choked up by fiery passion;
my gentle hand around your throat
And this rule of thumb; is the one you love to bite on
An aggressive action, but never to be passive

It’s 945, and quarter close to ten
Usually the time we should be resting in bed
But instead, I’m resting my tongue in you

                         It tastes like a perfect end

When I say I’m in love;
it feels easy to say, but much harder to do, much harder to
prove—to keep it entertained, in maintaining my youth.
And to walk all over somebody’s heart; you fit the world’s shoes.
So forgive me to say;
it’s not always as easy for me to say that I love you.

These are quotes about love.

Love is a drug—I guess as the addicts who waste their funds.
Funny how the nose will run, chasing a cold love. To cuff your
heart in the glove of love. Sometimes we’re not left breathless after
making out—it’s in the terms of us breaking up.

These are quotes about love.

Love is dumb; as the phrase, “two fools in love”.
But what of those intellect—to invest time into their love.
Never mind, I won’t speak up. I don’t have the heart to speak up.
I’m really not in love.

These are quotes about love.

Love is lust; for words in factor of those who want love
after trying their luck. You look to a love of what’s to come—
the question of, “will their make me ***”.
To few of those who want to make love, but instead just want
to fake love.  Enjoying the moment of a rush.

These are quotes about love.

Love is sorrow; phrases of, “I’ll make it up to you by tomorrow”.
But does it follow. To swallow his pride—I doubt it takes like chowder. You fix your face with powder, but you address
the situation with a new dress. As if you being sweet could
turn a person’s sour.

These are quotes about love.

Love is King; as it rules your heart—knowing every King needs
a Queen. As every hand has a mouth to feed. So do you make
food for thought, or the sweet nothings of make believe?

These are quotes about love.

Love is gem; precious if true, if you don’t make it pretend.
You’d love one, but unfortunately would of kissed ten.
You could marry a friend, or a stranger instead. In the end,
do you keep your love, or quickly spend?

These are quotes about love.

Love is eye; we all see what we like.
Some value curves, others the shape of beauty inside.
Some fall for the heart, others are attracted by the mind.
A few in the sights of vile—as toxic relationships in denial.

These are quotes about love.

Love is wrath; the wrath of a heartbroken woman,
burning everything in her path. You had your chance.
As you’ve loved first, you will love last.

These are the nine quotes about love.

And as we live;
we've lived under the warmth of Sun.
Those at the bottom;
despite lowest moments, light stays above.

You only seem to focus on the top;
for it be where you long. (To belong)
Top of the morning,
midst on top of your sorrow
But the way to get there;
knowing bottoms and their light,
For the dark is but a moment;
compared to goodness of light in your life.

Placed on these waters
you look for change in life's quarters
Tell me what you find.

Unless of course you find yourself
but who are you really
Rather what have you come from
and what's the beauty in the voice of your song.

Surely the horizon ahead is misty at times
looking into the future isn't so easy to see
But like waters across the globe that dress the sea
You'll never meet an end cause for that very end is just a beginning.

Placed on these waters
you wrap yourself in a blanket of hope
Tell me if you've never felt so warm.

A placed bet on life
but has life dealt you a better hand.

Everything always feels like a risk
still from all the best endings of your misplaced fortunes you should be glad
The little of you is a better hand then a lot of problems
So hold dearly on all that you have closely to hand.

What you see at the end of a river
is only the start of a lake
And the end of that draws into a ocean
grander is we draw into greatest like waters drawing into a Great sea.

So see no end in your life
the end is just a new beginning
We could seek so many answers
but never get set on life's true meaning.

Still living a meaningful life has it's purpose
like change in the upcoming season
Change comes at it's own cost
before knowing the purchase.

So whatever you place on these waters
place on it your faith
Such draws into your heart drowning, your soul
washing away the despair on your mind
Misty waters is us looking to an uncertain future
certain it will all work out well
So you'd have your faith out on a stretch.

Above the misty waters,
is to be above the unclear the human eye
Seeing clearly through God's eyes.

Over the moon,
conquer the dreams of stars
Just like the sun,
we're all bright like these things above.

The missed chances,— you and I are the same,
still like misplaced socks, I haven't found
my match. Equal the amount of the days
I start to swallow novacane
I'll still pick up the roses that turn into diamonds,
demanding the worth of a beautiful love.
Betting on the odds with every card on the table,
my eyes feel ****** for loving you, while their
tears are blocked like the Kariba Dam.

There's no truth to recognise, with two lovers
completely blind
Landlocked, never to drown away enough in
our own emotions, with nothing much to sea.
Would you believe me or not,— depends on our
bad religions, putting faith in the words we hardly heard.
"I love you my son, I love you my daughter,
   I love you my sister  I love you my brother"

Every thought of love is televised, and we've been
ill-advised. Our daughters and sons shouldn't learn
from us,— from boys who write about *** and love
And girls who read into them, and give away the
innocence in between their thighs.

       The truth with ourselves is absolute...