How I wish that I could describe,
how I feel when that music strikes.
Tickling all my senses inside.
Passion warms me as it ignites.

Tunes by my side, clock strikes midnight.
Boosted through miles - I run, I ride.
Heartache, love and peace coincide.
Music narrates my opaque life.

I want to fly, I want to dive.
I want to live and feel alive.
For once I lack the wish to die.
My heart, my soul, my feelings revive.

I have never felt this way about anyone before now.
But I have also never felt depression until this hour.
You are a spot of peace, in a mind on
fire.
But what if you are not heaven, just a lesser hell which I desire?

Why do I harbour time? I wish it all be mine.
I don't like using it, rather freedom permit.
I try to keep it close, always away it goes.
Not naming where I know, subconsciously I chose.

You held my hand last night,
we fit like key and lock.
Only for eachother,
the fullness made me gawk.
The film was lost on me,
I did not hear the talk.
Friends asked if it was good,
I have a mental block.

Our fingers intertwined,
the feeling stole my mind.
Bodies and hearts aligned,
connection undefined.
Fingers and arms like vine,
effortlessly they bind.
Wherever did I find
such a boy to be mine?

For six months I've liked you,
wondering if it works.
It should not on paper,
and yet I felt such sparks.
I felt ever faker,
these feels I tried traverse.
There was no end in sight,
my blessing and my curse.

I lay on your shoulder,
my comfortable pillow.
Your arm filled both of mine,
ever mine to borrow.
Not having you near me,
already brings sorrow.
See you January,
my beautiful lover.

Goodnight Bubbles, sleep tight

Goodnight Buttercup
...

You haven't said "don't let the bedbugs bite"

Because I don't want to let you go

(internal squels)
I don't want to go

But I guess you have to

I guess I do

Today I fell out of like with you dear.
Although I still hate not having you near.
I'd rather nothing, than a version of you;
that's neither loving, nor coming through.

For I won't settle - for just attention.
I need unity, in shared direction.
You know I like you, yet you fail to give,
your time and presence - jealousy instead.

I cannot run.
I cannot talk.
I cannot breathe.
You hide from me.

'Perfect in countless ways' this shared thought lingers.
But they cannot create pretty, pleasant pictures.
For those 'perfect' puzzle pieces misalign - beware...
Knitting a painfully incompatible pair.

I fell in love with the feeling you give.
I confused it with the person you are.

My love, if it be true,
that the best thing about you,
is how you make 𝓶𝓮 feel...
Then I must make a change.
Then I need to get real.

Can I trust you to take me through the death of my mum and my dad?
Not 100%
Can I trust you to raise our kids alone?
Not 100%

I need 100% baby.

Oh to weave those thoughts into words;
how I yearn to learn your pattern.
I trip, I fall, I bruise, it hurts;
misunderstanding - a deadly casm.

Unspoken words to skin, it burns;
decipher the pain I cannot.  
While speech departs, action returns;
but without breath, our bond will rot.

Thus I reach out, unsteady, unsure;
hopeful to mend our silent rift.
Take my hand in yours I implore;
pull me closer, or grant our drift.

For the ground gives way bit by bit;
rough, festering seas lie beneath.
Water our seed, do not flood it;
rosebuds thrive on a renounced heath.

It is not goodbye.
it is just see you later...
that's much easier.

Constantly chasing the future,
while clutching the past in my hands.
The present slips through these fingers,
elusive as desert sands.

A butterfly flew,
rather fluttered and floated;
contagious smiles grew.

Give it to me please, oh sweet validation.
Relieve this bitter, dull life's frustration.
I dream in honeyed words - of affirmation.
Such an inventive imagination.

How I love that feeling when...
breathing is natural;
talking is effortless;
my balance I regain.
I sing along to happy songs -
living in sync again.

'Well sweat dreams' she said.
'I have sweet day dreams' he said.
She blushed forever.

Thank you easy fix,
you took all my pain.

But I do not know
of what you contain.
I know not what is
changing in my brain.
Perhaps I have
a new ball and chain.

Psychiatrist please,
tell me what I'm on.
Thirty minute chat
'Let's try this, try that'
No, just please tell me
now where I am at.

Give it to me please, oh sweet validation.
Relieve this bitter, dull life's frustration.
I dream honeyed words - of affirmation.
Such an inventive imagination.

Oh please, kind stranger... A like for a like?
Comment for comment? Follow for follow?
Repost my poems, stories, pictures, tweets;
tiktoks, videos, quotes and recipes?

NO.

My phone is exiled, across stormy sea.
Numbers don't mean a dicky bird to me.

Thank you kind stranger,
for reading my piece.
Sighting me create -
finally release.

Polished pedestal,
solid and steady.
Up you go, my dear;
get yourself ready.

I will gawk and stare;
kneel, praise and compare.

Until my knees bruise,
ego worse for wear,
eyes ache and vocal
chords all waste away.

So, tell me abou-
nevermind darling.
Your charcater is
near done constructing.

I cannot take it,
the trillion triggers.

The impatient 'di-dum'
of posey fingers.
The conceited 'snip-snap'
of makeup-mirrors.
The piercing 'peep-peep'
of jeering fellows.
The stuck-up 'click-clack'
of sour stilettos.

Can the world please stop?
Just for a moment?

Put ink to pen
and pen to paper,
the words and stories
will come later.

Never allowing
the water-flow out,
will end in damage,
destruction and drought.

His face holds no flaw, his smile stops time.
His words paint a future in this willing mind.
He must be an angel of the Lord's design.
Yet, religion divides - it bars me from him.
How, Lord, is it possible? That he is a sin?

A shiny forehead;
accelerating pulse.

I'm anxious to win;
yet thoughts escape me,
like smoke in the wind.

I lost hold of my-
self, clutching onto
this pen in my hand.

Always, I feel it
escalate - defeat:
my sinking sand.

So maybe he does hate music,
but he loves it when I sing.

Maybe people can't change people,
but maybe love can always win.

Every artist needs a muse.
For emotion
can neither be created nor destroyed.

It must be felt and expressed.
Each piece of art,
a replication
spurred by deep appreciation.

You my love,
could birth a city
of singers and musicians;
ballerinas and bakers;
painters, poets and pastry chefs.

Never at all  
did I understand love songs before.

To 'do anything' for a smile,
simply couldn't be true.
Until you grinned,
and I looked at you.

Never at all  
did I understand marriage before.

To give up oneself,
your ambitions and goals.
Do it all for your family
and unite your souls.

It perplexed me how
they knew it would work.
Until one look at you.
Then my love, I learnt.

You are a dork
my love.
An unfortunate diagnosis.

For now
I am in love.
That dorkiness, my prognosis.

It is both comforting and terrifying.
I've never felt anything like it at all.

I know not if it is love,
but now one thing is for sure;
I sure as hell have never
loved another boy before.

No human language can ever explain.
I can never judge any two lovers again.

I am not crazy.
Not to the naked eye.
On the inside however,
my humaness shines.

Yes I am crazy.
Revealing it only to you.
My love, we love to argue,
but I admit that you always knew...

The most sane thing I've done,
is be crazy about you.

Once upon a time,
open, my pages lay.
An array of pictures and colours;
beautifully typed and evenly spaced
words on display.

Regrettably,
as the years went on,
my pages yellowed.
My ink warped and smudged.

Wonderfully formulated stories
morphed into
demented scribbles of desperation.
Affluence became affliction.
Reminiscence, rumination.

Alas tears
disfigure these pages.
Dust collected
through the ages.
Dog ears are carelessly
recurrent.
Once loved haphazardly,
now in voluntary abondment.

The glue
that binds me is
flaking, fracturing, fragmenting.
My spine is
cracking, crumbling, collapsing.

Duly I reside,
on the tip-top shelf.
Buried by self-preservation,
lies myself.
I obscure it all from another;
shrouded by a glossy, polished cover.

It is suffocatingingly lonesome in here,
oxygen is dear.

But can anybody
make familiar this language?  
Will anyone
discern these dark inky contusions?  
Shall someone
navigate the contents of my confusions?  

These pages
tell a lifetime
of valuable lessons within.
But I give paper cuts
to precious, porcelain skin.

'Depression is like a blanket'
I heard a poor soul say.

At the time,
I could not sympathize.

Not until I felt that blanket...
And it smothered me slowly.
Ever tighter. Ever heavier.
It was painful. It was exhausting.

I did not know what it was.
I did not know for months.
Not until those little white pills,
extended to me by a nuturing hand.

The blanket lifted!
I breathed again.

But the air was like ice,
burning through my dusty lungs.

I could feel again.

But my thoughts became deafening,
echoing in my tidy mind.

For a moment, I yearned to go back.

Depression, is like a blanket.
Can I survive the cold?