He created,
A mind that follows solutions,
An ego so fragile but insists on appearing stable.
A spirit that does not give up easily, and takes risks.
Hands, large, that easily blocks the sun.
Shoulders sculpted, and boldly defined.
Muscles protruding, trying to escape from the skin.
Edges sharp, from the ridges of the brow to the jaws.
And a smile that ignites festival fireworks in a girl's belly.


Everything screaming, "I HAVE TO BE STRONG!"

Greetings,
Excuse me miss ,
I was wondering perhaps if you may help me,
See im a wanderer , wandering around beseeking
I have been missing her, so she is assumed missing
Hence the besearch from the depths of my heart try to find her,
To no avail,
Well let me avail to you her description , so as to search your thoughts to your memories as to her whereabouts,

She is a meleninated Asian,
Black like a blackcat and looks Asian ,
Very beautiful its amazing
Smile like a Silverline in the clouds
Humbling like the ninth cloud
Loud and quiet at the sametime
She so intelligent she is wise
The humour is dry though,
Not that she cant make people laugh and has a breathtaking laughter herself
Basketball tall
Hair like Versace medusa

Whether you are under your blankets
Or in the arms of another.

I hope you are warm wherever you are.

I'm scared to commit...

I feel like I'm with holding parts that have been hurt by others.

Those butterflies I felt,
that fluttered to the zenith of  dangerous firmaments,

they too die.

When my thoughts drift towards a certain young man.
I begin to admire his solid structure.
Tracing over every edge, stamping his image on the back of my eye lids.

Dreaming, dreaming of a soft, tender embrace.
Feeling, feeling like that will never take place.
For this young man has found solace in solitude.

As I visit him, filled with history that cannot be thrown away.
In his museum, he is there, at the centre, a piece of art.
But still only a statue...refusing to move.
Refusing to yield a warm touch.

Who is truly foolish?

...I can only expect so much from a statue.

As I visit him, filled with history that cannot be thrown away.
In his museum, he is there, at the centre, a piece of art.
But still only a statue...refusing to move.
Refusing to yield a warm touch.


But who is truly foolish?

I have figured it out.

Somehow, you are able to encapsulate love into a tangible gift that you give to me endlessly.

Seemingly I cannot not like you.
But you smell like a night filled with debauchery.
The type of smell that I loathe.
You smell like my father.

And I know what's going to happen,
I'm going to love you.
And you too will leave me, right?