Crescent orb radiates its crystalline sight,
languid lips coalesce like a tessellation,
the vexing vines wilder the incandescent-
glimmer but the burning impression remains.
Celestial bodies affixes a soliloquy amongst-
a halcyon tongue that revelate a rhapsodic-
episode.

Quiescent ambience rings a plethora of-
sentiments stinging on the mellifluous
lullaby. The lithe wildflower murmurs-
the euphonious recital of a sonnet that-
is unacquainted to the mind.
Luminous assemblies of fireflies retire-
behind the myriad of evergreen forest
as the insouciance wildflower approach.

Precocious primrose locked from the
scorching sensation of a wildflower
exhibited a lassitude facade like a -
waning lantern fiery on its final residues.
In the distant a wildflower and in
the presence, an idyllic primrose:
so scarce and so strange.

When I was a kid I used to play hide and seek a lot,
take it from me, the biggest tree isn't the best hiding spot.
When I was a kid I also used to smile and cry a lot,
I guess it was part of my game, disappear behind a tree,
avoid anyone who was seeking and let my brown eyes run
like the sun casting its lights over the cliff of a waterfall.

I remember the first time I had met and talked to Sarah,
she caught me playing hide and seek as I usually did.
I remember thinking it wasn't fair that she had found me
because there wasn't supposed to be anyone seeking.
She had asked me what I was doing behind the tree
before I could answer she told me to count to thirty,
so I counted. Being a kid; counting to thirty was difficult,
it was intricate enough to count to ten or even twenty
but thirty felt like an eternity to a six year old.
I told her I wasn't going to count because I couldn't
and I wouldn't satisfy the request of a complete stranger.

This was way before the stranger is danger days
where you could play in a park  with a forty-five
year old man and no one would bother wondering why
a forty-five year old man is sitting at a park.
These were the days where the dark sky doesn't signify
a time to come back inside the house but a time to explore,
explore the vast stars that sat above our heads, explore-
explore the core of the earth with a plastic sand shovel.

Sarah explained to me that I was wasting time behind the tree
that she could see in the future and that I will be happy.
I didn't believe her, I asked her how she could have known
and she told me that you reap what you have sown
and to a kid that was in itself a mystery, mainly because
I didn't know the words reap or the word sown.
Sarah was about eleven when I first met her
I've seen her a few more times since then but then
became moments gone and breezes of wind blown away.

I remember Sarah playing hide and seek with me
she said I shouldn't hide behind a tree because it's too easy-
it's too easy to find a kid hiding behind a tree,
it's too easy to see that the kid will pick a tree.
I asked her how can I do things differently,
how could I ever get my chance to win at hide and seek,
I remember the weeks followed; perfecting a strategy
of running and dodging the seeker in between trees,
interestingly enough the fact remained that I still lost.
I glossed over my different plans, wondering if I can
find a different way to win this game.
I asked her how come she could find me every time
and she'd remind me of her age, but to say that-
a tortoise is wiser than a human because of its old age
is to say that a page written a decade before
could tell of how people are feeling today.
It just wasn't the truth that remained in my brain.
I told her she was lying and that she was just trying
to hide the fact that she was cheating by not counting.

When I was a kid I used to play hide and seek a lot,
take it from me, the biggest tree isn't the best hiding spot.
When I was a kid, I would always used to cry a lot,
but as I grew up that was something I tried to stop,
and I succeeded in most instances.

I do not love you as to hold you in my palms every second,
not as the blessing of wishful thinking, not as sunny days,
I love you as to let you float freely to your will, I love you in rainy nights,
I love you as overtly and covertly as possible. I do not love you as rubies and emeralds but as heartbeats and stolen kisses. I love you as a fleeting moment I may come to regret. I love you with or without cupid's arrow.
I love you.

There has been rain clouds
these past few days,
I've been allowed
to love for a long time,
Maybe i should drown
the problems alone,
maybe it's enough,
I have loved enough.
You clouded my trust
And now I know
that I have loved enough.

I hope you find all that you're looking for.

I am a moth chasing a flame,
you're burning me every second-
but there's no second guessing
that I am drawn to you.
I am a moth chasing a flame,
I might crumble to ash and dust,
to nothing but charred remains,
yet I still won't ever change.
I am a moth chasing a flame,
like a desert chasing the rain,
like a cloud chasing a plane,
like a needle chasing a vein.

I am a moth chasing a flame.

Fields and farms of roses, each destined to be plucked or cut from its stem.
A rainbow under the covers of incandescence, a myriad of colours to suit a holiday.
Happy Valentines doesn't mean I love you  in the same way it used to, decades ago.
Flowers become a facade of emotions that don't seem to prosper from wandering minds.
I planted some rose seeds in a broken ***, a decrepit chrysalis that houses a blossom and bloom. The roses grew to an enchanting sight and I am disillusioned by the fact that the only options left are to pluck it or cut it. So I choose neither and I leave the roses to wilt in a decrepit cacophonous cemetery.

I want to:
die in a breath,
live in a heartbeat,
chase a sunrise
like the wind
under a butterfly's wing,
smile like the fishes
aren't watching,
hear the cricket croak,
soak in vivid poems,
become lost in the stars,
chase the cars
that I can't afford,
raise the hairs on my neck
from the affection of a kiss,
teach a kid that
heartache is natural,
witness a meteor shower
and its ashes,
hear a pigeon
give a soliloquy
and watch a rose
frozen in mid July.
I want to touch dreams
and dance in nightmares

I felt the arrow pluck my heart
I don't know how to help myself
I'm slowly but surely falling apart
and I'm dying for your help.

I watch the sun rise from your eyes
then the clouds swept the shine away
I'm trying so hard to get to sleep at night
but I feel like I'm slowly wasting away.

I felt the familiar beat of your heart
I guess I must have remembered wrong
because it was the heels as you depart
and my thought is a jumbled song.

I wish you would just turn back time
back to when you felt in love with me,
to when we fought the world and felt fine
but I guess the one to blame is me.

I look around and I don't know what to feel
my mind has become a muddled mess
I hope that over time I will learn to heal
but there's this tightening in my chest...

and I just feel like I can't breathe.

In my mind your fingers were in the gaps of my fingers
we were holding onto timbered dreams of romance
then the floorboards disappeared from underneath
and I am in this weathered storm left thinking-
that somehow someway I wish you could...
I wish you could find a way to love me as I have you...
but the only words that come out speak silence-
'you are beautiful' because that's all I wanted to let you hear.
Theres an ember lighting a pile of papers
that seems to turn rustic a foundation of solid ground
and right now- I'm wondering if love is real,
because if it's real, why does it hurt so much?
Maybe I just wanted the soft illusion to stick a little longer,
maybe I'm not great, maybe I'm not good,
maybe I wasn't trying hard enough,
or maybe I just wasn't enough-
but I do know that ...
I miss you...
not in the way we built our relationship-
I don't miss you in the way that you went to work,
or I went to school...
I miss you in the way that I won't get another chance to miss you,
so I miss you-
but the sun shines on my face,
and I wish I could say its familiar shape stings my eyes,
but right now - I wish I was blind,
I wish I was blind, deaf, and could not talk.
Just so I can say - this is close to death- and I like it.

You remind me what it is like to smile again,
to pick up a pen that sends a positive message,
you salvage the wreckage that is my life
my light seems to flicker on and off
but I scoff at those who say I'm living in darkness.
I fall apart often trying not to get lost in
the crosshairs of two shooters crossing pistols,
I fall apart often believing in false prophets
that gives me warning and false cautions.
But I have you to pick me up every time
every line I write is a appreciation of you
of how you made the blue in my life vanish
and banished the negative emotions
that drizzles into an ocean drowning everything.
You are the sun when there is darkness,
you are the mountains and the harness
that keeps me safe and happy.
You are everything beautiful in my life
remind me one more time that tonight-
you still love me.

My heart beats for you, the familiar door knock
it's not chained up or locked so enter at your will,
come live inside my heart for free, it is always open
for a golden sunshine like you.

This is a place I don't dare to visit
the room is enclosed by four walls,
there are misshaped windows
with metal bars that laced the brick
as stained as a lifetime smoker's teeth.
The grey wall bleed a terrible stench
that brings back memories of pig farms
in the morning after a dampened night,
the walls are coated with red sludge
that is enough to reduce a grown man
to his knees with pleas of destroying
the savage assault on his senses.
In the middle of the room sits a chair
that is positioned right under a bulb
of light that spreads a dimmed vision
to the entirety of the room, the chair
is locked inside a cage as large a space
as the cabinet of a common kitchen.
The bulb swings from its loose wires
that seems to exist as a tangled mess
with the red intersecting the yellow
and in various points the wire
seems to have been stripped of its
dignity with copper exposed in points
that have rusted against the times.
It seems that the swinging light
may never be fixed to a single space
in the vast expanse of the ceiling,
so it throws shadows against the walls
where the chair is mere distortions
between light and dark.
The chair is trapped in a cage
with a lock that seems impossible
to ever penetrate and the break
in the metal bars that has rusted away
is too small for any hand to fit through.
The mildew grows in the corners
where the ground meets the wall
and against one of the four the green
grimy mildew meets the red sludge
enough to give of a yellow colour.
I recognise something against one
of the four walls, it calls for my eyes
and screams for my ears. It reiterates
this is the inside of my mind and
so far I'm making colours of everything
I could ever find.
I've been running my whole life
and in every single light, I am
another shadow casted against walls-
forever imprisoned.

Follow like the mist of the morning
I'm yawning but my eyes are wide,
the dew on the leaves seem boring,
I cried but not from a place of sorrow
I follow the luminous orb to a place:
a place so far away from grace.

The cliffs are divided by gravel
I'll travel the rest of the ways tomorrow,
for the light prods a horse with a saddle
I watched the birds fly over my way.
I hear the chirps barricaded by trees
I'll see to it that I'll sail the seas.

The song echoes, I hear nothing but breathing,
the colours taste bland and there I was reaching-
for one glorious moment where it all made sense.
I commend those who travelled these cliffs
that were eclipsed by the deadliest woods.

I smell something sinister yet reminds me of me,
I smell something like the smell of flesh on water,
I smell nothing. I fear, I smell nothing.

I see one last projection of the illuminating orb,
as it transforms into a night sky of stars,
I'm afar from them, but I can feel them touch me.
The warmth I reminisce on, reappears,
I fear I can taste colours and smell roses,
I fear I can hear the birds beyond the trees,
I hear them just fine, and I hear more than that;
I hear my heartbeats, I've beaten the cliffs
eclipsed by dangerous woods.

The light inside is broken but I'm still working
the moments of hurting seems to come and go
like a tide built from an undertow of anguish.
I let anger be my language and the bandage
only manages to grow in size.
In retrospect I should have expected less
I'm blessed that I found this sort of emotion
in an ocean of human sensation, I've taken
enough of what is to be learned.
Bearing another day felt almost impossible
as colossal losses shall feel and in tragedy
happening I found something else I want
a haunted thought that maybe I'm okay,
maybe just the slight; I am okay.
I would have been more okay in your arms,
but I am convincing myself that I am okay,
and like a torrent of despair, you shared
heartache into my soul.

The heart inside is broken, but I'm still working;
I remind myself it doesn't worsen
but in moments, I'm fervently certain I'm wrong.

I'll wait for tomorrow, and the day after;
til laugh seeps my soul, for then I will know
that the glowing light I've been expecting;
will be switched back on.

I will wait till I can learn to love again,
next time it won't be in the arms of pretence.
I will love her as I love wielding a pen
and fighting my inner turmoils.
I will love her as though she is my world
a world unknown to me before.
I will love her like a crimson moon
overlooking the riverside.
I will love her as I have loved you
but only more.
I will love her with complete radiance,
and build on my patience, for her.
I will love her like the complex things in life,
meant to be understood and studied.
I will love her as if we shall perish in waters;
and with a breath, I will lift her life like a balloon,
and shall that be the last kiss we ever share;
I will bear the pain of letting her know-
I have only ever held her in my heart.

I will love her as I will adore roses, not to wilt
but to instil the most of joy as I could.
I would love her as if she was a gem in my life,
unknown to opened eyes that she is sparkling.
I know I will love her,
and that is a promise of honest care
that shares paths with the joyous moments.
I know I will love her, because I know
she will love me too.

It all just started with a walk in the woods,
A talk on the woods blossomed like fire,
And they shalt not tire of their speeches,
Because leeches like those will never alone.

The words tasted the moisture on lips
a hidden kiss behind tall fern trees
And the bees will buzz as they ought to do
because the overdue sting is awaiting.

They sit on a log as the stream flows by,
A deer looks up, pauses, then flies away on a blanket of leaves

I wandered here myself and shalt I perish
I'd cherish the time my deer has given to me,
For to house a sea of hearts in a foliage of leaves
means less to thee and more to me.

I lay down my sword and pick up my pen,
I put down the chains and lift up my spirit,
I dance while the whole world crumbles,
As it crumbles around me.

I tumble on along the currents of wind-
passing me, a moment in an eternity,
I still turn to me for advice through the looking glass,
and passing me is a moment in an eternity.

There is a moment where I stop, the world slowly spins as I fall to the floor,
I see a flower blooming in the garden,
The woods that opened my eyes to the world beyond,
Getting smaller
Smaller

I was a 4 year old kid who visited his father in hospital every day for months. The worst part about that was prentending everything will be normal. That me telling my dad "it'll be ok" will make it come true.But it doesn't.People would walk around and tell me that ok is relative. Some are just more ok than others but in that moment I felt anything but okay. Because to this day, I still say "no kid should watch his father strapped up to machines trying to breathe the words that say don't worry too much". Between each broken breath I can remember him asking about whether I'd behave at home, like a few bruises and cuts on my face would change how anything was going to play out. Some days I wish I could reverse death. Some days I wish I could reverse time. This is one of those days. Because 17 years ago I lost a man who was supposed to show me what it was like to be a man. How to stand like a man. How to walk like a man. How to talk like a man. So you know what really keeps me going? Being childish. It's easier. Easier to pretend. Easier to believe in imaginary things like an imaginary dad giving me advices. Most kids grew up with an imaginary friend or a unicorn, I grew up with an imaginary dad.

Twisted times we live in, it is sad really;
people aspire to be just alike models
some get to live the dream and others
fall in gravestones of eating disorders.
New health crazes don't burn the hunger,
they set alight igniting the soul till nothing left
but broken bones, ashes scattered
across seas as pink as blood.
I watch the passerbys sip on poisons
contained in a bottle with promises
that this will bring in the gold,
bring in the women, bring in the fame,
but never discerning the devil
is on his stride, taking his jog just as
passerbys do. It is sad really,
to watch bones and dressed up animate
corpses walk across a stage filled with
estranged eyes. It is sad really,
so I try to spread my happiness as ashes in the wind and tell them they look good.
I don't know if I'm feeding their death
or savouring on their happiness, but
they grin back with gratitude and I
feel none the less grateful. Have I become their poison? I watch with careful eyes, and tell another;
you don't have to change the way you look,
but my words fall on deaf ears as they say, it's my choice.
Do I give them a path to walk,
or do I choose their path?
Who am I to dictate what they should do?
So I sit idle by in a little corner,
drinking my coffee, reading my book and
watching people exsanguinate themselves.
I sip on coffee and pass out happiness
where I can, and where I may not,
I sit idle by drinking coffee, reading books and watching people die.

Am I allowed to see
you smile one last time,
the ghost of you is still
so pretty in my mind.
Do you mind if I say it,
your love was war,
but it was my favourite
so I keep the bloodied bandages.
The care package changed hands
I am a letter in a book of pages
I now fight a different war
but much doesn't really change.
The rainbow behind your eyes faded
I remember every one of your eye colours
and how they persistently persuaded
me to hold live ammunition to my chest.
The artillery remnants
scattered across the soils
I stand in line at remembrance
holding sepia stained photographs.

**I am fighting a different war,
one that is worth fighting for.

Tonight my heart writes a sad song.

I will write for example ' My heartbeats sings the blues
And the night sky is shaking in silence'.

The stars dimming with every fresh breath of air.

Tonight I can write a heartbreaking song.
I gave my heart to her and she left the next day.

Through nights like these, I sat under the stars
Watching her smile lit like fireflies in the night.

She loved me once, and I loved her too.
Who wouldn't find love within her smile?

This night, I write the saddest song.
To think I held her in my arms before I held empty air.

To hear the sour surrender of silence
I used to hear her laughs, now my musical tunes tired.

What does it matter where she is.
For I know ingrained in my whole, she is not here.

Tonight I will write of emptiness like a sky
That is staring down the Earth without a light.

My eyes gazed upon the faint stars, praying it was her
My heart has found her, missing from my eyes.

The night sky casing us all, changes when morning arrives
And so like us, we too change when time comes.

I no longer hold her that's true, but with a million hearts I loved her.
My songs from my heartbeat, I hoped reached her ears.

Somewhere else, she will be somewhere else,
Showing her shine of a smile to other beings.

I love her no more, just the disdain that kept me going.
Maybe I do love her for my heart faults without her.

Though I held her in my embrace, empty nights like these,
I wished on a falling star to hold her.

Although I had not been blessed by a thousand stars to get to love her,
I let my heart write a sad song in hopes she can hear their beats.

You were once just a child as well, with eyes bright blue,
who knew nothing of right or wrong, the starlight's song-
comforted you from the wrong your father committed,
the childhood hurt grew every minute and the pictures
you've taken shows a father and child but not a father figure,
the flicker of a flash could show a mother or a father,
some in the name of scripture and some in the name of tradition.
but canes and whips in the name of discipline
did not transform kids to men; only bruises to hatred.
It is a generational hatred,
and it is time to stop tradition,
it is time to stop physical abuse against children,
because once upon a time- you were once just a child as well.

*Hatred breeds more hatred.

What did I do wrong to deserve this?
Why do you hate me so much as to hurt me?
Why does this keep happening?
What have I ever done to you for you to hate me?
Am I a tragedy magnet, awaiting the next storm to wipe me out?
Why couldn't I find a love that was built on genuine care?
Why did I have to find you?
Out of everyone in this world, why was it you who hurt me?
Why couldn't you have just told me the truth, left in a happy bliss?
Why couldn't you remember that at any time I have tried all I could?
Why ...just why do you hate me?

You used to say I didn't make you feel safe, and you hated that about me.
I used to silently say, you made me feel like I never mattered, and I hated that about me.

I'm still silently saying, buried under a thousand unanswered questions;
why do you hate me so much as to set out to hurt me?
Why can't I seem to do the same, why can't I just hate you even a little bit?
Why am I so stupid to still feel like I could think of you and associate the word love?
Why am I so stupid?

I guess sometimes this world is just like that; we live in our own minds for a little too long, longer than a breath and it drives us insane. One breath at a time.

I don't know if I'd make it breathing, this breathing thing is getting a little too hard for me.

Why do you hate me? When all I've ever done was tried my best to love you?

Why can't I breathe?

Why can't I just have everything go well for once? Just once?

Why did you have to turn out like the rest of them?

What happened to the caring soul I remember who came to my defence when I was called a nerd? What happened to the person who made sure I was safe in a car crash? I guess I've been led to believe so many things could happen, I guess I spent too much time in my mind.

Out of so many billions of people, why am I so unlucky?

Goodbye forever G.L.K.

The crowd stares at me in disbelief, they're trying to tell me how to dress,
like the left wing says my jeans are too short, it's unaccustomed to them,
the solution is to loosen my comfort and enjoy the prospects
of being taken hostage by a system that assists in my demolition,
I'm not perfect, I'm not beautiful. They preach it through musicals,
that acoustical tune that says the world is watching every step,
so every breath is not my own to control, I'm holding a cane
that doesn't make me stand taller, doesn't make me stand bolder,
that says the older I get, the more of these I will have to buy.
So I look up to the sky wondering how in the world I got here
a beard, some faded jeans telling me what it means to be amazing,
amazing as defined by pop star icons is found in the way you dressed
not in the depth of your soul, not in the acceptance as a whole
but in the pressed on nails and roaming around with flesh on sale.

I do not live by the words of the left wing nor the right wing
I live within my own world where the words soothes my soul,
there's a hole in my chest but it isn't being filled with clothing
because closing a hole with materials is not as filling as it is.
I do not care how I dress, as long as my purpose is intact
I will not be trapped inside a system that assists in my demolition.

The people in the crowd looks to me, says your purpose-
is to sling curses at an old lady with a veteran husband
that the nation trusted, sling curses at an old lady
who lately struggles to sleep as she seeps into the bottle.
The people in the crowd looks to me, says your purpose
is to worsen the lives of those around me, that old lady
who as of lately suffers from arthritis, with shaking hands
tell her you plan to disrespect her because she is a wreckage
unworthy of salvaging so you're doing a hefty good deed.
The people in the crowd says it is all in the name of being cool,
shattering lives, taking knives from drawers
and drawing in people who self harm to help calm their bloods
with a slice of a blade, this mistake after the next,
a blade forgets the wrist but the people don't shut up.
They look at us, like we are their chopping boards
playing tic-tac-toe with an ink they can afford,
each hateful name is a checkered stain across a wrist
that has been kissed by mothers and stitched by doctors.

The people in the crowd says to me, how do you expect-
any respect dressed as a draped over curtain, for certain-
you are earthen for a purpose and that purpose is to show yourself;
dress like hell is awaiting and the heaven is sacred,
dress like a patriot but swear foul things towards your country,
do it for the money or don't do it at all.
The people in the crowd looks at me, up and down,
their face forms a frown like a rainbow made from hate,
a greyish drab sweeps over their face and they know
that I'm gone.

I taught hate towards myself where a pill in a bottle won't feed it
I've beaten myself to blue and pink where my instincts to be insync
with hatred is but a tempo in a song. I look to the crowd
and question are you proud? I've been alive, trying to minimise
the time I have left before I expire and in this light
I might just give fight to the wrong cause
because I'm lost. A pill in a bottle won't fix what's broken
I've soaked in the word of the crowd for so long
that I'm long gone.

I hope that I can stand tall, stand bolder,
grow older, grow wiser to love myself
and not need help on learning to love.

Write every word as if they will never cease to exist
diminish every demon within each single letter;
bring together the jovial gestures and utter anguish
captured in comforting language that manages to strike at hearts-
by breaking apart the tantalising daggers in souls and spirits.
Poetry is meant to be fierce, every piece of writing
is meant to encapsulate a lightning's roar:the thunder
and sunder the bits of the world that chooses not to fight.
Each write teases at breezes that aren't blizzards
and visits on topical interests that puts the world on its head.
Each write bled the soul of the poet and artist behind it
to bring sight to blinded eyes and give fantasies to reality.
The brutality of brandishing a knife is like a simile:
meant to cut simply at the way the world functions
and cross the junctions of where two things are alike but unseen.
Poetry is the trickling of sands in a world without deserts;
it confesses the soul of the one who holds the pen,
always meant to defend the views possessed by the poet,
holding closest every word as if it was still tied to the heart
and tear apart the fabric of a world too darkened by shadows.
Poetry is an arrow that isn't meant to stop the heart, but stop the hate.

I will not be the vindictive serpent's next victim
laying stitches into the brick and concrete of society.
I will not quietly be brought to my knees
sought to please those who make it my choice to do so.
I will be bold against the ridicule like a person
with a burden on his shoulders the size of boulders.
I will grow bolder if I must, to overcome the suspicious
tradition of holding people down and building ladders
out of the souls of cadavers just to allow people to climb
above another.
I will not crush another person's self esteem
to succeed and I will not watch another person bleed
like a machine leaking oil and pretend that its nothing.
It is not nothing.
People get hurt, words are a cursed knife covered in rust
to those unlucky enough to be cut by such a blade.

I will not climb on the backs of others
to cover my mistakes and I will not scale mountains
on the fountain of someones emotion.
Humans aren't meant to be used. We live in a new world
where the humans are used like a ***** and a nail,
we've all witnessed betrayal and deceit.
We live in a new world where the hurting is conscious
we've all tried to be a little more greedy than honest
and the anaesthetic feeding into the blood is rotten.

The illusion that we see on television is that:
we almost always live in an almost oasislike life
where kites soar over the cliffs and heaven exists.
Where kids are kissed before bedtime and the night
is meant for dreamers to gaze at stars
and not to be spent afar from family in a coal mine.

I will not be the vindictive serpent's next victim
I am on a mission to redefine the word beauty;
oxford finds that the word beauty means
aesthetically pleasing, so the creases in a paper
does not speak of experience but its anti-beauty.
Some make it their duty to be anti-beauty antibodies
who seem like copies directly made from a printer
and the thinner the paper, the better.

My definition differs to those already defined words;
beauty is abstract; beauty is like a race track,
it may have marks, may occasionally fall apart,
may contain broken gravel, cement, concrete,
may not even be complete, but there is something about it
that makes me want to keep visiting it.
The olden saying of beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,
the further we move towards what society wants;
the colder we become to realising that beauty surrounds us,
it is in the love of a brother, love of a mother,
it is in you;
you are beautiful.
Definiton of Beauty: You.

World's apart,
the gates closed,
boarding rooms packed;
stranger faces than truth,
she waits for me on the other side,
so familiar yet so distant,
two hearts connected,
she loves me
and I love her,
but world's apart
and don't think this space will close,
not any time soon.
I'm staring at framed photos,
edited to mesh like wires-
red with red and blue with blue.

—
Every girl I’ve ever pursued,
I would be lying if I never gave you my truth,
the truth is I am scared of myself.
They say time helps but over the years
my fears seem only to grow larger
and each day gets harder to go pass.
Now I can tell a joke, make a few smiles
but each mile I walk in my shoes,
the harder it is to stand still.
So I watch the world descend on me
like a rain pouring over a little field,
and dream of a shield to cover myself.
Just...there’s just no umbrella big enough.
So if I’ve ever pursue you,
don’t take the ruse of a happy smile
or the ruse of a joke like manner,
I am rarely ever happy,
but there is a little bit of happiness
in making you happy.
So I would be boldly lying if I didn’t tell you,
that I’m a sad and broken man.
I am not confident, and I don’t know how to pick you up,
but I do know one thing,
I’m happy that you’re smiling.
So I am being honest in saying
your smile is the deposit into my bank of happy memories.
I am not confident and chances are you’ll look through me
but if you could catch a glimpse of me,
remember- I never intended to lie to you.
Remember- I just wanted you to smile.

Fatigue does to me what feels like a goodnight kiss
I miss the way she'd remind me to sugar coat my dreams
like the cream on top of a hot beverage on a winters day.
I face myself every day hoping that she'd find her way back
I lack the courage to ask for her to return into my life
I know the night is long and the days without her feels longer.
I hear her voice echo in my heart mimicking my heartbeat
the discrete sound of what feels like a million shattered pieces
each part increases in size hoping that they'd fill back up.
I love her and I had hoped she had found herself to love me too
but confused to what love really means, I know she did not love me.

Fatigue does to me what feels like a goodnight kiss;
I miss being able to sleep at night without tiring myself out.
I doubt I'll sleep tonight but I do hope she haves sweet dreams
like the sweet tea in the morning just the way she likes.

Do you ever wonder if stars are lovers wishes,
the thousands and millions of wishes to be together forever,
and a city without stars is a city of lovers that have never seen a day apart.
What if stars are a painting of the different pathways,
two lovers could take?

What if the late night thinking and the dazzling stars,
are telling me that you and I are a mistake?
But what if they're telling me that you were made for me,
the same way stars are made for each other to form constellations?

I like how happy you have been,
I like how it isn't with me and that you
weren't as blue as the sky anymore.
I like the four by four prism you drew
in the morning dew that sits on the car.
I like that about you, the fact that you smile,
and each agile part of your lips only made you more,
and with less time passes the more you become,
so if I could sum you up; you are more than you
have ever been.

And that's a good thing,
because you have more life in your feet now
than you ever did in your own house.

I like how happy you have been
and I know how it had nothing to do with me,
but I'm happy for you regardless.

I like how happy you have been
and scene after scene, I wish I could watch a movie
of you smiling. Panoramic angles of nothing...
but you.

Your words wage war; they've torn down the confidence I've spent a lifetime building.
The feeling of shattered self esteem is incomparable to any other pain known.
I've grown to learn to fend for myself,
to help myself, but I know all too well what it is like to hurt.

Your words are an artillery of hurt
each engraved with the letters that form the words
       D     E     S      T      R     U    C     T       I        O     N,

and
           H        A       T        E.

As she has before
So she will after.
As he has before
but he hurts after.
As she has tried
so she will try again.
As he has tried
he has given up.
As she has met fate
she shall greet with love.
As he has met fate
shall he learn to let go.

As she has found love before
So she will find love after.

*As he has found love before
he finds it no more

If half of the world understood me
       I would be half as mad,
       but twice as sad.
So I prefer being a cosmic unknown,
       because I wouldn't expect-
       anyone to care-
       and that might be the best-
       way to be driven mad.

There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
no broken parts need to be held together by it
the silent sound of blood trickling down my arm
the harm I've done to myself led to no result,
like a knife in a cult I am covered in blood
and the blood I bled barely seemed to move you.
This was usual because the barbed wire ribcage
has kept your heart safe but has also kept it safe.

There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
and I promise I wil let the wires break
but never mistake it for your heart.

There's a barbed wire encasing your heart
not meant to keep things in but to keep things out,
to keep doubt on the realities of love,
to feed enough companionship in loneliness.

She rides in with the moonlight,
the hollow echoes of her footsteps,
silent as her smile glows in night,
as those sparkling eyes match.

I wore pride like a badge across me,
at shoulder height, slung right across,
the fact that she’s mine, forever to be;
silent as my smile glows in night.

The cusp of the air grows beyond stars,
cherished breath; we matured forward,
redundantly relaxing beyond the yard,
as we stood in the tenacity of the dark.

There is not one thing left in the world,
just two souls stuck silently smiling.

Don't don't don't
look at me for kindness
I I I am not a kind man.
Though you can carry on
this path is hard for me,
I won't won't won't
cherish all these thoughts.
So run run run
along I'm going my own way,
I won't won't won't
let you stop me.
I won't won't won't
let the ghost of you
ruin this for me.
Though my heart may carry on
this won't be cherished thoughts
and say what you may but
I won't won't won't
lose another breath for you.

I don't know how much things I haven't apologised for yet
I don't know how much time I have left to say all these things.
I sometimes stay up at night and think of the wasted apologies
and the lack of acknowledgement for people I take for granted.
I remember waking up with pins and needles in my feet,
wondering if I walked will the pins learn to make me bleed.
I don't know how much my family knows I love them,
how often I think about them in times of troubles
or even if the rubbles of the foundations that hold me up
is enough to leave a footstep trail to where I will lie.
I wonder how many missed opportunities for apologies I have lost to time.
I wonder how many missed chances for I love yous
which would change the blue coating my soul.
I wonder if I'll ever know what it was like to not think back.
Before the thoughts fade to black, I'm accustomed to this.