Thou art Judas in but feminine form,
a rose with no petals, just prickly thorns.
You whisper and converse with the devils
wherein your shadows & silhouettes are born.
Veiled in a disguise considered truth and level,
yet for those seeking the reality,
they shall see upon your head
those hellish horns.
You are a succubus born and bred,
filled with hatred and scorn.
Preying on innocent people
by pretending to be a "friend"
when in reality,
you are the devil's first born.

I feel like I’m falling through a downwards spiral, this feeling has always been contagious and viral, now I’m infected. Stuck in a never ending cycle, continuously repeating, no hopes of a death and a revival. There’s no escape. There’s no exit.  Is this a mistake? Why does it feel like my silhouette has been reshaped? I’m losing my identity in this vortex, a never ending debate like the senate. It’s painful to my cerebral cortex, my brain cannot comprehend the portents. I see clouds drifting by, this dimension still as blue. Like paint across the skies, birds in twisting flights, my resisting eyes lifting lights as they shutter in sight. A powerful camera recording mesmeric views, this is a gift in life. But the monotony. The same routine is on top of me. I’m bored of being stuck without finding an anomaly, in this world, I seek no apology or rejuvenation for the economy. My ideals of wealth relate to modesty, and honestly in honesty I dislike materialism and novelties. I want for my progeny, the best life I can give them that rises from the atrocities. I dream the same dreams,
I’ve seen the same things, acted out the same scenes. Imagine falling asleep, waking to regret that there’s nothing left to see. Nothing left to be. Nothing left for me. Imagine a reality where dreams remain just dreams, an unreachable step from all you have achieved. All you have believed. A manifestation of your belief but reality deceived. We’ve been deceived. My heart is hopeful, my heart is also broken. Yet with the pieces left, I still lived in the moments still hoping that the dreams I’ve seen are inter-woven, into my soul that’s awoken, dreams as vast and open as the ocean. If I still have the strength to acknowledge this notion, should we not act on emotion and make a new reality from these words that were spoken?!

I still see your face,
somewhere in the clouds.
I still hear your name,
like thunder,
an echoing sound.
My heart is still in pain,
from when I had lost you
to never again be found.

Now you rest in the heavens,
amongst the other angels.
You travel through paradise
as another blessing
with my love that you cradle.

Are you looking down at me,
my love?
Cause I'm still looking for you
even though I'm here
and you're far above.

Clarity.
I’m looking at what my heart had to see.
Silhouettes of my past are passing me,
so passively.
I’ve got my shadows asking me,
what it is I wanted from my fantasies....

And it’s weird. I don’t have an answer.

Cause this life is going way too fast for me.
Not a moment I could say that I’ve lived happily,
caught up in all of this agony, always after me,
stirring up some kinda **** that affects me and my family.

It’s like I’m tryna write up a story
with a pen that has no ink,
like someone who’s lost their voice
and they’re out here tryna sing...
My heart hasn’t got it anymore,
it’***** it’s iceberg and is about to sink,
when once upon a time,
It used to be in sync.
And now, today, in this moment,
I no longer know why I’m even in this.

The poetry used to flow from my mind
like streams in dreams,
with ease and with peace, it would fill up pages with colourful scenes.
Drawing up pictures with words so creatively seemed,
it seems, I’ve lost that ability to perceive the perceived,
in the ways that I could see.
Write up what was seen.

I used to bring out the world I visualised in my head,
give it life with the words I composed in a spread,
across the lines of an a4 pad that was white and dead,
until I had fed, it with whatever was going on in my head.
So you could see it too.
The realities I’m seeing through.

They called me poet but
I just arranged my words differently.
Constructed my sentences with messages,
that spoke with decibels without decimals through a hundred crevices.
And yeah maybe,
sometimes it was instantly,
but the rhymes from my mind,
I would compose into every line.
They were of my very essences.