Confide all you want
But listening ears bleed too
If only you’d see

I’ve been told many times
Poetry is dead
Why want to be a poet?
As honored and humbled as I am
I’m here to express
I’m  not a poet
I’m not a writer
I’m not a blogger
I’m not a columnist
Nor into journalism
I’m just simply
Undeniably
Expressively
Unapologetically
For better or worst
The
Messenger
Of
Love

A loaded gun behind the perfect shot,
infiltrates my mind with memories I forgot.
Pills and potions couldn't help ease the pain,
the man with the mask I can no longer keep sane.

And in the bleeding sky I saw,
scars I've encountered once before.
The depth is scary, but I can't look away,
I dive and drown in this red ocean every day.

I close my eyes and hum a song,
trying to outshout the things I've done wrong.
It's a suicide mission to try and win this fight,
so I'll just get lost with the strangers of the night.

On the gleaming tracks I run with no goal,
it's just an endless journey within a distant black hole.
I'm just a fraction of something that could've been great,
but, I know it's too late to change my bulletproof fate.

Tears in the skin
Tears from your sins
Tears in the mind
Tears from what lies behind.

Cut from within
Cut in your skin
Cut down your wrist
Life is so brisk
You like the risk.

They say "sticks and stones may break my bones"
But their the ones who always had homes
"Words will never hurt me"
What if you just left them be?

Deep cuts in the thighs
Deep cuts from your lies
Cut from what you realise
People are evil in my eyes
Hold my hands behind my back with ties

Sticks and stones will break my bones.
Your words will tear my head, my heart; tear my skin.
And I reflect what you have said; your sins.

It doesn't have to be healthy,
Only street corner poison;
Teeth marks,
Maybe something broken.
It's not about what it is,
But what it leaves.
The quiet skin beneath your sleeve,
The choir that sings in your sleep.