Oh so comfy, seeing you everyday makes me smile.
Your warm texture wrapped around me, bundling me up like sushi.
My comfy resting place, I do everything here.
You caught my tears and drools, and listened to my cries and laughters without complains.
You allow me to rest on you everyday, even when I mess you up.
Oh my comfy bed, you won't leave me, I know you won't.

Oh just a sculpture on display.
I was made by no ones name.
A nobody, an unknown.
I can't talk but I could hear,
getting judged by exterior.
Hurtful judgments, I'm not a well made sculpture.
But all I can do is just listen all day,
but how I wish I could show and say.

Stirring moods just like making cakes.
Tiring noons just like taking breaks.
Tearing up in the late of night.
Breaking down in the dawn of light.
Like a rope up in the skies,
Like a hope down in the dyes.
Dyeing my hands with dull colours,
Dying in days I've never been.
Like a knife straight up my neck,
Like a mice straight down my deck.
Nothing is clean, something is seen.
Spotted red dyes, spotted dead eyes.
Something I've decided, to end it prescribed.

I'll lend you my eyes,
So you could see the rays of sunshine.
I'll lend you my heart,
So you'll know how much you're loved.
I'll lend you my ears,
So you'll hear all the good things about you.
I'll lend you my arms,
So you'll feel all the hugs people gave.
I'll lend you my hand,
So we can get through this together.

Where you cried I grew a flower,
My dearest farmer.
Your crops may not grow,
And the storm is growling too.
It's been ages since the harvest,
And now you're the saddest.
I'll grow you flowers,
All on your fields.
So I can show you the sunshines,
in all of your blues.

I'm still sleeping.
Clinging onto a dream,
Ignoring the open seams.
Bright red apples,
Seem so subtle.
I refuse to wake up,
But it's time to be up.
I need to let this dream go,
and stop finding hope.
It flew ages ago,
Yet I'm still not letting go.

What's a poem?
To a human?
A channel to express,
When they're depressed.
Or when something's sweet,
Choose a poem over tweets.
What is art?
Something from the heart?
A channel to express,
Beauty from distress.