Attributes of emptiness-
a void we seldom couldn't avoid,
that which I couldn't afford
I'se a glorious imperfectionist,
and how perfect is that in this imperfect world
Is it a goal to compare a life of a successful self made,
to one who could never afford a maid

Smiles all fading in the world's only true green:
"the grass is greener on the other side,"
But I know it hides the many weeds, residing inside
as one so in love, and blindly in love for their bribe
Married to their empty pocket,-  a loyal bride

Do not speak loosely of your words, you'll be loose for change
To work so well with others; it's all the company
of people's similar struggles

The poor will work for the rich, the rich are poor
to them in return. It's just the will of the world

Nothing comes to waste,
I'd still love you, and handle what comes with your love handles
Still for us to have a good **** session, quenching my thirst,
- I'd still adore you with a *******

I'd never get tired of you,
never getting tired of holding your baggage from those baggy eyes
I'd still admire the birds flying around your eyes,
your crow's feet wouldn't force me to walk out of our love

Your husky voice would still be attractive to me,
especially in my many, many lows
And I'd never put up a front for that gap tooth,
cos I had fallen in love with you, with all of your flaws

Church bell ears;
I've heard the holy ring of an unwritten hymn in a minor key
Their piercing eyes, are bites of bullets, all pointed guns
as hands;  pointing out my immoral acts; three shots back
at them and one pointing up to discredit a God

A wrinkled heart,
by the irony of a preach; a church's lancet window,
Stained in sin of an unwritten scripture, and a scripted faith
On top of an unholy pedestal, all ready to cast their first stone,
alongside their own boulders of sin

Oh Lord, even if I don't believe in a God,
I'd believe in a better place than here
So my only prayer is being seen by your eyes,
as one saved from the desiring eye of the world


                                                   Amen.

There's a quiet night of crickets,
echoing in the applauds of the handover of sun to moon
A mystic smell of dew, and a due of rest,
I've locked my eyes into a dream, listening to the
ticking wood of an old kitchen door,
It slowly creaks open, and closes rust on their iron hinges
as I'm hinged in thoughts; attached by my many fears,
and the darkness forms a latch,

               -And it's night becomes it's key
                 that unlocks my inner demons poetry

I like what I see, but if I approach you
please don't cause a scene,
I might not fair well if your glare is too mean,
so please be polite if you know what I mean

Let me start off by saying,
"I've got something in my pants to unlock
a bit of excitement, and drive you insane"
Just give me a second, because I'm a bit tipsy and I've
lost my car keys inside of my pockets, of these Levy jeans
And it's a bit taxing trying to be charming, and I can't
always afford that kind of levy,

My lungs at this point of time are quite heavy,
the brain, quite empty; so please excuse me if I think too ahead,
about me filling you up with your head instead
It took a lot of confidence for me to approach
you like this, and I skipped a couple of stairs
Your friends were giving me some intimidating stares,
and I'm just trying to be intimate with, and show you
some care, like nobody else cares

I hope you notice that I'm innovative, and trying
to be a love doctor, with my skills of patience
That line must make me sound so inventive,
and may cause your heart a bit of disorder, but I'm
good at making an intervention

I love how I'm speaking all of these bars
while we're chilling at the bar, but probably for you,
you're only hearing, "blah, blah, blah, blah and blah"

I reserve my freedom to be free,
but I don't talk enough to earn freedom of speech
I'm just a piece of peace, and the resounding sound of silence
spelling out my thoughts in cursive; who could read my mind
But just a person more of an open book with charming words,
as I sliced my throat to be cutthroat at most
In those days I used to pray more often when I was sixteen,
still feeling like a preteen; thinning out himself to fit in with others
—I was always petite

Blowing gas,
the smoke of hell rests itself inside of my lungs
There's ash in my eyes, slowly turning into dust
my body is made of rust, from the metal making up my cold heart
As the saltiness I have for love, comes from chasing after someone,
and being so worked up by the sweat on my brow
By the touch of such a touchy subject; I still feel nothing,
but just this feeling of feeling so numb
My voice goes as deep as the pools of swimming thoughts,
and I'm not feeling shy to drink a bit of chlorine
I see everything so clear, clear as the substance in my bottle,
as with a free spirit, I'm not too shy to shoot a shot
And let me mix the odds with a bit Oz,
in my adventurous tendencies, clicking my glasses
to feel like there's no better place like home
But I'm at home, drinking alone, and writing out forgettable poems

      ..Penning out random thoughts,
           my metal health is only a mental note