I keep words to myself
as like the presence you keep
and present it to a word in small portions
-as the presents I have, as it's gift
present thoughts that soon become
a presentation for the future,
as your strength at times challenges the weak
In a period of how long I should respond
to hateful words; I know at times it takes
about a week.

Constantly saying, "I'm fine, I'M FINE,"
as shown to a man, as a pricey kind of
response, and ticket to nothing close to
freedom, and depression being it's fine
As I've tried to propel myself forward
into a fake kind of happy, one row at a time,
Still I'm likely stuck in the line of my own
frustrations, and waiting to picked out of
that row.

Still call me a sinner,
someone to at least say, "I've seen it all"
maybe to have sin for all
I should have said no, but I'd use that
careless phrase, "I didn't know, I DIDN'T KNOW."

                   Nah, my subconscious always knew it all.

Invisible crosses,
crossing out the days I
had no faith
As if monsters don't already
live in my head,- making me question
if I'll ever be heading in the right direction
From feeling like a dusty old Bible,
unattended to, and in servitude to to
most of my unclaimed confessions.

Could have been close to the ties
of me looking for change from the tithes
But I'll live a quarter of a mile, on
a quarter of my minds tank
I'm a bit too tanked to give anymore thanks,
any more funks, to dance around an n for
the wrong spelling of empty, and make
out as something you should c,- I have no ***** to give.

how i know i can't swim,
we somehow drifted apart
and i could have taken the advise of Moses,
and split the waters in between us in two,
-but tell me if love wasn't made for two
while i butter you up with sweet words
to have you as a spread
still feeling anxious as two ticks of
a message, still unread.

.....tying, tying,
i still doubt i'm your type,
that sort of guy you like cos
he liked you first,- you must call me cute
and i feel myself trapped in an  unwelcome
phenomenon -really feeling acute
but if you could feast on my eyes, you'd
fall prey to your hunger, if i gave the right look.

maybe i should tattoo my words
for their intentions to stick
but even a subtle taste, bite and a lick,
can at times overstep the tingles rushing
down to your feet. so i do prefer to kiss
but before the kiss, tell me if we'll be
trading skin for skin, or shedding skin off skin
cos we both know kiss will always
rhyme with hiss.

Jesus eyes made of explosives,
blood on the flag, banners
cascading man's ill motives
A sickening world,
I should speak another prayer,
i just don't have enough of the words.

My self will, is selfish as the kids
hiding candy in their ***** pockets
Life isn't really sweet;
costless living is costly for others,
when you're no longer living at all
Getting all of our kicks from playing games
with the girls. Hoping they play ball,
play with my *****, and maybe catch a score.
Call her by her for a night,
later on, we won't call you at all.

And you should cry yourself a river,
wet up your eyes, so you can barely see
Still don't misstep your feet,
as anyone can slip into their depression
And I'll draw out all of your negative emotions,
as it becomes the picture, as you drew out your weapon.

                               It's a hard world we live in.

In the depths of darkness, I find myself
at odds with the elusive shadows.
It is as if the skeletons hidden in my
closet have found their voice, singing haunting
melodies that reverberate through my being.
With each note, my fears are shaken off,
like leaves falling from a tree in the autumn breeze.

But there is something more sinister
lurking in the corners of my existence.
Death, with her cold fingers, creeps closer,
threatening to steal away the precious moments of my life.
Time, once a constant companion, now seems irrelevant,
a mere observer as I navigate the treacherous path
between angels and demons. Heaven and Hell.

The omens that surround me are like oracles,
weaving a tapestry of the future.
Each thread is sewn with the stitches of a final laugh,
a mocking reminder of the inevitable encounter with death.
Exhaustion weighs heavily upon me, a result
of restless nights and endless toil.

I find myself trapped in a state of utter fatigue,
a working zombie in a world that demands
my every waking moment.
Juggling tasks becomes a Herculean feat,
as my mind struggles to function amidst the chaos.
Sanity slips through my fingers like sand,
and yet I cling to the pen, a lifeline in these unearthly hours.

In this battle against the shadows, I am weary but determined.
I will not let the darkness consume me.
I will continue to fight, to push through the exhaustion,
and to find solace in the written word.

For even in the darkest of nights,
there is a glimmer of hope,
a spark that refuses to be extinguished.

Please don't misunderstand me for being so blunt,
but I can't help but feel like the sun and moon
are in cahoots to taunt.
Their tears will fall together,
marking the warmest winter I've ever known.

If I don't wake up tomorrow,
don't think I'm running away.
I'm just sleeping through the pain,
drowning in my tears every day.
If I die, it's not for me, but for others to live.

I've given my all, but it seems like I've only received a little.
I fear that you've stopped listening to me,
and now my prayers are just a riddle.
I've questioned love, but you've yet to answer me.
So please, care for me last, and forgive me
if I'm being selfish, you see.

I've never been one to think for myself,
always putting others first.
But now I just want to be heard,
to have my words not go unheard.
I wish to be seen, for people to understand
what I really mean.
But time has run out for me,
and I'm left wondering how to trust when trust is empty.

Living is just a slow walk to death,
and my dreams are just constant nightmares.
I follow the rules of my wake, but I'm always
looking for a way to escape the snares.
It's hard to keep myself together, living under the weather.
My future depression has its roots in the past,
and I know I should care more about myself.

But I'm stuck on loving everybody
else, giving my heart out for them to pick.
I try to stay above the high waters of every
relationship, but I'm just a sinking ship.
If love was once mine, I'm convinced I never had it.
I've given it all away to my friends,
enjoying the sense of pure insanity, I admit.

I'm the man everyone looks to lean on,
painting pictures for them to dream on.
Some days I hate it, but I do it all out of love.
I fake it often, but let me end up weightless
inside of being, like a dove.

"Life is a gamble,"
a question that only I can answer.
It often leaves me behind,
a mere memory of a forgotten dream.

As the dawn breaks,
I can sense the impending fall.
We will all remember this moment through t
he melodies of a bird's song:
"You have reached your destination,
but what was it like where you came from?"
Once again, the lonely question lingers,
reminding me of all that I have lost.

The path of a man is a treacherous one.
Life has taught us that it is our own worst enemy.
I am aware of this truth, yet
I find solace in the stories of others.
You may see my face, but you will never truly
know the tales it holds.
Perhaps you have heard the echoes
of my heart, but they are but empty sounds.

In the faces I encounter, I see glimpses of myself.
It is not a humble sight to witness
the abundance of love that eludes me.
Doubt consumes me, making me question
if I would ever be so carefree.
These dull faces reflect the uncertainty
that resides within me.