Tell me the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more
Though an addiction to myself is really a lead into self pleasure, and an addiction to someone else is just lust
tell me what's the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more
I'd probably hate my right hand, cos my left hand tends to do me better, but is that the right to cut off who I hate more in the end, if it's attached to my being?
Same as loving you; I'm left with no right to claim that I own you; but aren't we attached by the hip if your hips had swayed me into being inside of you.
tell me what's the difference between loving you and loving myself,
The answer:
I'd tend to love one of them more.
In the emptiness of my eyes, I see a fuller picture,
so picture me as someone you force yourself to like
What if I seemed like a nice guy in your eyes, and while they're shut, you pictured me as someone else, so vile
tell me what's the difference between loving yourself and loving my self.
The answer:
you could die for both of us,  but only one would truly be willing to do both.

Sleep is an endless journey,
only the dead can complete
Time is the fortune you can never
afford to have enough of
Love is the tie dye of the different
worn out emotions, of the shirt you say
Faith is the picture frame of the
final art piece, you hope will be portrayed
And sin is the spilled ink on a paper;
the more you try to wipe off yourself, the more
stains you're still left to see.

We live for any few more seconds of sleep,
constantly on this life's limited time to do it all
Trying to have a consistent abstract pattern  of our love
always picturing what our faith can paint in the end
Yet we are all stained by our born sin,
                    -we are truly humans till the end.

I'm a basket case,
with nothing more to eat, but just the chip on my shoulder
I feared never making it close to twenty one,
to now my biggest fear of getting anymore older
I live on borrowed time,
asking the many second favours from the clock on the wall
And to have myself to chin up,
counting all the hairs on it; feeling insecure when I count them all.

I'm no role model,
but know the act of a fool, smiling through their pain
At the awkward age,
of not being young or old enough to fit in adulthood's frame
But through the window of my eyes
you see I'm made of glass through hurt of my window pane
I had a brush with death,
but quickly swept the fear of dying under the rug of tomorrow
As if I live for all of today,
yesterday's always feel much simpler, knowing what to follow

I'm no leader,
when I feel battered on my social battery made out of led
I'm a foe to myself,
overthinking most times, as anxiety tends to be a friend.
I'm a double entendre,
humorous as an awkward smile much brighter in the dark
I'm an oxymoron,
double checking every meaning to anything closest to my heart

              I'm a calm demeanor, with a messy mind,
                 tidying my words before speaking something foul
                       at most, more of a human's human inside
                             born of the birds and the bees,
                          flying high in my dreams, as my mind is fowl.

You act as a fatherless child,
Far less better than your own pride
In amongst life's streets,
Crying dirt out of your concrete eyes
But even if taking my heart was as easy
As taking back all of the time,— I'd be stuck in the past,
As two beings living out of a bag, suckling on our dreams
Hanging off time, as we pass the time with painful laughs
Under the laces of when you feel so sure of yourself,
So full of yourself, from swallowing all of the fears you had.

Love is always a resounding banter,
Battering you into a nostalgic feeling,
But by the second and third attempt,
You'll still be comparing it to the first's feeling
As once upon a time, you were on my mind,
But what's a neverending story, is chasing after forever,
And ironically for us, forever is all but on limited time.

          XOXO, please cross me out of love, before there's.            
                                    another ex, I'd pretend not to know.

my skin grows red hot,
and slowly warms the blue hue
of your skin
-your shy lips quiver under my
breath, closing into that kiss's embrace
to the open tongue of twisting our words
intertwining fingers in your scroll of hair
as the  parchment  of your grace, is written
all over your face.

oh so beautiful,
for i must have been struck from
behind, in a catching thought, i became
so caught up while staring at your curves
at the mountains peak of your structured body,
i'm always trying tp climb into those sheets
to have just a peep.

and as the taste of you, becomes
the sweetest nectar, i solely desire
-blowing the butterflies in your belly,
i'm barely intimidated by the moans
of pleasure; as it all becomes the sounds of
permission to add pressure.

at the bite of a tip, the dripping taste
must of course be licked off, in a
tasteful manner like ice-cream
so as i scoop you up, know there's
always a spoonful of kisses to feed
all of your words.

so tell me if lightening ever strikes twice,
cos according to my likeness, i
learnt how to strike a nerve of pleasure
at a constant, once i have it on my sights
so a simple answer would suffice,
or really something much simpler, when it's a
           wink, wink, and blush, blush.

I've been crying my eyes shut,
i could barely see the world,
-failing to see myself in a mirror
reflecting on how my fragile state is
made of glass.

I tried to be ahead of myself,
but wasn't on top of a lot of things,
so i behead myself, just to cut off old thoughts
and i could have sold my soul, but i tend to
sell myself short; as i can no longer pour
out my feelings,- i guess i'm too poor.

I hope I at least pass through people's thoughts,
but i know i'm a bit too passive, and make
passes on all of my best quotes
and i'm always stuck in one particular
moment,  like an old photo.

I tried to sleep with my thoughts,
but i've got a restless kind of mind
waking up to the days, of another sleepless night
nowadays when i pray less, cry less
and don't seem to care about my midlife faith crisis
when i'm doing things that make me seem Christless
still i wouldn't advise this.

I know my attitude don't always match
my soul's latitude; especially when
everything in my life goes south
as the magnitude of my worth, puts me
in a foul mood,- i played a foul move
flying my cold heart away from winter,
but still had a fowl kind of love.

I haven't been to church in a while,
telling myself, "I'll be there Sunday"
But I misheard myself, he was really
saying, "someday, someday"
Work always calls me in, before Mondays,
and Mondays are so mundane
every feels the same, the same; please can
i feel something, something, someday.