Cheers to the mute tear on a cheek;
pass around that bitter sweet drink
That hits you hard right after the first sip
-the best flavour of it, is the odour of your past,
Fill up a heavy glass; get lost in the vestige of its spell
you’re high on most of your regrets, can’t you tell?

With a smile and delight, I swallow the poison
with such quick and heightened joy for the night
A bottle full of clear white, to erase all fears on the dot,
like a brand new pen, my first tip does leave a spot
I tipped the top, to embrace me as someone successful
just for those fleeting years- and now after in fame’s fall
I have all but a glass full of my tears.

The memory of so many pretty faces;
The forgetfulness of most of their names is my
Responsibility to claim. And the world is truly small
Whenever those stranger’s faces, once again come my way

The older woman is, “aunty,” the wiser man has to be everyone’s
“Good uncle.” “Sir or Madam,” to politely and professionally say,
I wasn’t paying much attention the first time you gave your name

Peers are referred to as, “bra.” “My brother,” to fellow church goers,
To faithfully say we’re all children of the Lord- why do we need to use
These earthly names at all. “My beautiful sister,” just to avoid any
Confrontation- then leave me to go online to do my research, when
I finally get home

These feelings are like a credit card---
sliding in and out the machine of a man’s heart

Please enter your code:
to withdraw the worth of love, but I’m really not someone
To bank on all of your love- it’s a result of nothing;
sometimes feeling so fake, with this plastic debit card

INSUFFICIENT FUNDS not all of us can afford
the worth to love; so insecure much, not one to close
the deal; don’t come too close, don’t give me a long hug
Just like my card, I might loudly decline your very love…

Hiding the pin to my very heart- four digit requirements;
four reasons you need to give me, to be revealing ****
Or did I mean to say sheet; either way, its all a cover to
cover around the fact I have a ****** mindset about love

A love I never bought, but I did buy a bunch of its dreams
-it must explain why I’m feeling so broke nowadays

Songs to a funeral;- a love they’ll caper to those
Who will use you, leave you when a conclusion is reached-
Bury you a hero without a cape; that seems to be a reach;
Sending you off with a eulogy and a good enough preach
Praises with sweet remarks; devour your memory like a peach

To those who only lived to tear your heart, who will shed tears,
But don’t expect it to be something so dear from their heart
You’ll lose your dignity, in their gossip during the after lunch
While you’re stuffed in a box, they’ll stuff leftovers in a lunchbox
Those you had owed, will be quick to call you a sly dead fox

They’ll wage wars, over all of your once questioned clothing
Claim it’s a war of their love, in a false sense they’ll hide
They’ll pose as friends, in pictures snipped for their timeline
Speak of all the good times they never shared, with a big smile
Say all of the goods things that you’d never hear as a reward
Cry for you not to go- during a service where they are so bored

And you too, will be so bored of such a song for your send off
-So funny that death can bring to life, the worst side of us all

Lost in a waiting room of inspiration to come; addicted to every
piece of word- a narcotic artist. He feels worthless each time his
pen is pointless; point less into the time it takes to come up with
an attractive opening line- does she even spread happily for him
anymore- does he still have the charms to call up a pretty poem?
Brushing her face against his canvas, his hand strokes are slow,
word by word- craving her attention to fall flat on a sheet of lines;
pausing to see that always pleasing shape of letters, curve by curve

“Please don’t curve me my love” he goes- he implores her again,
and again- soothing her with the confidence of it being a two-sided
experience; desperately trying to stimulate that passion between them
back to life, again. Searching for her sweet nectar of words; but like a
beehive, she’s sometimes defensive. So he decorates the scene with
violets, to distract themselves away from the picture of violence

An attempt to spout free the nectar of literary passions, as writing
the perfect poem is gently picking up a flower- attempting to have
its petals open wide. “So spread open my jubilant flower— we’ll
have any astounding story to tell the whole world tomorrow…

I’ve got:
Horns for thoughts; and feelings that are for the vague
Glass for eyes, their tears are just old memories of dreams
A nose exhaust, blowing hot smoke to cool off the engine
A beard of grass; hoping the waters of time helps it grow

I’ve got:
A void for a smile; a darkness that quietly hides away in the pit
Quiet lips made out of violin strings; a humble refrain to play
A mighty sword for words, with a bold voice so cutthroat
And each breath is ******; being an inch of one’s lost vanity

I’ve got:
Wrists like a heavy grey cloud; a sleeve that can easily bleed
Fingers made of needles; an unfortunate hold pinned to the present
Denim for skin; the dyed hues of generations stuck in my genes
Moss for a heart; a love only by the surface- no seeds to grow

I’ve got:
Bones made out of dust; can’t clean the stain of sin by myself
Ginger in my soul; aromatic- filled with a vigour of liveliness
But this body is so meagre; so eager to find new means to grow
But I don’t own a piece of it, at all- I’ve borrowed it for a time,
An agreement with life; as sleep is the middleman and death
Is the Great debt collector…

I heard that your summer was coming
So late; so you kept all of your covers
Hidden eyes; you never really cry in public
You fed yourself lies, so much so- so hard to stomach

Your fingers are tired, you fought your battles
As a keyboard warrior; he gave you no reply
And you wondered why; seeing how love is so blind
You’re the only one hurting- it doesn’t see both sides

Still hoping your love was a Gemini-
Both equal pairs, to love each other better
If you were both like each other; but his response is
So cold, so it will be a while for your love to find its summer
.
.
.
.
.
.
Tell me what season is your love?