In, and out, out, and in
breathe in and out, out of breath by letting
the toxic vapours in— coals of heat beating down
a ****** nose; won’t any of this sin, dissipate from
these constricted pores. Is he not still suckling on
love with milk teeth- how sheepish are his eyes, to
bleat himself of being silent

Oh, how my tears have been cleaved:
the sheer will that lives out on the streets- I’m well
fed & bred as a duck, spread out through time as the
covers of a bed: but where to rest on this old
mattress, now springing up  

                            (I’m still hiding your hands
                       far from the reach of feeding yourself
                the harvest’s spoils, to make your teeth rot—
Everywhere, their mouths are wide open as doors;
hinges for the bite of blight teeth- all doors are
portals judged by what comes out, but more so
what they must keep in

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

The emptiness: you’re so longing to leave behind the shadows
left behind your eyes; watching quietly all the things that start
to feel so summarized; building memories on every fibre
of your skin, like towers crashing down in their own defeat
as my eyes watch the young die younger, to feel a bit alive

“Do I see dead people,” be ahead of most people- “do I behead
people,” live a once lonely life, cos it comes with no sequel;
but depression, a subtle prequel- subtracting most successful
friends to feel equal. I fudged up: sugar butter, milk and cream,
but still don’t feel as sweet as enough

Been so hurt and wounded- “something I also know” Felt so
traumatized to act hospitalized- “something I also know”
Done so much good, to get bad in return- “something I also know”
Gave all your trust just to be damaged- “something I also know”
Tomorrow’s sun seems to bring you darkness- “something I also know” Been in the company of friends that betray you- “something I also know”

The loudness of depression silences you- “something I also know”
Had so much opportunity pass you- “something I also know”
Hanging around those feelings making you want to hang
yourself- “something I also know” Feeling all, you can watch is this
world’s poison, to want to poison yourself- “something I also know”
Tried to give another shot at life, to feel like you want to shoot
yourself- “something I also know” Please let me hear out the pain of
your story, rather than getting to hear your story while
attending your funeral- the pain you feel is a pain I also know

Dye a picture of an ugly world to that empty gaze
—sort of like your makeup disguise; but not so much the
makeup for shallow beauty standards, overshadowed by
dark eyeshadow. As she puts on a lot of guard, that her
body feels like a suit of armour that emphasize flaws

While her eyes sparkle a quick romance; so much heat
coming out of her pores; hot sweats while he sits next to her,
calls her name, and glances her way… a nocturnal creature,
pressed against the heat of day, pressed against the wall, that
she broke a bottle of hot stuff in her back pocket; to claim
she had a fire ***

To be honest, he’s really the bigger *** of them both,
incapable of hiding his cockiness — pants caught down
they’re so outlandishly unlike; but that makes them like
each other more, and much like the petals that gracefully
descend to the ground: their story of love starts falling aside

Yours: were those repetitions of actions; underneath the comment of
her starry eyes, waiting to add an explanation of my place as her caption.
We both explore the aftereffects of years of catching onto one another—as the successful hunt shows pleasant results; while the longer course of it comes with many love scars… but along the way, I heard the spinning tales of your story by the roundabouts. All the places you had been, shouldn’t have been, and a lot of questions about your whereabouts. Whereas the hoodlums turf their side from the thugs, and I make a territory between us, to avoid long hugs- a criminal kind of love

We both know the boys who keep a contact list of girls to pick out from, as like commodities well kept: she knows a message well sent, as the night gives the best of time for us to act like our true selves

Let’s not jump into so many conclusions as if leaping into big decisions; as our memories are well kept in sky, but at times we seem confined by these crying ceilings. For a worthwhile love, we live to find a means of making a quick buck, copying that success and sitting back while the currency prints- there’s nothing wrong with such money-making schemes; unless it gives others the idea of buying into dreams. And unfortunately, we both quietly know what that means



Sort of met by carnivorous eyes- feeding desires
into one another; a few lives cut short to the unsettling sound
by an incomplete strung of a chord. Rebellious young ones
sneaking out to the clubs, later on tamed at home; there’s
such a thirst for our wrongs when we’re perfectly alone—
but as you miss someone as much as a faithful faster
misses lunch, even a clone of them wouldn’t do you much…

Breakups do cause ill actions; “you said you’re not sick
of me,” but I subtly taste a bit of ***** in these latter kisses
—let’s talk to unlock our deepest feelings; dialogue is
key. The end of her blush is the brightest of spots, but is
a sign to end a conversation with an abrupt full stop
“Fool, stop,” her forced smile must annoyingly be saying

Those face masquerades must be working hard today;
without sounds of cries- pretending we enjoy telling
each other, “yeah, we’re fine,” or was it the rephrasing of it,
to admit to ourselves that this love has always felt like a fine

Bursting open in the dark, the eyes metamorphosis
that bites at the primrose – as the yellow blossoms
fold away into the sun; staring at dry tears…
that familiar drought of words to cater for growing
younglings; walking them down the path for better days

The lands bloom with industrialization for the work
of poverty’s hands - stretched black fingers across
to anyone who tries to bring crime to end; also stained
by doing such crimes to make end’s meet, of those fathers
who hustle all day on the street: called out as deadbeats
even when their fill their bellies with meat

All of which are the eyes filled with hidden lies; disguising
themselves of doing well, “of course I’m doing much fine”
underneath a place of broken roofs; old newspapers to fill
the emptiness in plus size shoes, that have to last you the next
few years – all are insisting to survive; praying for a divine
help with stored up faith, to put food in their empty shelves

How once ancestors lived, of self-sacrifice to go out to
provide for your family’s needs- history does always repeat
itself — but this barren land bares no seeds, no capital to
sprout most of your bright ideas; while weeds of corruption
grows faster than food- feeding ourselves well into wickedness


These bedded nights, so afraid to pray for strength for
tomorrow; if tomorrow will keep us going for our strength
to survive- still the length of your strength begins from the
mind: what do you put in it to strengthen it more… turning
pages of the Holy book, or touring pages of the internet’s
standards of one’s successful appearance, of looking good

Plan out your actions wisely for the future; strategies on an
ordained path – the sweet coming of the morning is the
hope we all must hope to hold; for no one really knows when
it’s their time to go; the end is truly unpredictable- unpredictable
as the end to this po…

Let’s start to make impure this fine linen, tainted
by both our body’s heat— our feet wrapped into
each other; open yourself to me, wide as these
clouds part away from the sky, to paint out such
an astounding spectacle

Along the pairs of flowers on your cheeks, right
here on this rosy bed, while words are floating at early
morn pillow talk; as that after pleasure still chases
after us both until the noon

Could we not have at another go, if it’s not too soon?

Soon as the wheels start to turn, upon these grinding
mills; my thoughts feel placed on that aware grinding stone
— that after most of my corny remarks, they somehow get
from you a serial response, to this series of our love making

As my summer to my eventual fall; the rev of my rocket engine
that yearns to break through the atmosphere of such fleshly walls-
a world that men look so forward to get lost while they explore

Could I implore you to let our horizons light up abroad; brushing
our warmth against one another of rays like a blanketing sun—
we still could mix a bit of fun with teasing harm. And capture the
savouring flavour of this love as it is found

As how I found you, isn’t how I’ll leave you- as
my left behinds- besides your behind’s juicy fruit
there’s still a bowl of the tree that I must sample
of its sweetened vines

This honey of the moment, has made jealous bees
crash land into that closed window- their sting of
which makes them so short lived. Yet the sting of your
lips, proves the revival of my stinger’s gift, to pull
the nectar that waits for me from the flower’s honest
form

Tables are set in place; the appetizers have run their
course of these sweet nothing’s words; as the di-vine
air becomes so thick- trying to challenge your cheeks
as my eyes appear as a lost lion in need— a lioness
burning away in her heat. Come to me oh darling, to find
such a sweet release