Are we not the sorrow that lingers over the grave—
reflecting on the loss, caught in this state of mourning?
Or are we destined to sink into the depths of those
yellowed memories? My bones tremble at times, and I
find myself lost in thought—yet the fleeting joy persists,
though it remains forever out of reach.

We share laughter like tales over drinks, capturing
moments in a plastic bottle; allowing decay to set in
as we push forward. Each night whispers a prayer for
the dawn, yearning for a horizon filled with forgotten
dreams. The thought of sleep fills me with dread.

As I weep for those seeking solace in suicide
those down to earth fleeing the common ground
humanity has morphed into a threat to redemption—
their artistry has forged dangerous weapons.
We strive to preserve our past, yet we conveniently
ignore the ravages of conflict— the insidious plague proliferates.
All the remarkable ones lie lifeless, frozen in their brilliance.

The thought of sleep fills me with dread; for in
my closed eyes I see the world for what it is.

Would you dare to pull the trigger-
to press against my heart with the hope that its
rhythm could stretch beyond the confines of this moment?
I am equipped, armed with nothing but a pen, crafting
vivid strokes that dance across the pavement.
I soar above the streets, claiming the heavens as I navigate
the solid paths that define my existence in this urban landscape.

Beneath the joy of the breeze-
the winds reveal the essence of true freedom, whispering
through the branches; that sensation will return once more.
The elements have no true companion or confidant in
this harsh reality, lamenting, “it’s too **** hot, it’s so
freaking cold, this rain is too much, oh God, where has
the rain gone to?”

We exist in a peculiar state of numbness,
caught in the oddity of pointing out the flaws in others
while neglecting to reflect on our own.

How wondrous it is, the way we shift,  
Like seasons turning, giving life a lift.  
Yet more enchanting is the way we feel,  
As transformations weave a poignant reel.

For just as storms may brew in skies above,  
So too do changes stir the hearts we love.

As we are under the shadowy guise of white,
let the echoes of your dreams resonate in your ears;
tears softly trace your cheeks in the dim light.
A smile twitched on your lips, often pretend yet
familiar—could it be that amidst the crowd,
I found myself falling for you?

Our gazes locked, a silent yearning hung in the air,
and a mood quivered to be kissed — losing the bass
of a voice; my own chest forgets how to speak,
I’m lost in the depths of my own heart.

I’ve whispered prayers to myself, as your smile
illuminated the moment, and I only heard in a poem
that someone could impart the whisper of their
desires by a kiss planted on someone’s lips-
for their dreams to grow

Ensnared in the crossfire of emotions, the sun
poured its golden rays into my very being, liken
to the fatigue of someone’s else wet dreams, you’ll grow
tired swimming through them at every stroke. So, before
we embark on this journey, hold tight to your essence,
as the days of flesh once again weave their memories,
igniting a spirited hope for what lies ahead…

I’m unravelling, caught in the whirlwind of my thoughts; and if
I take my last breath; I’ll seal it with a prayer. I’d ponder,
“Where have you wandered, where have you fled— was that a
thinking cap or merely a shattered crown?” Seeking sanctuary
for my restless mind, as we all drift gently away from all the
burden of days

Drawing the curtains, teetering on the brink, weighing down
under the weight of endless days; I’m a heart-shaped fortress,
striving to guard love, yet I loathe it when some of it finds
a way to escape.  

I would grow weary of clinging tightly if my grasp was the
sole reason for their turmoil. They’ll entomb your tale within the
verses, preserving the melody. It’s a heart-wrenching feeling,
striving to hold onto those, we’ve lost. In the quest for what
remains elusive, we often lose our way in love. Yet, may God
grant them the resilience to continue holding on.

I wish I could tell you, “I love you”
just one more time— but the way our lips met,
I sought your forgiveness, not your consent. Still it
feels like an eternity since our last embrace; that gentle
warmth enveloped us, as those flushed cheeks beneath
my hand still had time to glow…
…

Let me look into those sparkling tears one final
time— cherishing the fleeting moments we shared, doesn’t
that memory feel extraordinary? Yet, when I falter, I often
convince myself it’s simply because I’m a man, but my
intentions are pure, by my arm and hand, just struggling
by the want to hold a bit too long

Open to a kiss as we speak; tasting the bittersweet
harmony of your love and sorrow in a single breath.
Yet, I wear a facade of a smile—mourning the kisses
and whispers that have slipped away on the wind, while
a trace of heartache lingers on my lips.

I found myself unable to express my emotions once
more, or perhaps I was simply repeating the
same sentiments.

My floors are drenched in crimson, wine cascading
like unsolicited wisdom, a testament to my attempts at maturity,
Hoping it seeps into people’s gaze. Yet, to their astonishment,
I revel only in the celebration of my own existence.
Fragments of my being are enamoured with self-love,
serving myself a lavish feast of introspection.

In my unconventional revelries, I find my heart eager to
drift apart, tethered to someone who thrives far from the
clutches of shame. As you dwell in the dreamscape you've
crafted- a vivid mural of your own utopia; I firstly succumb
to tears on my pillow, muffling all the echoes of my anguish.

My floors remain a vivid red; every moment of pretence
fades into oblivion, yet the pain lingers. Time hangs heavy on
my wrist, each second bleeding away, striving to meet an
acceptable standard. My fears and anxieties rise with the sun's
glow, while many struggle to confront their own truths,
choosing instead to bury them deep.

My floors are undeniably red; beneath the veil of existence,
amidst the tumult of conflict—can you hear the whispers of
those desperately clinging to life, do their floors cry in
red too?