In the comforting embrace of conversation, I find myself
questioning my true emotions, reflecting on all the places I've
wandered beneath the stars, where the moonlight gently caresses
my dark skin. Tears flow freely on this soft mattress, so many
tears I feel myself slowly sinking. As I once dreamt with
wide-open eyes in my youth, but as the years passed,
I must have forgotten how to actually cry.

The nightmares echo louder behind these closed eyelids,
leaving me to ponder the purpose of the night amidst my
restless daydreams. I find solace in the pool of my own
tears, indifferent to the fact that many days feel surreal.
My existence hinges on the authenticity of my joy-
  a joy discovered, instead of crafted by human hands.


I adjust my words, shifting the tone of my confidence.
As in another life, I emerged from the ocean, carrying
all the tears, that you’ll never get to see. I continue to wear
this mask of tears, hiding behind a facade that desperately
seeks to mirror a version of myself that remains elusive.

In many of our dreams, we might have lost our footing.
My dear, don’t you find that the landscapes reflected
in your gaze are far more elusive?

They hide within the shadows of your smile, even as
they drift away, yearning to spill their essence.

Yet, despite the space that separates us—me like the
vast ocean and you like the luminous moon—our love
remains a presence felt but never found.

I can hear the echo of your tears,
even when you’re not around- it’s a pity that your
cries make you a fortress vast and overwhelming-
you’re a vision without sight; my words vanish
into the silence of your lips right after we kiss

All your gifts are spoken, too bad when you
speak, they never really have an ear for you.

That’s why I’m always listening, tuned into
the melody of your tears.

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.