What a pity for the burn of your love — a toothless fire;
we started so strong, but now we struggle to ignite,

I suspected as much — for a boneless smile; just
pretending to be so kind for all those squandering
moments by following their own misguided advice.

The hollowness of your eyes leaves a bitter aftertaste,
on my mind — such a hopeless fire. So helpless to stoke
the flame; yet, one that I can’t deny still resonates with
your name, so we title it simply, as us just being
friends.

Dreaming in colour; but I can't help thinking
in black and white — the anxieties that weigh heavily
on my plate, it's no wonder I occasionally savour
their bitter taste. Why should I rely solely on fate,
when it starts to feel a bit devoid of faith?

And some might argue I let them down, but
what if that low point was my decision to elevate
others — would you still have faith in me, or is
it simply your own fate that keeps me anchored
in this low place?

Pause for a heartbeat; envision the world through the
serene gaze of God — tell what would you see? A sea
of ordinary souls, humbly on their knees, even as the
world tries to drown them in a depth of sin.

How beautiful it would be to witness such a thing…
but you chose to drown in your sins, instead of
embracing all of His love that washes you clean.

Suffocating beneath a tidal wave of feelings —
struggling to stay afloat, gasping for breath.

My lungs are heavy filled with so much water;
I may swallow my pride — but I can't hold
these tears anymore in my chest.

Sighing memories washing over me in the flow of a deep
blue sea, — my skin glimmers with the love of the sun, but its
affection is too overwhelming; my tears cascade, transforming every
ground beneath my feet, into an ocean the moment I step outside.

Please don’t crash into me as if I were an unguarded entrance –
the outside world hammered at the door of my heart, demanding to
be let in by any open conversation — but it takes more time for me
to open up.

Those open scars, raw and untended, are like emotional
whirlpools, dragging me down into the abyss of pain and sorrow.

Whispers dance in the breeze; let your voice flow freely —
the breath within you holds a universe of untold stories.
A pure release, embracing the thrill that slips away with each
sigh—aren’t we all, at times, yearning for a way out? I place
accolades in my gaze, celebrating my reflection in every shard
of glass; yet how disingenuous it feels to claim that I take
greater pride in who I am today than who I was yesterday.

Still, I am the blossom along the way, nourished by the remnants
of winter’s chill, I’m running cold, chasing after the scent of
vulnerability under this runny nose — pursuing the essence
of fragility beneath this teary facade.

I caught my eye in a piece of mud; and I do hope you can never
see into my ***** mind—that tainted look could betray a criminal
in disguise; but are you still a criminal if you unknowingly stole
someone’s heart. Once you know the kind of dirt on you, you get
so anxious of any spot, even as you try you clean your act up.

Don’t act up; claiming not to sometimes feel a bit ashamed
of yourself — cosying up with your doubts. The truest smile will
shine much brighter in the dark; so I shut my eyes when it feels
right to let my ugly smile out.

Programmed ideas, words begin to echo AI — quiet intelligent;
in a realm where outsmarting will take you out; once you
outshine those above you; you define the term of being so Anti.

Anti the world, where courage is deemed too bold — keep those
ideas to yourself, shave off the top – be bald. Even as you try to
say things so daring, that if feels like a bold choice; speaking your
mind won't be so clear without an influential voice.

Your existence seems tangled and wild; so out of order —I question
if a miracle isn’t served, would I question an angel for missing
the order. And if to not adhere to good people's orders, this very
breathing would feel like a crime — every moment caught up in
life would just be a show of Law and order.

But I doubt you’d excuse my aura for being so out of order –
we often craft justifications to the world’s chaos, as a service
to uphold a semblance of some order.