Whistle your thoughts into my ear –
inside the shadow of your fine fire;
it burns me close to almost dying

When two lips kiss in a perfect song
a rhythmic crescendo – to build the
feeling of love so pure, and never felt

While you melt my tears like ice drops,
that waters a flower in a garden of pristine
let’s wait upon our dreams; until the place
they become so real…

When we’re out by the sea,
as far as we can see!

Our bodies will die as stone; buried beneath the earth –
We’re resting days, until the end of days is unearthed
For all our own sins have fallen from Adam’s curse
And perhaps when we fall in love,
It too is a curse…
When all the effort we give, just never works

Yet, as somebody’s child is probably crying
Would the sky truly wipe their tears –
Our skies are dying…
As the winds blow in mystery; never telling us
Where they’ll go – we hope to dream, we dream
For hope, but is hope worth your dreams dying

We are only but a strange paradise
Praying up to Heaven, for a means to survive
We love, we hope, we hate, we cry, we try
And all will die – question is, what do you choose
To do with what you have left of this life?

Tell me;

when does the suffering end, when does the weight lift up,
of waiting on unanswered prayers? Who else is out there to
place all the blame on, when your self-blamed self blames
you right back?  

who do you believe in less, firstly - God or yourself?
When facing all of the four walls, whose pinned up walls
stand much stronger? Who is fed firstly – an empty stomach,
or your poverty’s hunger?

For I am beginning to rest myself on canine sugars – a mutt
chasing after the sweetness of biting their own tail. Whereas
your daily bread seems to have gone a bit stale!

I’m not ready to die; but then again – I’m not so willing
to stay. And that makes for this to be… a scary prayer!

Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.

And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.

I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.

"Let’s circle back,” said the square to a circle of friends –
a bit offensive, when you tell two skeletons to have
some skin in the game – that’s your own bone to pick.

But tell me, what’s a bed of roses without a sheet; the
two get tangled in the sheets when they’ve tied the knot.
But what really trips me up is, "falling head over heels,"
I’ve got two left feet, so how badly will this affect me?

Cliché much…

Yes, I do say – when I’m bit under the weather of a Perfect
storm; but even as the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,
someone picking out your own pride in your children, is
low-hanging fruit. And how long it takes you to understand
my humour; others would name the seconds it takes them to
get my jokes, in the Nick of time.

I’ve given these cliches their love.

And to a sinking story; desperately trying to find its depth –
when two people walk together in love, would they at least
share their story with others, of those important first steps?
But would you build shopping carts in the market place of love –
going round, and round, till we crash into the boundary walls
like excited go-karts?

Wouldn’t you make good butter kisses, that slip off the cheek –
telling me that you fight to speak up for yourself; owning up
to that bruised lip. I’ve heard pots, and pans being hit all over
town; those shelving love, and hoping shame doesn’t fall down.
But the pots have gone cold; like no one has been around – but
when your glass eyes fall down, would you hear their emptiness
in that cold sound?

Of course, she tells all her friends that she still keeps in touch,
and never that she misses his touch. They don’t talk that much;
but find it in good taste to ask about the other’s mum. “I hope she’s
not doing too much. Does she still think about me being her son?”

****, love can be really much, breakups a bit too rough –
but in the growing pains of it, we learn to finally grow up!

Would you let the wind pass through you from behind – you blew
out your back! Chasing after your body that looks so instrumental;
it plays that performance in my mind, of what we could do later– and
I guess for us, that’s instrumental. As my skin are these labours; on
the peak of the twelve days I had displayed all my love for you. I was
your Hercules! Falling into your silver shinning eyes, that weighs the
atomic number of love – darling, around you I feel closest to the sun –
I was your Mercury.

There were those murky waters; of questioning when it was best to
tell you I had fallen in love – I didn't want to seem too deep at the
very start; but even in the shallowest of conversations, the depth
of their length, was close enough to make me drown.

But would we both know the taste of love, the more we speak of it,
running the word off our tongues, escaping out of our mouth? I may
mouth you sometimes when you get on my nerves – I say some
things in vain, hoping to give those words their success. But even in
the pain of it all, you still remain the breath under my veins. Without
you, this version of me wouldn’t be the same.

“hey, let’s just try to start it all again”

I know we push each other's button, but together in love, we can
instead, push this reset button.

Two lips are foreign before a kiss; we speak as friends,
laughing together as lovers – and hoping to finally kiss
as the latter.

But it takes time climbing up that ladder; taking each slow
step, to lead up to your matter meeting my matter; making
it really matter.

The sting of cheeks, the first time you taste something
so sweet; a flower on my lips by the scent of perfect
dreams – I’d shut my eyes each time we'd kiss; it’s just
a natural response, and one I hope lasts us both so long.

I haven’t kiss someone for so long, that it’s a taste I long.

My biggest fear:

Is someone knowing all of my biggest fears,
just to use them all against me.

When a little boy cries, we hold him and tell him,
“it’s okay”
But when he becomes a man, we push him away,
“hey now, don’t be ga..”

Yet you’re happy to be everything to everyone, even if it
gives the impression that it benefits you the most – bend
a bone to break yourself, to prove you belong.

But if a man breaks down being honest; be honest, he has
to prove himself – that his tears really belong to his struggles,
to fully showcase everything that is so wrong, to leave an
impression on everyone.

The darkness has counted and held most of my tears, along
with my fears that one day they’ll all be revealed.

Truth is…

I am a private man who tries his best at showing public love;
chromed heart, leather lungs – aiming to avoid a plastic love.
When I fall in love, you’d know, when my words are so tied
up; stringed lips, blurry eyes, and a sponged mind – praying
I don’t easily absorb everything that’s noxious in my life…

And like when your WIFI is low; in desperate times, is when
I start to use my resources so well – resorting to digging away
at my pride, digging to find those quenching waters; a demure
self from a humble well; I find it hard to be well with my own
character development; for as you reveal on all your personal
struggles, some wish you well, and the rest just goes, oh well…

As for right now, I am a man with every decision being made
with a good prayer in mind; respecting all of the days at heart;
it’s through His love I’m still alive, despite these various odds,

I still have this life, thank God!

But don’t you try to wipe your tears with your dry skin –
Wearing the look of sorrow; your eyes standing mannequin
Could we be like a white lotus; holding the waters of life
Waiting to come out from the womb of the world?

My bones are a pacing cold, under the warmth of the sun
The city runs dark; watching tired dogs chasing after cars
I’m counting all of my scars; pulling weeds from my yard –
I spat a seed into the ground, waiting on a feast to grow

Where I was a Rose…with

Spores of thorns, to push away those who hurt me before
Placing most of our dreams high above – we own the skies
We owe the world none of our tears, but it loves to see us cry
And at times it feels better, just being silent most of the time
To watch all that happens, to learn, and then advise …

But I too, must learn to take up my own advice.

I know death calls me so many times, like I owe it too many favours
But I won’t answer that call – until much, much later
And they might rush you to live your life; but child
Don’t you know Death waits for you, with great patience?

And all these girls on my feed with curves, all start to feel
So shapeless!
Love nowadays is so baseless – when you place your faith
On beauty; do you know that one day it will all betray you?

But when we drift, do our tears dry under the sun of
Our daydreams –
In place of all our streams; your teeth could still sink in my skin
But even those that had a bite of love; are still searching for their
Own piece.

I miss the sleep of our daydreams when we had the few times
To dream, and not going to look for love in sheets –
When love was paved on the streets; not these things
That belong to THE STREETS!
Where we could be dancing in the waves of the sea;
Surfing all of your best ideas, when kids dared to dream
Never too afraid to swim, when we had each other to pick
Us up, whenever we start to sink.
                                                when we were kids.

Spread joy in your smile; be it contagious! As when you see a man
raging outside in public, it begs the question to the eyes; “he's a bit
outrageous?" And even as you get too good at your ***** talk; leaving
a stain after every kiss – do remember, when you take the hand of a
man’s princess; you'd be wise to make her a queen.

As any fault in a man’s armour, becomes the perfect aim to his heart
and on his path, he walks with the info he has to better chart. And as
you try to do your part, to show honest, and non-faulted love; it can
feel short sometimes –

still... don’t cut yourself short, when the world hates to see you stand
tall. Won't you hold onto the assurance that your Creator stands taller
and always above it all.

The market crashed in my eyes – I can't afford buying a love that’s
blind. But maybe I’m a fool; and do fools in love, eventually wise
up without having to break apart? A mirage on my lips, making it an
illusion when I sometimes express how I really feel. Love’s decisions
so deep in your eyes; can be varying, but also along the lines of being
beautifully deceiving.

While waiting patiently under the moss; lacking the true roots to dig
deeper for the nourishment of love – oversaturated; growing in damp
habitats, and still trying to pretend being grass. To pretend love…
is it not a sin?

Some look for comfort in skin, other’s skin is the momentary comfort
to a nightly lover. When you hide yourself under their covers, do you
not know that we still see the shape of your shame – two bodies that
shake when they're in trouble.

I pray as a witness, that those who are in love, fully bare the weight
of love – the good, the bad, and hidden ugly. But more importantly,
that they bare the weight together; looking out for each other.

I'm top heavy; my thoughts are resting at the brim – no cap! Often
my lips leak their thoughts at the brim; and I’m a cup with so
much to spit. I'm words on a spit – burning away time, in these fires
of life. Always the unannounced guests, coming to visit your home;
to make it feel like a show, making sure everything is in order – the
house is live. Also, as you live with a drive, those around you hope
you’re a responsible driver, to arrive with you alive.

I'm the tip of a scent towards destiny – hoping the path where my
soul goes, my heart also knows; I shoot my shot with aims to shoot
goals. I hold the script of a child's life, and my younger self looks at
me, to play all of those roles.

But when the model falls, and rolls over on their stage, do you still
look at them as your role model. At times I know why my self relates
so well to a bottle – all of those emotions a man tries to keep bottled.
While life feeds you time; a man still finds it a bit hard, for that piece
of pride he has to swallow.

These days feel like too many moments of regrets, questioning what
to do next – like the morning after ***. The two sit up, deciding who
will go and buy the morning after; *** can be like sleeping with
your regrets – it's an uncomfortable bed, but the one that you made.
There's no shame in admitting your mess; just clean it up with your
responsibility, before looking to hire a maid.

That's enough overthinking for today.

By the odds of life; tell me what are the odds
you’ll know the rhythm of a bee’s heartbeat –
And as you skip a stone across the water's surface,
would the river’s heart skip a beat?

know that all of creation are alive too…

I am alive too, as my skin feels beat; self-discipline
is no easy feat – for the flesh is weak, but has the
strength to torment your mind the entire week.

But we are more than skins; capable of beating
the odds, of giving to our skins.

Took a bite out of you, and I chipped my tooth –
haven't seen the place of your heart; it feels a bit loose
Hung my fears of losing you, what words to say;
they’re stuck by my neck – you had me in a noose.

I’m just a cigarette burning at your lips when we kiss;
and I grew five months’ pregnant in my ears – when
you first said you love me; it sounded like great news…

Push my buttons – feels so long that my heart has spoken
to you; all the ocean's tears in my eyes; I hope you don’t
cry when you see me so blue?  

I’m so sorry…

it’s my own fault,
this is something I’m not so accustomed to, but I hope
you’ll always know – I still regret not telling you,
“darling I love you too”

All of your curves, how do we walk in straight lines;
how do we dance so sublime – how are you the weight
on my mind in my wet dreams, from tears that flow?
You drown out my pride!

Had I ****** you that much, to want to change bladders;
though sleeping alone is it’s own song, would you be
the song bird singing in my dawn?

As the sands of time flow down your hourglass figure,
how are the days of our lives, any less worth, when we
get to spend the night… together!

But as you rest your thoughts on my chest, there’s a deep
pressure, when you take your time to say you love me –
it’s a slow pleasure, when I try to rule out the space that
should be between our breaths, it’s a small measure…

I must be murmuring your name under my breath

An atheist might not believe in God or angels, but maybe
around you, he could believe in being around a person that
feels like a place close to a heaven.

There’s an apocalypse in my eyes – but I’ll only get to see it when
I die; for the moment of my demise. Bring back the day; for I am
acutely aware that time runs its course, on an endless mile – an
infinite stretch. It pains me to don a fake smile, yet it appears
simpler when they insist, I haven’t worn it in a while.

I’m a lot happier inside!

I have a few events scripted, priming my heart for people’s let-downs,
and my disappointments – when you’re ready to face a torrent of
hurt, you find yourself anchored, awaiting their appointments.

Pain is faceless!

The past lingers with a relentless patience, ever eager to unveil how
you did it wrong – in the garden of life, regrets sprout like stubborn
weeds. Do tend to your plot, and sow the seeds of every lesson
learned, and hope wisdom grows.

You’ve been the prettiest flower all along!

It’s funny how I let you carry all my baggage – give it a few pennies
for thought; that’s your allowance to call me a scumbag.

And I might just sip fine wine, with tears pouring, while she makes
a fine whine – but I don’t know which one she wears the best, when
our smiles start to feel stretched out, as a ***** line.

But I should fill my heart, even when I don’t feel love at all; and does
gravity welcome us with open arms, when we start to fall in love –
who will catch us when we fall? And I don’t guarantee as much, the
guarantee of brakes, to stop someone from having another broken
heart.

Yet there’s falling in love, and falling apart – to having an encounter
with love; while making a count of all the times you though it was
true love.

There’s an account to the heart; the interest of heart, the sum of love –
how would you count yourself to be loved, if you only love to count
yourself out? Make your love count!

Life is just the façade of plastic – plastic money; currency crafted
from synthetic dreams, one's plastic love; affections moulded in
artificial forms. Too much of the latter; a toxic one's greatest trait.

Plastic taste; threads of regret cling to my teeth – my palate’s
insides churns; the words of people made of plastic bullets; still
their weight hurts.

Gazes of a select few friends resemble patient crows, observing
the burdens you bear in a plastic bag of your baggage. A course of
those processed foods; processed natural flavours – sprinkle a little
more sugar to add weight to that plastic container.

“You don’t really match my flavour,” I wouldn’t know how it
really tastes – my heart; I’d love to give you a taste, but it’s often
filled with so much hate. And as I try not to break what holds my
food for thought; I keep my dreams on a plastic plate.

But even plastic breaks, just with the right weight.

So tell me, why are you trying to carry the weight of the world?

Maybe I’m a wind-up toy robot, blindly walking down this path,
maybe I’m a pullback toy car, moving forward by taking a few
steps back. Maybe I’m a box of random Lego pieces, building up
a life, without an instruction manual, maybe I’m just a firecracker,
exploding with less passion – so I sometimes add fuel.

Maybe I’m the one trapped in the castle; quietly hoping the world
doesn’t see a man battling his own dragons, as a damsel, maybe I
don’t know how to fight for myself, cos I was shown that fighting
as a believer isn’t a good example.

Maybe I’m looking for love, just because everyone seems to be  
falling in love, maybe I’m trying to fit my hand in everything,
to protect myself from failure – wearing all the title gloves.

Maybe, maybe, maybe – but all the maybes aren’t always the
possibilities we want. So maybe I should instead be more definite
on all the needs I want.

How We Must Bear With Those,
Possessing An
Origami Mouth;

Folding Their Hate Talk,
Into Decorative Speech

Tell Me, Even As Their
Mouth Speaks,
Does A Chef,
&

Their Own
Recipe Of Lies,

Taste The Deceit On
Their Own Lips;

What More
Their Kiss?

Even a flat girl can say things with her chest,
Any man can say a lot – but have their heart
Broken in a sec; a lot of us think about ***,
Before identifying your worth in the right
Headspace...

To catch a floating dream with a sky hook,
Picking the empty book, with the cover that had
Good looks – don’t read that line about a story;

But just the story of your life, where you dated
A few ugly hearted dudes; maybe I should apologize
For all the Apollos with the good hooks

“Plenty fish in the see,”
But one bad fisher, spoils the catch of another,
He catches, just to toss away – on two different
Boats, distances away; but hey,

“All fishermen are just the same”

We are the blind faith of birds believing
In these empty sightless winds,
Sugar-spun cotton candy clouds; two kites
With trailing long strings.

We require no advice on the art of how
To fly, tangled traffic threads of candy cane
Lines of the clouds of yesteryears –
Our drive is sometimes a descent down
A mountain, make the time to embrace the sky;
Glide!

I gave up on my possession of love, to make
Peace with those demons; tears cascade like
Contemporary storms, running rivulets; craters
Upon our skin as the ache of hurt deepens...

Stinging like the creases of a well-worn shirt;
Lessons etched in the fabric of new wrinkles –
Still to remain as the silhouettes of the horizon.

Consider this:

to your past, your present,  
or your future self –  
each one perceives their own
reality as their present moment.

you have gained more wisdom
beyond your past self; you will
always feel just a day away from
encountering your future self –  

so cherish the essence of
your present self, for to it,
this moment is their present
moment.

Blinds descend upon the windows of my soul,
protecting my thoughts that are delicate as glass
Behind me, beyond myself – I gazed beyond
My façade.

I ventured past the exterior— the interior,
yearning to be recognized as a blossom,
and not merely as a
Stubborn ****.

Would someone kiss me, and not make believe –
to make me believe, that their touch won’t
Last me that long.

I’ve known a version of myself
one that’s been way too sad
For long.

To what end,
do we keep
Looking for hope
In empty songs?

"Singing to myself"

Shadows of formless flames –
silhouettes piercing my vision, through their gaze
of a relentless light. A horn of fire in my hand, I feel the
gusts of smoke-laden, blowing away my once air
filled lungs.

Tender lips brush against my heart,
awakening the remnants of darkness and chill; my spirit
resembles a mere lump of coal. I am the embodiment of love,
inspired by someone else’s dream. I toss a handful of coins
into life's faulty machine—yet another excuse to invest in
faulty dreams.

Battles yield no victors, when wars try to be won
by other wars; love cannot nourish itself if both souls
stand with open arms; one must yield; to surrender —
for even in doing nothing, lies a semblance of peace.

Individual actions act as a lifeline for those around us—
who never know how to love. The flames have scorched
my flesh, leaving blisters, woven into pain— nurse me
with the balm of patience, as every old man confronts
the inevitability of death. The question that haunts us all
is,

when?

Blind to the subject of being blind in love –
does that mean I can see?

Do I believe in the belief; of love at first sight
isn’t faith believing in that you cannot see,
that which you hope to be?

But I could close my eyes to a better scene –
when we go out and it doesn’t go so well;
we should have made it a blind date!

            Now this love feels blind.

Would you still want a touch of a garment to Heaven, even if
it kills you? Ten thousand steps away from Heaven – I could be
on my nine hundred and ninety nineth step; but the question is
would I get in without an invitation?

Would you still fall asleep, even if you wound up resting right
next to death – given a limit to your air, would you start to count
your breaths? In the end, I hope my eyes pray whenever they blink,
and my heart silently repents for their lips "good" reputation.

I hear the eery songs of sirens; my own voices in my head – that
are acting like background singers and the Devil's ****** advice.
Do I feel alive doing the things that risk my own life; mixing
desires with passion – a bit of too much passion in my own desires.
Twelve speed racing to smile, but sometimes I despise being so
nice.

Sometimes I'm a world built on lies; sometimes I lie on top of those
years long gone – the grass that's greener on the other side, I just
want to enjoy the scent of that freshly cut lawn.

do you love me Bipolar –
My heart is in a bit of disorder;
ordering my emotions, suspended by
the winds blowing me into my
Mood swings.

Does loving me sometimes feel
too irrational – do I
give you a sense of Phobia; I
cannot Lie; I have

thanatophobia

and the someone I love,
that I fear losing - in All honesty,
is losing myself to Love…

I’ve met dreams worth the future underneath their eyelids –
Those good enough to profit on; a dream’s hope for prophecy.
I sat in place of longs; longing to be heard, longing to smile,
Longing just to be – where is that perfect place of longevity?

Too many past thoughts – I’m a past life, and a list of regrets
Of course, I feel human; so humid, under these pressures of life –
Tears in my eyes, pools of emotions, and drowning in my sweat.

We'll strain walking up mountains, leading to life’s successes –
To taste that peak, and utter so proudly, “it was no easy feat,”
Even as right now, I feel stuck in place – I’ll still move my feet.

         Step by step...          Step by step...          Step by step...
                            Step by step              Step by step.

A woman, bears the responsibility
of bearing her husband a son –
His legacy

Yet, even as she presents him
with a daughter, she gives him
a gift he never knew he had –
A soft heart

And in all that she offers him,
she provides a reason for him to
embrace the fullness of,

                                 Fatherhood!

And in this life, we:
Live, we regret, we learn –
Lessons from regret

And for bodies, we are:
Skins, touch, ecstasies in –
Two hearts that touch

Finally, we are all to:
Love, give breath, have *** –
To expect, another breath

              We all create.

But do you not realize how  
Littered
You are, with so much  
Time–              

               Still,  
You choose to waste it

Yet time will always lick
Our wounds
Given the time, for us to heal

               We are
           Time's litter.

On tippy toes, dancing with the Devil; the tipsy ballerina – tattooed
her dreams underneath a piece of Silk. And there's a lace upon my
window eyes, to see through her pain; she seems so brainwashed,
and in such a daze – as rain fell on her hair.

Her skin was once so fair, nowadays it seems to be paying a fare, for
all those potholes up the road to her smile. I splashed in the puddles
of a few wet kisses – speaking less, but hearing a lot of, “all men are
just the same,” as for me, society’s standard of beauty all looks, and
tastes the same.

I held you, kissed you – lending out a lens, to blind my eyes from
seeing your ugly friends. Those you hate in secret; telling me how
MUCH you hate them, and my hate for them, must ALSO be good
at playing pretend.

As you pout your mouth – talking about how much I should bank
on your heart – is that the reason you keep an account on all the
things I've done wrong, to make me lose interest in our love?

Love can feel like it’s around the corner; too busy playing on these
streets, in the present tense – hoping to receive our gifts. But when
love has run its course, it’s a static image of joy; the two are just GIFs.

As for Youthful romance
It's just like foolish Affairs –
Impulsive decisions, Fleeting emotions.

And if foolish Affairs of Youth serve
A purpose; it Serves as a simple Message:

All young Love, is DUMB love;
Until you Eventually find the ONE.

Screen testing, screen testing – I start my days wondering how I’m
supposed to play the role to my life. I have a TV screen for my past,
to better watch my back. Most days I’m too caught up on channelling
my fears, for whatever reward I believe – they'll never pay me back;
they're just all looking for payback.

My overthinking sometimes, works overtime – trying to be a good
figure; putting words into action, to be an action figure. How would
you figure, that out of the bunch of men, you could stand out of the
rest?

And wouldn’t it be funny if the woman of my dreams told me, "you
need to rest" – only taking her advice, if she's the better dream out of
the rest.

For not all men can swallow their pride; others survived gallons –
but in short, a man would do it for the right gal. You tell him, "you'll
never get that girl," his pride starts to see a challenge. A greater pride,
chases tale to make it a talent – that man seems challenged!

Every day is a just balance of challenge – wealth we scavenge, our
dreams live as memory stores; we store up what we value the most.
We look at tomorrow for what's in store; born out of love just for most
of us to go and create war.

Speaking highly of yourself, often speaking down on someone else–
speaking life into a child's life, speaking ill on them when you grow
so sick of them. In the end, we are just words.

Yeah... I’ll be the reflection of one’s depression – to hotspot their
emotions, for the ones that lack real expression. I am a weapon by
the impression of my pen; I demand love and attention – so ****
possessive; these words are my greatest possession.

My mind… my mind is just a book, and I feel so overbooked.
And the dreams in my eyes are overlooked, while I dream about
my death knowing it’s never too good. But we feel so misunderstood –
hoping not to leave pieces of ourselves. Life dares to cut me down
like a tree, and sometimes I wish it would.

I’m two doors swinging in the milestones of a lonely road. I threw
my rocks at my reflections – their irregular metre, is such an ugly
ode. Still if I reflect other's depression; I’ll transport it around the
globe, and carry their load.

I am their depression to be showed. Yeah, we're depressed, but I
doubt a lot of you would really know!

In the depths of night, a scent of blood hangs heavy in the air,
as if the clouds themselves had wept pools of blood, for their
sorrows in the form of rain.

I gently brushed away tears from a shard of ancient, stained
glass, lost in contemplation of the countless destinations we
could have been, our adventures stretching infinitely like the
vastness of the sea.

Yet, amidst the myriad of dreams we dared to envision,
the glass whispered a profound truth:

We are only as broken as the reflections we allow our
external mirrors to see.

I am man who wants a lot though – I hope I win the lotto! I hope
she didn't try to park her heart in my mind, "where did she park
her car though?" Depression rides passenger, like some useless
cargo – I've studied my drive for a loaned passion, keeping an eye
on that car note. But sometimes I wonder where this car goes;
and I haven’t met the kiss of peace, just like I never seen Chicago.

I have a lot of goals – but scores of hurt; from questions of self-worth.
Tell me the maker of mismatched hopes, and the creator of dreams
from their birth? Who first put a curse on the tongue, to speak a few
curse words – who went that under someone, to underestimate when
they show a few nerves?

Would someone show me the why to the end of one's poverty -
better yet, how to own your misfortunes as first steps to fortune,
and living your worth, as your own property.

I am man who wants a lot - a whole lot of answers, to the questions
about the script of my life story; to live up to its plot.

Tell me, what it's like finding love – one as easy as finding your
place in the world. “No wait… that’s a terrible analogy.”

Okay tell me, is there such an easy love to find, like attending
an event that came with an open invite? I quietly watch everyone
dancing in the crowd of love. Right now, I don’t know much
about the steps; could we may-be slow dance? “Uhm… I mean
take it slow!”

Sorry, that came out so wrong – and we know for my week heart;
that’s a bit too strong. “Oh snap, I spelt weak wrong.” Maybe its
because the last time I saw you in person, it was a week ago.
“****, it feels that long!”

Anyways, the words in my mouth, clears my throat; though the
sickness still sticks… love? Could we be like two love birds;
just because of this flu. “Okay, that’s a corny bar!”  
“Are your hands sweaty – no?”

It’s a family thing; having sweaty palms. But I promise you,
I’m not secretly falling in love. “We’re friends right?”
  
                                  the many thoughts that plague his nights.

I am suicide,

entangled on the wrong line of conversation – 1-800-273-8255.
My existence crumbles, while my life is degrading; emotions
constantly rearranging, while death lingers, with due patience.
I am the impure linen stained with the tears of pain. I am the
cacophony of voices in my own brain, the picture of love, yet
my heart beats with a hollow rhythm, feeling so plain.

I am time,

as it twists and bends, mirroring the sharp twist of a knife by
my side. I am unkind to myself – hate myself in secret, but in
public I always smile so bright. My happiness is a reflection –
I am the moon, a distant memory, until you remember a
beautiful night.

I am poison,

the chlorine of sorrow, and so wasted in my wasteful tears.
Each breath is heavy with the weight of my fears, I am a grave
to bury my griefs. I am sometimes a religious person, with iffy
beliefs. I struggle to believe in myself, as often as I can believe
in others, while my dreams fade into monochrome colours.

My mind runs around wanting to die, yet I cling to the will
to create; on what I can write. To write is to stay alive!

Tell me how to wind up the wind’s tears trapped in my broken
car window. How to play a heart’s love songs on an old radio –
with the buzzing sounds in the speakers, speaking so ill of me.

And if I fall on my knees, would you watch me take my bow;
would you look me deep in my eyes, as if searching for a heaven;
or anything close to a safe haven?

While others marry happily yesterday, to be merry for tomorrow –
savouring the bites of sweet nothings; suckling, to feed a need
of their skin’s heat. In the rest of their night, they rest on innocent
linen washed with their tears of joy – but what if I don’t cry
anymore?

The wind in my life journey, has blown away my tears.

You can hear the violence in the silence
Even when the rain washes your tears –
  some pain still reigns; man sailing thru

These clouds, and their tears galore; wouldn’t
You know every tomorrow comes too late –
  exorcisms to clear those who’ve ghosted you

The past hangs on an arm’s annexation
Holding the reigns of your mind’s territory –
  we wake as soldiers, ready to fight today

Winning small battles means nothing to war  
A world of peace could exist, en route to God –
   we could go as far, by how long we pray

I could have seen you yesterday,
Recalling a lover’s patch of kisses –
signing that love pact. War over love,
though when is love enough
for all wars to be done?

A world of peace could exist,
but it would mean we all don’t exist.

God fears no man – creator of existence, in the composition that
spoke life and oxygen to all you creatures. Some pray their prayers
as Christian, few times aloud as a victim – walking on surface of
earth, we crowd it with pollution for the nectar of wealth, spreading
seeds for what is made from personal growth – the birds and the
bees.

Pollinating the stigma to our young, that they have all the time to
be dumb. Hatching all of your fears to your son you call chum;
fishing the picture of plenty fish in the sea – did you at least
teach him how to swim. Figuratively!

Though quite literally; the bait of addiction is the idea that everyone
does it as a passage of growth. The world finds success in us
following a uniform message, their wickedness to clothe…

Us, against the world, though parts of the world believe they’re
greater than God.

She’s sweeter than a grapevine – she only whines around flavours
of great wine. Her body is feminine divine; you could title her
as a song – still too hard to define. Would I deny, the place she
lingers, in the thoughts of an artist’s ***** mind?

But maybe I’m just too down to earth – less than down bad, but
searching deep to hold your flower at a hand’s worth. Right next
to me, the heat of your body gives out such warmth. And in place
of new words, ones I never shared with old girls – your sweet
honey lips make mine appear as bees, that have you swarmed.

Alley hearts; we're two pieces of love on such a narrow path. I should
narrow it down; the many times I seen your tears running down your
cheeks, as if life was running you a bath. But I have you by the hand,
to walk into the future, with the past’s lessons and where love began.

The journey begins right here!

And she asked:

Why don’t we talk as much, is it –
Because we don't love as long,

Trying to eat my heart out - so fast,
And now it's just another piece of takeout

Tears trapped on your face
All turned into black makeup;
Thought we were just trying to make up –
Or was it all made up?

                     ******* hate break ups!

My existence is non-existent;
Life, is just a puzzle of reasons,
trying to connect the conclusion
to your own existence.

I should feel eligible, close to
The means of incredible, even if
I can't read all of the signs of being
illegible; devoured by time, feeling
so edible.

                                                        ­   Their tears are threads tied to a soul,
                                                         Like falling rains – all emotion pours,
                                                    Highs are weighed down by many lows
                                                           And a tongue is as lethal as the gun;
                                                         the gun still lives within these laws
                                                   So permission to shoot a shot; fall in love
                                                 but keeping the charm to impress in-laws.

                                                   Extra bullets for bullet holes,

The heart surely practices having kids
Before having kids; it’s just sad to see, kids
Raising kids – as the family needs don't
really show what, "family," means– just
another short story of familiar griefs.