Snip, Snip,

Our youth: a graze of grass, in
youngest beauty' field;
lively, but withered under sun—
all heated moments we'll treasure,
as proof succession is time,
for a new to replace an old.

I'm not one at times to be easily loved, I'm also not one
you could quickly hate. I still appear afraid, even with a
brave face on. I could be romantic, but I might not have the
right words in person. I think a lot about ***, but feel comfortable
on the thoughts of still being a ****** (sometimes)

I'm not always moved by the crowd, or like to follow trends.
I'm photogenic, mixed with social anxiety amongst the unfamiliar
faces around. I barely raise my voice; sadly won't always be so manly.
I value family, though mine is so divided. Their subtle rude
humour is a form of love. I have it too, so I hope you don't mind it.

My music taste is a wide tongue of different genres.
Artic monkeys, Twenty one pilots, Frank Ocean, Kendrick Lamar,
Hippie sabotage, Bach, Earth Wind & Fire, and one or two songs
by Rihanna. I prefer to listen on my own—in the sense of bluetooth
speakers filling my anxious anxiety. At least with earphones on,         I feel free playing with full volume. And writing poems in great variety.

I'm learning to cope with long hugs, but just ease off from the
sides. It's a fight of being overly sensitive to touch; or me
liking those tingles at times. Or maybe I'm saving my sensitive
parts for a future wife. I try to swallow my pride, but it's like
a knife, cutting me from the inside. I've thought about suicide too
many times. Passions being only imaginative in my mind. A gift
with a curse behind, so unkind.

I'm unlike my father, only with his temper at better control.
They say my looks come from my mother; but my character
definitely is a mix of both.

I'm weird, humble, funny, emotional, girly (sometimes)
cautious, moody, caring, charismatic, shy, awkward, the worst
dancer (without a couple drinks in me) calm, wise, and still
finding out more about myself.

                                         Yep! That's basically me. (Messy Entirely)

Thin wire, overzealous leading to being over tired...
an over reliance on the hopes of being reinspired,
The burning thoughts; of a migraine constantly on fire.

Ten thousand shots in my head—ba, ba, ba, ba,
swimming over my depths, trying my best to breathe;
all the while in still waters choking my neck. Some live
too long...living a life of the dead.

I'm singing a song, better sounding inside—la, la, la, la,
It goes while I'm looking in the mirror, seeing myself and my
self enemy. Who's betting on their works, to seem like a better
version of themself/me?

Letting be of the many ways I try to appear calm in some days.
Hunger in my eyes; starved of the sights of true love.
But the dirtiest intentions, has my face fully covered in mud.
I give and give, but these returns are never enough.
But plenty are the voices in my head, battling constantly—blah, blah, blah, blah, as no-one else hears this cracking glass in my chest.

I figure we're all fragile figures, in the end.

I've been touched by....
the morning symphony orchestra of birds,
rain tickles dancing on asbestos roofing,
calm winds; of one gentle breeze plunging mangoes,
brown leaves rustling away for new to follow,
the sounds of life in the cheers of children's play,
oh—touching experiences of a beautiful day.

So as I speak...
I say to you—not to bite words of expression,
let the voice of life in your lungs be lively,
out a loud in the quieting despairs of often,
to the ears open to the sounds of hope acclaimed,
teach the young, and so too teach the old of extra portion,
the spirit of worth within us, echoes out in action,
letting those words you speak be in the physical,
in conscious, guided by Spirit—becomes lyrical.

                                And all in all, do it all with love.

A monkey's wedding: our elders told us
it was, each time it rained with the sun out.
Pink skies, white clouds, golden tears and
the good times of being young.

Tree climbing to touch the sky as high,
fruit picking, and stone skipping at turbid puddles,
The smell of after rains, wet grounds, dew tear drops;
all at the nights condescending condensation.

Chasing rainbows on rumours of Peter pan's hidden
treasures at the end. As a guileless manner supposed.
Sunlight creeping through cracks of clouds,
the remainder of light showers, reminisced in the mud.

Sculptures we'd try our best to carve,
playing house outside, under the upcoming sun,
And trying our best at reciting parent's love.

Tell me have you seen anything as beautiful,
as the beauties after the rain?

| Like lightning in your veins;
     you'll strike down the enemy
   The stars in your eyes;
      be with the brightness foresight
          
  The sun in your mouth;
    display summers in your smile

  All the beautiful things,
    all the while makes us all so beautiful

                                                I see beautiful people. |

Where  dreams  are
  under the tears of stars,
   my eyes  brittle brightsome;
    child-like manner-aforetime adult scars.

"And as I look above,
  cleared of thoughts-vile of ourselves
   wrestling the mind in mud;
     think of your God, for as His purity
        ...shall I too think in His ways"

So did she say;
  torn out title cover of her bible at hand.
   Sunday school teachers taught my
      infanthood lessons, still in adulthood.

Do you feel nostalgia every time you walk into the room,
as the pillow talks of our make believe? Tender kisses,
biting desires and creases of time stuck in the sheets.

The echo drops of dripping walls, the yearning calls
of passionate eyes—burning embers of your red skin.
Blushing lips; a crushing weight of the burdens I try to shake.
One screams a name, or in turn whispers it's calm in the first hug
of embrace. The shape of bodies, outlined reminiscences on a bed.

Oh-the sense of appeal, peeling away an oozing flux of one's
*** appeal. Branching out into words--your'e barking up the wrong
tree. No harsher than the bark, but a bite to force you to leave.
Duped by the words lost in kisses; I meant to say lead.

To places of touch; a rush of the brushing eyes...you've swept me
by your night gown's sight. My love for you, inside the like of it's
silk fabric. Covering your face under the blankets, but the glow of
your skin—you could never mask it.

Strength lost in the weakness of love. Making two for the best
of one, as when the two flesh become one.

                                                   Now that's making love.

Behind the shades of eyes; does leave something much
more desirable. Wettest eyes behind the blinds of time.
I cherish those little moments—likewise the most we
make out of them.

Shakes me keenly: like my shaking arm after hitting the
funny bone. Careless laughs in good company; my stomach
in knots. Tied between the twisting craze of advertising
love--ours is intimate.(a secret place)

You're close to me; close as the tongue to it's teeth,
speaking the word Love. Your name roles off the tongue
out of my bright smile. (you give me summer in my mouth)

A month like no other, may I attest to your sight,
ghostly; as the presence of you raises my skin hairs.
My goosebumps of knowing you're near, and a extra
beating heart—I'm out of breath.

Let me have a piece of eupnea, by a kiss I'd make
as my last. Lungs of passion; passionately kissing each other.

A bloom of flowers...
whispers of warmth under cold shivers...
tears of an experience...
gleaming light of joy...
a flame of echoed emotions...
reflection of loveliness...
lonely shatters of time...
the escape from a harsh reality...
a dream of eternal...
once forth as I loved you so–-all of the above,
all to remind me of your worth...

                                            At most, I'm lost for words.

In open arms; these galloping seasons—
chasing after summer. A cold heart made of stone.
I'm torn: a ripped page; my appellation out of the
Book of Life.

Deathly wallows swallow my mind, as the
depressed eye looking at the pen as a knife.

An execution of a piece of paper,
bleeding out pain, and yells out in hurt.
Starved are these words—food for thought.
A penny for a thought, worthwhile taking time to
overthink, more often than the count to blink.

Tedious, hideous, a galloping chase—seemingly
alive. But I'm really just beating a dead horse.
Truthfully overthinking--does ****.

Whispers of tree leaves,
shaking fibres of the very skin. A breeze
creeping through all of the wall cracks.
Breath heavy not of stink, but cold breath;
a weighing heart of ice deep in my chest.

Sin in my bones, (from birth) weakness of
the flesh. Time is plenty on my hands.
Intent on the mind, procrastination under breath.

"I'll do it all tomorrow"

I recalled a bird's song as a morning lullaby,
rooster crow echoes of less time left in a dream.
Diminutive time; clocks going full circle several times.

"Fine I'll do it in the afternoon"

The Eve sets on the day,
as to kiss her Adam, as the first sun.
But it's the last light of dusk coming into play,
wasted by the nothing of planning to do something.

"Snap! Where did the day go"

Back to the start of the end, into the new
beginning of procrastination.

"I'll definitely do it tomorrow"


                                                     ­ Yeah right.

Circles—round a trip,
going all around the plains of plain thinking,
A blank mind; empty paper, ****** canvas,
As of the first I'll write: a masterpiece to create.

A shaking pen, a hold of my thoughts and emotions.
Dreams so unreal; feels so prohibited to a natural
thought. So I write them out in words.

Read through it, subtract, dissect,
read through it again; alter, adjust,
As many times, till I'm content with the piece.
But I'm never content; until the next piece,
the next piece, and next pieces after that.

Battling thoughts on whether to share or
archive for a later story. Post for likes, comments,
to please an ego—post for dispraise, inklings,
to better self, and writing capabilities.

For all-inclusive

Heart and soul, the symphony orchestra of your
beauty’s chords. I wrote you a note,—
a love letter with a fountain pen;
Ink lines fine tuned, emotions filled in words.

The sounds of trees blowing in a summer wind,
a palm holding onto birds singing morning secrets in
my ears. The ocean tackling tides, of love in waves.
The blue I see; kissing you with joyful tears.

A minor occurrence; in these major keys,
fiddling to find the right one to the lock.
The song of love isn’t the same for all,
An interlude—lyrics of love, her and I both sing.

Ssshh!

Calm yourself--your anxious feelings,
and hungering eyes. Let the sound of love move
you off your feet. Under stars of ball room lights,
dancing together. I’ll be waiting darling till
you and I meet.

Ghostly shadows, but what ghost
really casts a shadow—cousins?
The ghost and a shadow, still in my room
at the edge of the bed.

A ghost of unhappiness, and a shadow
of these lonely despairs. Both related.

Mother nature taught me how to grow,
Father time forces me to wait for it.
The Mistress of death would love to rush
the process. Brothers in arms, alarming the gun
sounds in my head—my constant ringing headaches.
Sister company, sharing the pain of a common
parent entity

Interesting family picture.

Emotions crease onto another,
wrinkles in the heart—broken
But still in place; afterward I was stood
up by the door of your heart's place—at first
Enthusiastic; red cheeks of a child blushing
over cute callings. A blushing bride as it were;
under the wedding vale with teary eyes.

I loved you still...

Perfectly imperfect, your flaws are what
drove me crazy. For no definition was in them,
But they'd define a picture of your strength.
Every kiss leaving wet yearning lips, shaking
and scarred by our out of breaths.

I loved you plenty...

As with the little I could give; money, fame,
fortunes, & recognition from the public.
Only am I recognised by demoiselles, next to you.
For when we see what we could of had,
we'd seek it more than it gave us first attention.

I loved you joyously...

Beatitude; those warm fuzzies of being next
to you—thinking about you, longing for you,
waiting for you, crying for you, & praying for you.

I loved you darling...as still as the time
I must wait, plenty more than I can express.
Joyously in all my endeavours.

I could never stop myself, falling in love
with you again, again, & again.

I've fallen in love again.

Kissing lips; the best taste to have,
Next to chocolate and coffee,
Close few friends; for Saturday hangouts,
Binge watching series when I'm all alone,
Reading a good book, anxious for the next chapter,
A long awaited Friday to kick back from work,
Bonus points if we're knocking off early that day,
Instagram memes, and poetry related posts,
A few brave selfies to show off a fresh cut,
Avoiding "I like your cut g" reactions. Perfect.

The smell of brand new clothes with the tag on,
Socks and sandals in the comfort at home,
The sun coming out of a blanket of clouds. Shinning.

A good or ***** joke to have you ear from ear smiling,
Loud music in my ears with bass, and good lyrics
Picking through playlists to a sombre mood and worship,
Pretty flowers amongst the random walks to nowhere,
A brand new journal, and ballpoint pen to match,
Especially the ones with good grip, and black ink,
Holiday trips to new places, people, and food,
Afternoon naps, sleeping in days, and up late gaming,
Anime lovers sharing folders of content watched. Great.

Bible devotions leaving questions and encouragement,
Sunday meals, filling me up with good food,
Seeing cute kids; making you yearn to have your own,
Somebody complimenting or saying thank you for your effort,
And having poetry, stories, art and expression to channel every
emotion and thought out into physical. Creativity is beauty!

Twenty seven of my top reasons to appreciate being alive.

You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the
road.

This winter is cold.

US

Them: the beautiful time; love being a weight upon wait,
what **** given? It's walls have caved,
upon the piece of walls for a peace from wars.
This is our love, beauty; all in time —this is us.

We're in love...

TIME

She: never enough when we're together,
so much of it; counting hours apart from last touch.
Miles can be covered in due time, but the clock
is endless—sigh, running in circles.

If only we had more time...

BEAUTIFUL

He: not in the looks; inner or outwards,
neither words said or held out,
Seldom the blemishes or dimples,
make-up coverings; shades of red, purple, often blue,
The actions you take in response to adversary,
the seconds lost in the eyes of time—no.

You're beautiful for being you...
and the above are just accruing.

I hunger for time—
more of which I don't have,
Thirst for love;
but not all would quench it,
Seek a purpose
that isn't labelled at first sight,
Dream of greatest—
in the confines of being simple,
Sin in the several;
seven times a day- consciously

I've done it all-
but in an all still not complete,
I'm incomplete.

Wisp whisperings, tedious tensions,
all we face at a favour of an unfair life.
Summarised summonings, handful happenings,
to do all that is—not out of a place of strife.

Anxious agony, despairing delusions,
pains I can't always paint out in words.
Powerless poverty, penniless pockets,
let not status of the world; dictate self worth.

Joyful joinings, delightful decisions,
happiness isn't a given—still can't be lived without.
Humorous humans, creative creations,
all with a smile; moments are short. Make them count.

For into the night, the day will always rise—a dawn out
of the longest dusk. Like an Eve to it's Adam; the beauty
of their first fruits—seeds are to grow up touching the sky.
Do not threat dear child; the Heavens remain at the
highest,—above the hells of life.

It's time to RISE!

'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.

But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world?  A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
but just a life of a dream.

So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.

Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?

Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.

Love is a two way street.

I give love; out of a willingness to receive love.
Upon speaking love, I would have heard of it,
Experienced passionately; out of a passion to be loved.

Out of a passion to be loved, experienced passionately.
I would have heard of it, upon speaking love.
Out of a willingness to receive love; I give love.

Love is a two way street.

Wasted sober thoughts, prays the hardest without
picking a religion. Sounds as a Muslim, playing Christian.
But just a name; as their friends were pointing and teasing.
All the good days you claim; aren't the ones for the missing.

Wasted sober thoughts, made myself out of made up
thoughts. Make yourself a hero, just to save your worth.
A cape on too tight; squeezing the air out of my neck,
as my delusional depressions is still the only threat.
Bags under my eyes; not tiredness, but all the luggage of
my greatest regrets.

Wasted sober thoughts, my pain is a word I can't explain,
down under like the lowest writes. I must be sad again.
Swept under my head, deeply thinking into my grave.
And I express them well, when I'm feeling a strike of brave.

When I’ve got my fill of wasted sober thoughts,
intoxication to be expressing my unread words.
Do you read me or not; copy or roger this lot?
It's of no fault of your own, just a poem I've written
out of my lows. I'm intoxicated by words.

A tackle with the wind, a tackle with
these modern day kids. Good grief,
as I used to be; childish cares gone in the wind.

A mud crack on a leaf, to leave a
sound of mud cakes I'd make. Under the sun,
till dusk had set; using it's heat to bake.

A first kiss by a door, both parents a few
rooms away to get caught. Curiosity gained
from movie love scenes; tasting the worth.

A bicycle pedal, cycling carelessly. So freeing
to be allowed to ride up and down streets. But
we were young boys of trouble; disturbing the peace.

A stanza getting longer, words can't fit. And like
my mother buying oversize clothing. Barely fitting
in; whether in crowds or clothes in the surrounding.

A procrastinator, in doing first good. Lazy to decisions
of no self benefits. At a time only wanting a final gain
in rewards; you'd expect from growing a little penniless.

A grown boy now, a man faced in the mirror. A face of time
and the lessons experienced. Truly I've seen how much I've
grown; I've grown so much to shed a tear.

A story of growth as you read.

Purple flower—
lonesome afterimage;
a fighter with a purple eye.

Just for practice, I'll test out my bars
to girls inside of my words. Written on paper,
pencil scribbling sonnets with a close eraser.

To fall in love; only in fiction,
is it fact; that I'd be a love guru to all women?
I doubt the fact; but the idea I'm in love with that.
Overly kind; for the hints of girls going over my head,
I take too long to make a move, and we end being just
friends.

My kindness mistaken for flirtatious manner,
attentive of every detail, the stories, experiences
wrapped in life's scandals. Cracking crude jokes,
and quick wits. Through juicy looking lips.

So I was told; but cocky as it sounds, you're talking
to someone taking years to be yesterday's bold.

The best of words only at their prime out of love,
out watching couples, and still someone awkward
at long hugs. Who loves referring to past scars.

Speaks the best sweet nothings to nobody listening,
Positive eyes towards love; dwindling, in the limiting
facts of love's feelings often being sickening.

A hopeless romantic writing hopeful pieces on love.

To touch base, I've mixed with bass,
treble; or tremble at the highest volume,
audiotapes left in the closet, those love
confessions in secret; titled into a mixtape,
Or was it a mistake to place myself in the
music I tried to write?

The lyrics are just me ranting away,
in the thinking of finding a way.
I feel a little blue today; in a jazz of a saxophone,
ordering snacks on my phone. It feels too easy to
rhyme. To play with my words. CD discs,
I was scratched by love; in the ignorance of bliss.

Sad playlists saved in good question,
earphones stuck in my ears while I'm still asleep.
Good reason for me to seem so restless,
bluetooth speaker; hoping to successfully connect.
Still pairing to an unpaired match I could bet.

But music is always emotion, just in beat,
catchy hooks, melodies, and shuffling your feet.
To get you off your feet, get you to think, and as
my dad would say, "your favourite songs gets your *** lit"

I can't function without my music.

Black valley—
a sheath of dark attar
under the fullest moon. I find so beautiful
in it’s darkening as my spirit’s rind.
Extruded by a forceful wind call,—
hoping to run into that, solely being innocence.
But is it black; liken to a colour that seems so
unclean? Washing bare hands twice; but I can’t wash what I am.

A dark masterpiece,—pretty as many flowers I am,
I am this dark flower. I shine brightest in the dark.

You are...
the authority that spoke all into creation,
the same power in my mouth to speak miracles into life,
a voice to the broken silence like a roaring lion;
the Lion of Judah in our hearts.

You are...
the thoughts to inspire me again, when enemies speak worry,
not like the promises of man, who will fail me in time,
your promises are eternal; for you’re not bound by the
limits of space and time.

You are...
the overseer of me when I don’t see myself,
the light of my heart in the dark backgrounds of daily life,
the softest whisper in the world’s chaotic winds,
the spoils of sufficient needs in my life and others,
the loving Father, Redeemer, and Holy spirit I have in trinity,
that has done so much for me.

Words aren’t enough to express all that you are to me.

Felt suicidal on the wrong side of suicide,
not wanting to die; but so uncomfortable
being alive. Wearing this human flesh,
I've slept with so many with my eyes peering
it's imaginations of all desires under a dress.
Lustful thoughts always left me so **** depressed.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

Likewise with liking a girl, never taught
how to truly love. Never focused on the looming
dark backgrounds; as my eyes focused on stars.
I'd shoot them down, with the same gun to **** myself,
wishing it doesn't jam this time. Look closely;
to the burn marks of my tongue, not being just bite scars.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

I once put a knife to my chest at ten years old,
"I can take my life at any given," telling myself
casually in bold. Must of been an angel holding that
knife back; before my body went cold.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

In my teen years; these crazy headaches and
mixing pain killers for the numbing pleasure,
Thinking if I never woke up, it would ease
the echoing ringing of my head's pressure.
I felt the reasoning of being; being alive, being
strong, being present; getting lesser and lesser.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

Wanting to drive at 120km/h off the road,
either crashing into a wall, or doing a couple rolls,
Losing my vision while driving, or losing the car's
controls. Or bashing into one of the streetlight poles.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

If maybe the roof fell over my head where I lay,
crossing with an armed thief on an unlucky day,
A drunk driver speeding my way, or a brain
cancer to leave my mind to decay.

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

I've just changed that statement nowadays to:

I DON'T WANT TO BE SUICIDAL TODAY

The ocean blueness—fades further into the deep
A naked eye—in the needle hole,
threading old skins of past; to sew away
The present self being a stowaway.

Sheds of tears—falling from time to time
The grounds washed—drenched in eroding thought,
as the tears of an experience's memory
I've experienced so many things.

Beauty that is glorious—beauty my eyes attestor to
So seen is life—tasting all bitter sweet,
heeding the stories; touched by them all
Scented by intentions: to vocalize beauty we'd recall.

Swivel politeness—coupled by lessons from progenitor
Wisdom must be kept—holding immense value,
spoken in tongue; lips impart to succesor
Should it flow naturally in life: to your success sir.

Shape of figure;
strength, courage, love,
Curved into masterpiece; a fiery heart,
fiercely burns my eyes in the wake of desires.

A dream? I hope not, for angels don't
belong in such a place. I'd choose not to wake.
Wishful thinking. I wish to have that I cannot,
that perhaps all do not. That I can't truly love.

Anguished; underfed passion, yearning the taste of tears.
Beautifully falling like rain that has blessed the grounds.
I'm on the grounds under your weight, the weight of your
desire has to my heart.

Sigh! I'm tearful at night; pillows that hold oceans,
drowning. Drowning in my vivid imaginings spent
with you.

A paint brush,—wet as lips shaking from a kiss,
it must have outlined you with I in mind.
All things I like; to experience them into love.
A clutch pencil,—clutching my heart, piercing through
my paper thin weakness towards you.
A tablespoon,—sprinkled into a dish, baked in
a maturity's time in the oven of growth.

Funny how I've kissed a thousand times those
skins of savoury lips. But wailfully, woefully,
wretchedly, and painfully you don't exist.

Just an imaginary Miss.

Holy or holey,
fired up or just a cloud of smoke?
A cigarette or lamp; which light represents
the light of your heart?

Action of words or just words on display,
practice what you preach, reap what you sow.
Do both in the actions of your word;
do justice to each apart.

Blowing in the wind or lead the pack ahead of it,
needle in a haystack, or a compass needle?
Teach the teachers to be teachers of teachers;
lead the followers into tomorrow's leaders.

Oppressed or blessed,
crowd pleaser or the brave out of the rest?
The freedom of chains to freely foster the shackled;
those thought to feel alone.

Rich or richness,
do you chase money or qualities of deep cares?
Fortune isn't based on possession, or deep pockets;
the worth of people should be your care.

Urban or rural,
high class, low or moderate; tears taste the same.
We all cry, bleed, and die without our wealth.

We all have choices to make.

The curiosity of young; is the danger of creativity,
discovery, but at times ignorance.

The fat cat...

Is it curious of me to ask a favour with no return,
I owe the plenty of their time I wasted. Chasing the
clock round and round these late working hours.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat...

Is it curious of me to want what others have,
the happiness it brings them, I too want it's share.
Despite at the expense of my appreciation, I want it all for free.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat...

Is it curious of me to want a love I can't afford,
this love for the things in this world. What fame can
get you, whether in the honest success, or the success
of selling your soul.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat...

Is it curious of me to get my eyes stuck on the sky,
I'm waiting for Heaven to fall onto this living hell.
How long will I have to wait longer, for the Lords return?

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Is it curious of me to wonder what exactly killed the cat,
so many lives wasted or not; dependent upon the right curiosity.
We're all curious beings; whether small or big. A question of
where you curiosity leads you to.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Ordered the bat online, it came with the vat. The bat was
black in matte, to go chase a rat all around their flat.  
She was a sort of brat; with an annoyance that flew around
like a gnat.  So inquisitive of people's affairs; and nobody
likes that.

In the end, curiosity did **** that cat.

Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?

So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.

But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****.

I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.

We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.

Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.

All living fears have me dead in my feet,
Obscure; seems be the journey too fretful to take,
So as quickly as I start, I quickly retreat.
An outstanding trend,—a show on repeat,
On the screens of my eyes; blank as the static
dancing on your fingertips. Before doing an action,
A question of, "can I really do this"

I stutter my words before a speech in normal conversation,
I I trr-rryy not to chew on the words stuck on my tongue,
So frustrating; that the point of topic lost it's concentration.
But of course,—the confidence of pretend is louder,
Than the shyness of the wisdom I still keep silent,
Would they listen to me, as youth to old? I truly do wonder.

I'm afraid of love; of that I may not find,
I'm afraid of commitment at times,
Solely in the thoughts of fearing I won't provide,
So by the divide; two sides are of searching for love,
Or letting it be as is; whether found or not,
Perhaps as hopeful to truly believe all comes from above.

I'm afraid of time; that I do not have or waste,
Likewise having so much of it, to have nothing to do,
Perhaps as ticking over the time, my toc is out of haste.
I'm afraid of myself; moments I don't recognise him,
When I do more than I expected, or less of what I hoped,
Doing his level best, but his best is always at a whim.

I'm afraid of dreams; those I may not fulfil,
My head is filled with them, unlike the successes at hand,
Which dream comes true, seems to be by God's will.
A thrill at times, but a chasing heart out of a breathless chest,
I have many targets in life, my goal is to only stand out of the rest.

Will my fears be immortalised, to leave me traumatized,
Or will I find my bravery to survive?

Pressing charge,
unplugging the worth you have in my heart,
Wicked, and deceitful,—would I seem saying,
"I love you with all my heart"

What haven't I loved long before you,
I've loved another; or rather a better
taste of you. Cloying; to a degree of natural ecstasy.
Scented ravenousness, so sweet by the first brim of
open lips connected.

I've had an affair with her, over the plain;
that seemed to be what we once had.
But still I could never start my day firstly without a
hint of you; yearning yourself down throat.

Enkindled by you both; though as the latter
proved herself, only in the first few times.
My bladder full to breaking point of a glutted
water balloon; hanging on a thin string.

The effect she had on me...

The effect of when I picked a latte coffee
over my traditional black brew.

You lived twice; living out a life for two,
In the spring; you sprung out your sprouting love,
But it all falls; woodlands descending echoes into madness,
For she wasn't as mad over you.

So you deferred away from despair,—
Love being an icy glass cutting your teeth,
Despondency circling round her running in your mind,
Seems no other love to compare.

Bare you a kiss; sweet as it's lamentable finale,
On top of a hill, by the bend and red eyes,
Crying as if; the ocean's waters ran away from it's place,
You said, "goodbye my sweet Sally"

I'd tell my child;
"why would you want to be like me,
when I've raised you well to be even better,
Are we not gods; created by the greater God,
as greatest is what we are. You'd seek perfection,
but being a better version of yesterday self,
is what you'll find"

I'd tell my child;
"promise me you won't fight as long, to become
the ones we've fought against. There are no true
successors to war; if the Dead are the only to know
it's end. I'd best fight those battles long before you do.

I'd tell my child;
"the world will beat you up, long before you
learn how to fight. A lover seems weak in their
eyes, but they're just weaker to love"

I'd tell my child;
"no effort is worth the effort without it's due.
Working yourself to death for another's livelihood,
seems like the slavery of old in modern times"

I'd tell you child many things, but still there are
many things I'm yet to learn and discover.  
As much as I can teach, I learn a lot from you.
I only became a father, after I became a father to you.

Galloping,—
a harras of silhouette in the night’s shade.
Prancing swiftly as carelessly as winds in their mane.
Grey smoke blows out of their muzzle;
like hot ash subduing the algid night air.

A hill covered in a dark following,
a caliginous beauty site,—
In the uncut grass, trampled by costless hooves.
I was the ground crunched by a night’s dream.

My eyes shut; nervous by the shaking lips,
and cold sweats. It was beautiful,—
it was dark. It was wild; yet felt so freeing.
I was it’s witness, and conjecture.
I was in awe by beauty, but left breathless by
it’s haunting perception.

So was it a ghastly dream, or an alluring nightmare?

I bare myself to thought; a lack of my words,
To express how I feel in the feelings of love,
Lovely are your eyes, lost in a beautiful world,
I'm bare to my desires; emptied by a love's touch,
In the hopes of finding my someone; as a no-one,
To give of my heart, though not much, but it's past love,
But what's love good as without commitment present,
Sweet nothings of empty promise but word's tickles,
Slept on the dreams I cannot share,—sort of restless,
Dependent solely on another,—how so did we live,
Perhaps to find present love; is to find present self,
To receive the love long sought; be a whole love to give,
Where you head into love, do keep your feet—
Love is hard to have, but heavy is heartache's repeat.