No underwear
so unaware, of what you prefer
to not actually wear'

Anyway, tell me about you day,
whining about people, while winding down
Wearing so many rushing thoughts like a crown
swore to Christ in a piercing tone, with a piercing on your tongue
As it was the only type of steel that stole my heart in a kiss'
felt so close to those red fiery lips
I kissed a burning sensation of passion; yelling out
"I've really missed you"

And so I kissed you
likewise to it always feeling like our very first
A nervous flirt who could never state his words
In a state of always being too shy to talk to girls
but at the first sight of you' I noticed your worth
In those pretty eyes made of pearls'

As we address all the events
******* ourselves
You and I firstly sleeping together'
then after we find our rest

                                       Goodnight!

Stuck in the places'
Stuck in all of the memories,
Memos or diaries, making a mental note
To a metal heart of steel you somehow stole

And maybe I would like to see it all
A perfect view of you; by this naked eye
Of your most vulnerable parts
The box, the pillows and haunch,
Buried in, resting peacefully with all I've carried for the day,
All of which is now left behind

What limits us to the night
But just time running another marathon on the clock?
The running sweat of an out of breath experience,
My thoughts tied with yours, and tightened by these feelings

Triple D's,

Die for feeling so alive in you
Dye my past experiences in the colours of our skin's touch
Dining on you like my very last.

                      ALL SO NECCESARRY, AND A MUST

The days end like'
The last chord of a song-
As the final curtain falls over
The sky; covering another day
To it's eventual longer night'
An army of silence in the cricks of crickets,
The wickedness of the street calls, yelling out
"Save me, Save me, from the holes in my face"
In a city depraved of maintenance,
A year of the elect; elections around the corner'
I've come to the age to vote; a sexennial older

I a man, like the end of that song
Playing a melody of what self-care, self-motivating,
Self-discipline, and what my true self is willing sing
The key is, to be the beautiful that was tuned into your spirit

                                     ...Sing loudly myself

And in a dream;
I was just its distant memory
Far from the things I knew,
I had opened my eyes to see'
It wasn't a dream- I was just clueless
To my own reality, and lost in my own mind

.... Oh it was such a splendid daydream

Always stuck inside a world
******* me over; loves
to fornicate
The mouths with nothing better
to say; just words forming hate
And their eyes filled with ******
violence; it's always focused hate

As I was close to meeting death's deadline,
not even given two weeks notice
They assumed I was too weak to notice
as the smell of death was red, like a
resting bed of roses; in a garden
grave I lay
But maybe nowadays I'd be seeing songs
about how graves turn into gardens
Still it's grave for me to say, I'm still on
that path of feeling saved
As I could probably count all my prayers,
and dig up that dusty Holy text in my drawer
that's like the book's final grave

I figure that the figures counting
out another day
Are what we figure gives us a little
hope of being figures to this world,
That still live to see tomorrow by
heaven's sake

Clears throat...

"Lay me to rest
for how I'm dying to kiss
your face
Still in my head; levitate, levitate
level me down to trade light
words, like smoke in a vape
You're my favourite picture in
my head, and I won't let you out of
the frame

And we're just the anthem of our words,
my hand on my chest; arousing my feelings
You're a rousing and uplifting song without
any shame"

       ...........

"But it's a shame;
you and I haven't met
Still it's the sounds of a yearning heart
continuously calling out your name"

I appreciate you for
your consistency
As you play a record
spinning in my head
Rewinding the memories I hate,
a constant repeat, and repeat...
A reminder of: so many poems
I wrote for girls

I honestly hate them all
wishing I could scrap them all
from scrapping together the courage
to write them all
To agree so well with disagreements
all those inner feelings
You seem to be more or less,
but I'm really molested by you
Touched by this heart-wrenching feeling
disgusted by it's hand
Discussing to myself as the comfort of
my own voice as an only friend

We are perfect foes you and I
novocaine; are we never again to
share such an unfeeling pain?

In a house of my brain
quieting whispers of wind
So loud to hear in it's open space;
might be paranoid, filling holes
to be whole in the voids

Some days I learn to avoid you
as you're a poverty of my personality
And it's so rich to know I can't
afford you

So at any given chance,
I try to ignore you

I am a journey

Lost in the many words,
thoughts, and scribbles of poems
A poet unheard in prose
of this continuous story
For everyday is but a breath for
a flip of another page

A strike of words of the lightening
in my pen
Echoes of pain after the rain
—my tears are unseen in physical
But just the oceans of myself
written in ink

My skin is just the camouflage I
have to hide my life tragedy
My eyes the thin glass cracked by
all the hardships I've seen
My lips the applauds of the sounds
of self-encouragement I must tell
myself

My smile the minor blessing
of a heavenly joy;
and it's heart burning of unfit desire
as hot as hell

And I burn in this beautiful internal
eternal flame as a flower
But unfortunately they'll only see me
for only smoke

I am an equal

—yet still
Divided by the
opinions of others

Still it subtracts
nothing
Of my worth
ten times of what
Appearances are,
I am hundred times
bolder than I was before

For underneath the surface
of stars
Beneath my skin I am
the multiples of stories
In constellation of every
journey, every line and dot

I call these many stars
my many beautiful scars

And they are truly who I am!

They live their lives like there's no tomorrow
Cos life is fragile as that see through glass
Trying to forget it all inside that bottle
And what's no longer past, just all comes to pass

A life made of glass, a life made of glass,
It's never strange; to a bunch of strangers

Poetry coming soon...

Really at most, it's just intrusive thoughts that love to consume
A force weapon of a pen,—red; as the after article read, is the inkling of inner demons demonstrating themselves out of my head
Amongst a night of inhaling the devil's smoke, painting ash in my lungs As it's not of doing the act for fun; or being numb to the obvious self harm. The burning passion in my heart is a fireplace,
as the smoke at times comes up and out of a chimney neck
To then coughing those fumes like a dying exhaust, exhausted by
a facade of pretending not to be as odd

With voices in my head...

Screaming whispers of a daily insecurity, usually when I
convince myself of not being belittled by the litter of *****
thoughts, that I quickly clean off with an innocent smile
Mr Nice Shy guy; someone you shouldn't waste to bat an eye
But the truth will swing at you abruptly

Things that all happen in the dark...

The sort of enlightening events to reveal one's darkest spot
Like those who act a little more holy than their holes in their
socks,—it's all but the stench of us all searching to be whole
But it's ironic though, that you need to feel whole to fill up a hole
And my mind is this gaping hole, that only a pen could fill in this deep abyss. But it sometimes betrays me like a Judas kiss, hanging me over
As I have an angel and demon battling over who speaks louder on my stronger shoulder

Poetry is coming soon, I'm just waiting for the voices in
my head.  All those voices of the things that all happen
in the dark

             My poetic demons

your body was shaking right after
you had ***. It wasn't from how it made you
feel, but just the disgust that you felt
—they call it regret

and it was so hard to breathe,
as it wasn't what you hoped it to be
as you were no longer what you have always been
a ***** intention; no wonder why you didn't feel clean
with these puzzles in these corner sheets,
you were looking for a piece of action,
—but now you're just a missing piece

    Sigh!

let your imagination run as wild as it can
but your mind could not fathom the pace of
reality. all the pictures in our minds are not
all so pretty in our head
sometimes it's painted in ugliness and stains
are what came, all painted in red
—the same colour of your bed

                    ...sigh

Feelings of ecstasy
fills up an empty lonely room,
His words, "I want to fill/feel myself in you"

Intimacy; into admitting those desires not of public ear
A request to touch her as if it were their very last;
a sort of lust rush, as he pulls her near

And from the sight of red eyes, a few hours
before, when they had passionately cried
Falling into sight; a blush picture of her
cheeks painted in cherry red
Giving into their feelings; all unquestioned
reasons to be sharing a bed,—

Tonight,
could be a long night of bodies being next
to each other, making up tomorrow's memory
And if it hurts to bite, her response,
"nothing hurts better of what pleasures me"

...mmmh, it's all but basic reality,
yet feels so much like a fantasy
Playing into future events in their heads
of a present affair. A make up type of ***
to forget about old history

                                 Awaiting their ******.

A red bicycle just sits on a wall
waiting, waiting patiently, to be rode

To be out on the road once more;
more or less a reason not to be left out in the cold

Red in a fiery paint; red fury blaze in a colour as bold
waiting, waiting patiently; not on display, being
watched and ignored

It had hopes of being picked out of that store;
to be out in the world with so much in store,
—to be so much more

Waiting, waiting patiently; once as excited as the little girl
that opened him out of that Christmas box;
To be found in awe of a child and their parent's applauds

But alas, as it's winter's pricking thorn,
this red little bike has to wait all winter, pierced by the thought
of knowing he has been left out in the cold

Sticks and stones to break your bones
Stick your nose in being too nosey,
and you may end up with a ****** nose

If only I was dream: lucid
Able to do anything, just by my thoughts
of anything I could think: endless
For what could feel like the end, could be
where I first begin; or where I fall in between: desire
Oh how beautiful would that be; to be a lucid endless desire

                     ...if only.

Skipping stones, and skipping rope
while skipping past all the cringy memories
All from the days of skipping a few classes,
sometimes skipping ahead in movies to the exciting scenes
As all the time feels like it's skipping away at the pace of
these days,

—Death in the end, has nobody in this life to skip

letting all the guns sing;
society and our bodies Already know the chorus
someone dying by the gun isn't just a tragedy, but just Another Story
dying in a blaze of fury,— Innocent deaths, going out without any glory

... circles, circles, and circles; it's just how the cyle goes

and there's no water under the bridge;
while we're all Drowning in those bullets
raining tears, and smoke
better grab your umbrellas, under Another day of Bullet Storms

... circles, circles, and circles when will the cycle
          end?

On an ocean with a broken cigarette;
a man and the ocean had to shed a tear
Wondering if the Lord of forever was somewhere
near an ocean view; wondering if heaven on earth was ever real

As nothing is this world, ever tasted as new,
like kissing a stranger and sharing ***** secrets that you never knew
I've been lost, but not as lost in the scent
of a past lover and their nostalgic perfume

I've been a thousand places,
but not a thousand more than the sands of moments
we spent by the beach side. To now just smoking in the waters;
     feeling so washed up thinking about you

The product of love, is it's desire for multiplication,
as the time we have together, subracts the more we kiss
And in addition to one day having kids; the idea of how to raise
them could cause division

Still to love as equals, as despite the position of the head
non could be greater than the head of us above

            ...the perfect mathematician is and will always be God

Lord protect me from turning urban
So easy to act so different, when you're living suburban
You could get lost in all the foolish things while constantly searching
To many of us forget about a recent sermon,
But remember what we found two weeks ago, while internet surfing
Drowning in our sorrows, and still wondering about our purpose

All it really takes is God's discernment...

Life is so unnerving,
Crawling under your skin; as the flesh is always burning
Always yearning;
And when you feed into it, our spirit is slowly hurting
As the sacrifice made for us, is something we're undeserving

Still it served a much larger purpose...

It's so easy to lose your faith, if you trade it's purpose,
For buying into feelings like a daily purchase
As this prayer would end off as it started,
As a prayer for protection from this world circus

                              Amen.

Telephone, telephone
I wrote a song for a girl
but it was just a poem

Her name was ringing
inside my head, but she loves
calling me her best friend
The only reason why
I chose to come to this event

Shisha sticks in rotation,
Russian roulette with smoke
Puffing long,
eyes red and bleeding tears;
trying not to cough and choke

Crowds of lungs made of hell;
black smoke, ashy rains and
little black stains on your soul...

Walls clearly out
the scratching and chasing
They called it a kitten's mitten
'a man with a soft touch and glove
As men would say, "you're merely a *****"

Round and round; those circles
of being like a dog chasing it's tail
Said a man being a dog, "just chasing *******"
******* off strangers, ******* on the front porch
'I have to mark my territory, a terrorist for girls
going to war

Still with the shell of surviving anything
cockroaches; festering with all cockiness
Tell me when the light shines on you
does that confidence start to scatter
A little pit pat into the tiny cracks of the cupboard
where those skeletons reside; a skin disguise of pride

Oops, excuse my running mouth
just exercising my lacklustre freedom of speech

A face of one good expression,
tastes of deception; covers depression
A life of tags; no mentions
not mention a passive aggressive

Beat up, won't give up
the Sun's feet up, after kicking my ****
Double t; tedious tip toeing
But my mistake it was three
like the three seconds I forget to breathe

...exhale heavily
one hell of a life, hoping he dies heavenly
This task of living feels a little heavy; not nearly
as being blinded by time trying to see clearly

'Oh but that was just me in third person
third verse, standing on that stanza
But yes I can sir, by the fourth try;
nurturing, sensitive, compassionate, I'm a cancer

              ...oh wow, this felt a bit random

Not really much I could ever say
"How I'm feeling today
The sky was clear, and a beautiful display
'But tell me why I woke grey

Spent all my life on someone else's broken dream
Close to dying on liquor;
Waking up wondering if anything was still real
I'd shed my skin after I shed some tears
'But crying doesn't change a thing

Oh, I'm tumbling down
'But still a rock in a hard place
Tell me how it got this way
No direction, or any signs;
I wonder what to call this place

"Nowhere"
...this emptiness just feels up my plate
'But I'm still full of myself
Still hungry for attention
I wonder how I got this way

It's only for those who know;
he seems not to know enough
about truly knowing the things about love
And how to speak of it with just a minor taste
of it in his mouth

Kissing so many strangers; kisses that start
to all feel familiar
Pointless shooting your shot; what's the point
if we're just victims to it's trigger
The victor of vigour, to prove your victory
of finding love
Oh only the foolish are the ones to see a present
victory, more than a future of successes
And for him,— it's all just another scar