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.

Found love in a man’s clothes; the one who had
Love in his heart before that love stick in his pants

Man-made; a man made from complex emotions,
He’s just an emoji showing one shade of feeling
With a different one behind him

So few, do rarely wear their heart on their sleeve –
He does so well to cover up himself

                                              Naked men are so few!

Tears burn away like flowers –
Weeds tested by the flames; it’s
Euthanasia, as we put down your regrets
Spelling errors; the mistakes to your life story

We’ve stuck them up across on these walls,
Like magazine cut-outs, those many pictures
In a mind’s room – all the things a child inspired
To be; sourced drawings from thoughts, hopes
And dreams; blood and tears as ink

Tears burn away like flowers –
Digging for them with a ***; it’s
Cognitive, thinking about your very past
Moulding; what hurt us then, shapes us now

My face is moulding clay; heated up for use.

Do you look where you Fall
When you fall in Love –
To miss someone is Such a shame
A bold claim; by the Extensions of
Words showing their action – what is
The extent of Love?

The obsession of a lover is a Disease
Love sickness, Smitten cheeks, knees in
The weak, but by the End of a week, my
Taste for love, has become me Devouring
Your image.

To that extent, my Love is just
Passions of the flesh; flesh falls short to Death
Words fall short to Language barriers –
Body language has Shaky bones
        But still, we all seem to fall.

It feels so great that We met –
Even despite we’ve come now to
Meet in a place of found Regret;
Today is the day that you finally left

That scent you left, is your Skin’s
Bloom of morning Flowers – where
We rest, is a Place you left a piece
Of your Rose

My heart still Stops at every Roadblock
Where our love was a crime of Two stolen
Hearts – in a place of liking, became a Crush
In place of a crush became that first Rush
In place of that first rush was the word Love
And in place of love, is regrettably Loss –

You are long-gone, Long-distance relationships –
Do they really work; when you’re Gone to study
Abroad, and I’m just a Local still looking for
A decent paying job.
            
Love with the right person BUT the wrong time.

Fellow men –
man to man,
once a boy to
another boy...

I beg you,
please make your
intentions clear...

For we all sleep at night –
and in that sense don’t
need more dreams
being sold to
our women

those are false dreams –

Woke up feelings to a morning that kind of *****; mixed a bit of ****
in my coffee cup – being blunt, that I need a higher buzz. When I cry,
my tears are always like smoke in my lungs; it just chokes me up.

In this life where people search for *******, more than the depth
of one’s inner soul – they might say they love you, but never hold you
that close. Even if our energies magnetized, I still need to know – that
if we dressed our love, would I still be attracted to you even in your
baggy clothes?

We all carry baggage – still if I showed you mine, would you
show me yours…

Pillow talk: you can be good at it, but in public you don’t have the
right words – you just rest them in your thoughts. Where you woke
up, laughing with the bad folk – the wiser eyes look at you as the
joke.

                                                      Aren’t we sometimes a terrible joke?

Must I tell you, I’ve got a Bag for a mind –
Just to unpack all of my Thoughts: thinking Back
On old plans I had for Myself, I had My thinking
Cap in Reverse

I swallowed a whole lot of Colours to fill
My imagination's belly, from dreaming in Black
And white – now I have a Picture full
By this laughing Spread, I can’t help and smile
While looking at the Ugly things that are
Secretly Beautiful

All my tears are navy Blue; depression in a
Collapsing sea – depending on your own Impression,
What you witness in glee, isn’t what the other will see

A Simpleton must annoy the Complex thinker,
But what if the Easier option for them, makes life
Simple then,

                                                  Is life that simple?

and so began my mind diving; being
too sea deep – conscious thoughts
trying to swim underneath them; to see deep

and at its surface I had found…

us all being so beautiful – art in reflection
but we gaze at the bigger picture with ugly eyes,
an ugly gaze, with an ugly frame of mind

a tragic drowning picture, I could not see!

Pack away smiles; just to save face
And if my face were a sketchpad,
You’d see me draw out this smile

Playing strength like the weight of a bass
Subtracting all I had, to make space to add
Still hating the math of the human race;
Running their lives in a pointless mile

he pretends to be, “okay”
if you say so, then okay.

And at the end of his life,
he whispered with a tear:

Dear God,

I hope you're listening this time

                  it's time for me to die.

I sleep knowing,
      I’m always close to the edge of death
I believe in the air,
      never thinking much to count a breath

I sit comfortably in public,
      not knowing the age of the chair
I accept a leader’s change,
      never questioning if it’s actually fair

I ride passenger,
      never wondering if the driver feels suicidal
I say amen as a crowd,
      not knowing if the people even believe in the Bible

I lie, I cry, I love, I hate, I forgive, I resent,
     I live to treat, but sometimes I need one’s care

But as a man,
     I cannot cheat on my barber, when it comes to my hair.

Sigh…

I wish I had his Confidence
If only I had her beautiful Smile
I'd yearn for a piece of their Voice
To sing louder than the echo in my Heart
And dark glasses, to cover the tears in my Eyes

Yet…

I have all the confidence; I have such a beautiful smile –
I have my own unique voice; I have love in my heart
I have these dark tears, to make out my eyes…

But
    
My insecurity makes them all seem less than mine.

Delete the Text of my time – the Seconds won’t reply
Money in the Worth of time; is never worth the Money,
If all it does is Slowly eat away Pieces of your Time

No shape, but Maybe it’s shaped like your darling;
But they won't promise you the entire World

                             We live, surrounded by Time
                             Consumed by money & Wealth

The worth of self, has
Now become what
Worth
You hope to buy–

Cut the Music, let the Nights play –
Resting my mind in the tune of Your sweet voice
Cushions and songs; the city lights Purr
Always so Curious about what happens in its
Streets – like a cat at any twitching thing
          
As I searched for the key to all her lost dreams;
Tears in their place, those Girls lost in city streets
The Room was messy, a light bulb barely flickered
In the dark nobody sees your tears, Your forced smiles
Yet, we always know that silhouette touch of a body

Sadly, curiosity seduced Me; loneliness consumed Me
Gentle perfume pulled me inside, to Sweetened eyes
My cold heart was Searching, that it sank in warm music
Under the Canopy shade of covered sheets, vowing never
To leave –

life, has had its few licks of me – to envelop me in its envelope;
a sad message to myself. but don’t we all wish we were perfect
messages from God, a bit heaven sent? to the people who worry
what people say about them – their weight of words; drowning
more in people’s words, then any piece of writing in the Word

p.s, a well written letter to myself – I’ve been trying to line up
most of my better memories in alphabetic form; while holding
a solitary feather. I got stuck at the letter A, to list all of my
achievements

hoping to steal time like a stolen kiss; conscious thoughts that
escape my lips – speaking of me as someone you’d truly miss.
as I sign a message of my life in the ink of my fallen tears
       trying to stick onto the side of hope, as a sticky note!

there’s a garden in my chest – I pulled out a couple of
weeds, buried a handful of thorns, choked a sunflower
seed that was trying to grow. growing sick of watered-down
versions of love, my soul sneezed; cheeks squeezed to utter
those emotionless words from my lips,
                                      
                                                       “hey, it’s okay, I’m okay.”

the few parts of life that always tries to break me down; two eyes
red as tailgate lights – I’ve cried too much, now. a cut-open heart,
with these slow healing wounds to lick on; but let them look upon
you, as who you are, before they look you down

as I hold the keys to my human drive, filled with locations, times,
accidents, and monthly repairs – amongst daily commutes of
businessmen, who only take monthly communion – falling silent
to one’s busy ears, the silence told me, a friend is only a true friend
when they stand above being just a part of your peers

still, to any love I give is two loves I give – loving myself, by loving
the hands that crafted me as I am. please excuse my wet wrists –
I’m a tearful man who doesn’t cry much in public.

this isn’t the best place to rest my thoughts –
but I’ve always loved chasing my dreams;
a part of me got addicted to sleeping pills
still, I might be a bird, soaring to newer heights,
but I flew too close to the sun – I almost died

tell me the story of an albino crow; if it
dies, will it go into the light, pale as it’s skin

but I don't see where I’m going; I'm just hoping
that I’m not alone – trying to seal up my heart
in place, though my eyes have seen a sea of tears;
both so black as seals

tell me, who sees any brighter day,
when you’re so afraid of the sun?

the curious cat jumps the fence
game to chase after a butterfly –
to fill its stomach
       perhaps this is my view on love

while the old dog remains in the yard
chasing after its own tail –
hoping to bite onto success
       as this is my view on human regrets.

would it seem so wrong to disassociate – to sever ties
from those closest to you, who know where to strike,
piercing through your heart? yet, I lay bare my flesh,
offering myself as a service to people, in the most
fleeting of ways. true friends are a rarity nowadays;
my eyes are unaccustomed to pretend; smiling with
practiced ease before their gaze

and I only have a few tears to shed, shielding myself
from the gossip of the rain. my unclean skin gleams
under the sun’s harsh light – I am a million desolate
stars, yearning for a miracle amidst the lull of dreams

as father time offers no gifts to the innocent, mother
nature trembles at the sight of her fragile offspring –
we, the inhuman

and life demands that you work like a machine,
yet a machine cannot be alive. but in a similar sense,
both the machine and I grow tired – so, so very tired
        ...the machine would love to disassociate.

must you love me – accident prone; it could be my
clumsy self that made me fall in love. you hate smokers,
around you; I really hope I’m not too much of a drag
yet the laughter, and the sun follow you around like
smoke– addicted, they must love you

And she asked me:
“darling, do you think you could handle me,”

while twisting my thoughts by the handle to my heart’s
door – that’s my handful; being handy to remind you,
your eyes are beautiful. but I always seem too naked with my
thoughts, would you bear with me, be bare with me

stripped of false disguise – let me know your inner child from
your mother’s womb. the heat of your body that fires the spark
between us both; aroused in your presence, and yearning for
more, by the lack there of.

pen words of worth to penetrate your thoughts, rising
up in anticipation to that sensual mountaintop, as your
passion is to spasm for me, in this naked trust of love
                     in this very moment, we are one.

seem to forget all the places I’ve gone, still remember
all those I’ve loved – while our dreams still attract my
imagination; dressed in your night gown.

the breath of a lover’s skin still tingles even after she’s gone;
yet it would be the older version of me, teaching the young –
that even the ones with a bag of ***, still carry their baggage;
that even with a bag of tricks by your side, a better man will
make your best love, seem so average.

trading paint over our skins; just to paint a picture of a future;
a man finds joy in knowing he’s the present suitor – though if he
can’t dress the part of her life, please don’t shed tears when she
finds one that suits her.

but maybe I wrote this for all the losers – perhaps, “you sir”

so said the man looking at himself in that mirror. third wheeling
their love as a chauffeur. he once took the financial risk of finding
love. an entrepreneur – yes, “you sir”

           didn't plan to lose her, but hey there, Mr Loser.

tell me, what is the sound of a dying flower in my hands –
as it detaches from the bunch of blossoms and leaves?
the postman missed the message for me, that says,
“I’m heaven sent,”as I pictured myself a better man by
now - the mind draws, whatever aroma of heaven it dreams
of, and carries that detached scent

tell me there, Mr postman – did you grow a rose in your
pocket where I grew a small tree in my heart’s garden,
where falling leaves can be heard. if I could use words filled
with fire, I’d be a bonfire of poems burning at my creative
compost. post me on the wall of your memories, as a painting
of those falling leaves

as a darling would tell me I’m too worried about being
a leafless branch – hey there Mr postman, I finally have
the answer

the sound of crushed water from life, is just the sound
of its final tears – and I’ve heard the tears of that flower,
but it was really me crying about my own self - still being
more fragile.

winter babies cry in the summer time – still thinking
about dying twice, still questioning this one life;
still questing to find still waters – still won’t we be
dying inside; drowning softy?

still silence – I don’t know my place; until I close
my eyes, and can’t see any of my shame. the moon gnaws
off a bit of myself – as putting on a brave face in the day,
is our nature.

we are lost lambs, that bleat themselves into silence.

if I swallowed a piece of fire to light up these lungs, and spoke life
into another’s life with the fire in these words; how wonderful would
that be? even now as I am – the echo of bones waiting to grow old;
feeling like the silence of an empty channel in a car radio – my heart
is often static when it rubs against another; in these electrifying
feelings of love

and much like a tyre running a track – sometimes I need to find a
place to rest, to try and reinflate myself. my lips have become a
clutch, of knowing when to shift conversations when they start to feel
a bit too awkward for me. and my means of a first impression, is one
to impress well enough for them to say, “that’s a man who I deserve,”
yet ironically, I can sing how beautiful I am, feeling so ugly inside –
and hoping I never lose myself to myself

still, look at me, I am unique – such words I must speak for a piece of
peace; knowing that I’m sometimes torn, yet I wear the attire of my
heart. being distant in the humming silence, praying for a mindful
heart, to remember what’s it beating for. for even in the less of myself,
I was created, to be more.

pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.

wet skin to skin; a tightly gripped kiss - urged lips
that surely wished they had spoken their feelings first,
then to seem like they’re both trying to quench each other’s
thirst. still shivering in my nerves that I’ve grown so lost
for my words – trying to find my identity in your eyes surface
              ...you look too beautiful for me to even claim

it’s my own shame, that sticks on my throat like a smoker’s
cough – though this love sickness is worth the bit of irritation,
of not always knowing what to do when I’m so close to you
                     ...so yes, I held you, and kissed you

but that wasn’t the initial plan; you rested in my arms and I
had my words for you ready and armed – but my hand in it
all had lost its touch. darling this is so much of a rush for
just a simple crush, to us finally going out, more than once
       …I just wish that from the beginning, I had told you,

                                                      “I think I’m in love”

down to my last dollar for the weekend;
chances of falling in love in a club – I can’t pay for
those feelings. crying thoughts about what it means
to be in love, with delicate watercolours. paint me as
a feeling, as pruning a rose falling piece by piece into
that pit of love

for love is so deep when it first trips you off
your feet, the sounds of it sound slow and easy in my ear –
but like club music, the dj plays a slow song, then suddenly
blares the mood with music to bleed out my ear drums

am I… bleeding out this love, coming up
with a gift of sweet nothings in chocolate box?

      love is all sparks, but any spark can be made\\
         but that real fire in your heart, comes finding
                                                        your right match.