All that I have, isn't all that
the world let's me give
And all that I hope to do
won't be for everyone to believe
But out of the overflow of my
love, I know I'll always have a
lot to give.

Slippery conversation, just to slide into their DM's;
it's like tiptoeing on a seesaw, balancing the desire to initiate
a flirtatious exchange while maintaining a careful distance.
And yet, there's an itch of curiosity in our fingertips, wondering
if their summer eyes hold the warmth that can melt away our
winter hearts. It's that morning look they give, an invitation to
dance in the sun-kissed moments that follow the sunrise.

Calling me like I owe you something, as if the world were a
collection of IOUs waiting to be redeemed. It's as if you're calling
in favors in an attempt to earn love, unaware that love cannot be
bought or borrowed. Love is a delicate, genuine connection that
isn't measured by material debts, but by the authenticity of
emotions shared.

There's a certain beauty in the sight of lovers holding onto each
other till the end, their love intertwining like the perfect fit of a glove.
It's in those moments of subtle touches and gentle caresses that we witness the power of love's embrace. It's a symbol of unity
and tenderness, reminding us that love, at its core, is about
supporting and cherishing one another.

To truly embrace life and love, we must find our groove, our
own unique rhythm that resonates with our soul. It's in this
harmony that we experience the true essence of being free, like
the wind blowing through our hair with untamed bliss.
Time, like an ephemeral gust, sweeps past us, reminding us that it
treats us all equally. So let us seize the precious moments,
cherishing every second as a gift to be treasured.

Finding the reasons to cry becomes an arduous task,
as time never seems to be on our side. It's disheartening,
but in all honesty, it's all dismissed, these thoughts and
moving on.

It might be more productive to search for another opportunity
or moment when tears can freely flow without judgment.
He often says, "sure I'm fine, very much so," attempting to
conform to societal expectations that men should suppress
their emotions and not shed tears.

The act of crying, however, feels like nothing more than a
mere suggestion; an optional response to the intense emotions
that overwhelm us. Revealing our true feelings seems to
invite a barrage of inquiries and curiosity from those around
us, causing discomfort and unease.

As a result, seeking solace and comfort from others becomes
nothing more than an illusory concept, an intangible notion
that we struggle to find.

In our pursuit of a peaceful heart, we are often bombarded
with well-meaning advice that we choose not to follow.
The idea of finding inner peace becomes a distant dream,
drowned out by the noise of societal expectations and the
pressure to adhere to conventional masculine roles.

So for now, we must learn to cry silently, bottling up our
feelings and playing the part of a stoic man today, in the
hopes that tomorrow will bring a change.

                         ...men don't cry!

You drowned me in a whirlpool of emotions, engulfing
me in the exhilarating sensations of falling in love.
It felt so vivid, like stepping into another realm of
consciousness where the boundaries between reality and
fantasy blur.

Perhaps, it could have been yet another *******, an
intoxicating experience that thrived in the depths of
my subconscious. And amidst this haze of desire,
life appears like a pristine white sheet, evoking a sense of
responsibility to keep it unsullied and untarnished.

Like a diligent custodian, I struggle to navigate the
complexities and challenges that threaten to soil its
purity, to maintain its pristine condition.

Dealing with a shallow soul, love so deep it scares them
away, drowning in the weight of my own thoughts,
has become a perpetual struggle that engulfs every
aspect of my being.

It feels as if I am trapped in a maze of emotions,
unable to find solace in the confines of my mind.
Each day is a battle, so intense that it feels like I am
grappling with my own existence.
Alone in this abyss of tangled emotions,
          I search for a lifeline -
a glimmer of hope to guide me out of this darkness.

But the words fail me; I am feeble in my attempts to
articulate the overwhelming complexity of my emotions.

It's like trying to paint a vivid picture of happiness when all
I see are shadows and despair. Love, once a source of joy,
now leaves me floating in a bewildered daze-
     brings me on my knees as a bad religion.

It's like being suspended in thin air, unable to grasp
onto anything tangible. With each passing day,
I find myself entangled in the suffocating webs of death,
forced to wear a mask of fake smiles to navigate through
the sea of unfamiliar faces.

I've been living out of the ideas of the world as a homeless
man; and if I killed that person I loved the most,
I'd be killing myself,-

Still I don't live enough for myself, trying to impress
everyone else. All of the impressions of a people
pleaser, tattooed on my tongue, speaking sweetly about
others- to make them fill up on their highs.

Feel up on your heights, to rise up on your
pride in your mind. As life is nothing without outcomes,
that comes with the income; and none of us are born
without come, for the price of love to soon in come.

Still let's live as those who have a lot to live for.

Caught up in between the lines of iconic beauty,
where every breath feels like a subtle irony that
adds depth and intrigue to the mundane.
In this cliche rhetorical question, posed on the picturesque
pier, I find myself grappling with the overwhelming waves
of peer pressure, walking on a metaphorical platform that
seems to lead to sinking waters, where regrets
lie in wait for us all.

And yet, in this moment, as I dance under the soft,
comforting moonlight, alone in the quiet emptiness
of a room, a sense of tranquility washes over me.
There is a certain solace in knowing that nobody
is watching, allowing me to truly be myself, free from
judgment or expectations.

It's a bit like crying in the shower, a sanctuary that
provides temporary relief, where even the count of
my own tears becomes irrelevant amidst the soothing
water cascading down. And, as if to warm the chilly
corners of my memories, I wear a jacket backwards,
wrapping myself in the nostalgic embrace of my past.
It's a path that once held so much promise, but ultimately
went down in a blaze of old glory, leaving behind a
bittersweet residue.

In this passage of time, seemingly worshiped by all,
I must admit that I sometimes struggle to recall its name.
I have become forgetful in the face of life's demands and
distractions, but one thing I will never forget is the immense
courage it takes to walk this path. To be brave, to face the
uncertainties and challenges, even when forgetting seems
to be second nature.

The memory of that courage remains etched in my heart,
a constant reminder to never falter, to keep pushing forward,
and to embrace the unknown with unwavering determination.

"Why do you cry so much?" I asked her gently, my curiosity piqued as she lay there on the bed. She turned to me, a gentle smile on her lips, and replied, "because I'm truly an empathetic soul, feeling the weight of the world's emotions in my core."

I listened intently, but there were still lingering questions in my mind. So, I probed further, wanting to understand the depths of her emotions. "Why do you shed tears when you are overwhelmed with joy?" I inquired. With a serene expression, she explained, "My heart swells with such immense happiness that it spills over, causing tears to flow like a river. It's my body's way of expressing the overwhelming beauty of the moment."

As her words resonated with me, I couldn't help but feel a newfound appreciation for her sensitivity. "And what about when anger consumes you?" I asked gently, eager to understand her experience. She paused for a moment, her eyes reflecting a simmering storm within. "When anger engulfs me, it's as if a fire blazes within my chest, scorching everything in its path. The tears help extinguish that flame, soothing my tumultuous soul and bringing me back to a place of calm."

Her response struck a chord within me, and I marveled at the poetic way she described her emotional journey. "It's fascinating how your tears act as a calming balm," I murmured, my mind filled with thoughts of her enigmatic nature.

With a soft smile, she continued to share her insights. "When hunger gnaws at my stomach, it becomes an ache so palpable that my eyes can't help but join in the chorus of longing. They cry out for sustenance, signaling a need that can only be satiated with nourishment," she explained, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Together, we laughed, finding solace in the simplicity of her answer. The sound of our laughter filled the room, fleeting moments of joy mingling with the tears of amusement.

The atmosphere shifted, and I hesitantly broached a more somber topic. "And what about when sickness befalls you?" I asked, a hint of concern lacing my voice. She nodded, her face reflecting the vulnerability hidden behind her gaze. "When illness ravages my body, my tears become a conduit for pain. They carry the burden of my suffering, silently echoing the anguish that resides within."

I felt a pang in my heart as I listened to her words, aware of the hardships she had endured. Yet, she remained resilient, finding solace in the tears that provided release and solace.

As the discussion deepened, I turned to her, my voice filled with tenderness. "Tell me, why do you cry when sadness envelops your being?" She sighed, her breath mingling with a heavy silence that hung in the air. "Crying when I'm sad is an intricate dance of release and healing. It's as if tears cleanse the wounds of my heart, allowing me to find solace amidst the chaotic storm of emotions."

Her words resonated deeply within my soul, and I realized that tears were not just a manifestation of weakness but a testament to her strength and resilience.

With trepidation, I finally asked the question that weighed heavily on my heart. "Why do tears grace your cheeks when we make love?" Her eyes met mine, filled with a depth of desire and longing. "In those intimate moments, our souls intertwine, becoming one entity. The sheer intensity of our connection overwhelms me, bringing tears as a testament to the magnitude of our love and passion."

Her words touched me deeply, reminding me of the profound connection we shared. The room shimmered with a sense of enchantment, and tears of joy welled in my eyes, mirroring the depth of our love.

Finally, as she lay there in the hospital bed, her grip on my hand tightening, I mustered the strength to ask the final question, my voice trembling. "Why do you cry now, my love?" Her tear-stained face turned towards me, and a mixture of emotions flickered across her eyes. "I cry now for the bittersweet beauty of life, for the joy of reuniting with my creator, and for the heart-wrenching pain of leaving you behind, my dearest husband," she confessed, her voice quivering with raw emotions.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with my own, as we held onto that fleeting moment, cherishing the love and memories we had created together. And in that poignant exchange, we knew that our tears would forever bind us, even across the realms, as a testament to the depth of our connection.

I'll ravage your flesh with a ferocious hunger,
devoid of any restraint or inhibition, as I immerse myself
in the pursuit of satiating my most primal desires.
With every inhale, the intoxicating scent of your flower
captivates my senses, leaving me lusting for the delectable
sweetness that lies within. It's a flavor that seduces like a
symphony playing upon my taste buds, awakening an insatiable
craving that consumes me from within.

So, my love, settle upon my tongue and allow yourself to
indulge in the enchanting sensations that await you there.
Feel the heat of my breath mingling with your essence, teasing
and coaxing, guiding you towards the pinnacle of pleasure.
As the strands of your hair intertwine with my grasp, I will
shape our movements with unwavering confidence, leading you
through the tumultuous symphony of our desire.

In my presence, the strength of our connection will resonate
through every fiber of your being.
Your legs will surrender to their trembling under the weight of
our intense union, while your heart and soul collide with a force
so powerful it leaves no doubts or hesitation in your mind.
You will know, without the shadow of a doubt, that you
belong to me and me alone.

And allow me to confess, my darling, that my words possess
a hypnotic quality that penetrates your very core.
Even before my teeth sink into the tender flesh of your neck,
my lips will grace its surface, ascending its contours like
a mountaineer seeking the highest summit.
With every touch, every caress, the walls within you will
yield gradually and willingly, testaments to the profound pleasure
I offer and the ecstasy we create together.

As our passionate encounter reaches its zenith, I want you to
revel in the knowledge that every moment has been a sensational surrender to the depths of desire.
My whispers, soft as silk against your ear, will affirm the
undeniable truth that our connection is beyond question or doubt.
It is a truth that we share, etched upon our very beings, binding
us together in an unbreakable bond.

In the end, my love, there is no room for uncertainty.
Your complete and utter enjoyment of our encounters is not
a mere fleeting possibility but an irrefutable reality that we
both embrace. In the whispers of our ecstasy, in the echoes
of our connection, the affirmation resounds loudly and clearly:

     You belong to me, my love... and forevermore,
            you shall remain mine and mine alone.

The chances of not remembering a night are alarming,
leaving behind a void in the memory that can be quite unsettling. Sometimes, in the darkest moments, we become our own worst enemies, constantly battling with overwhelming emotions and an overwhelming urge to cry, even wishing for an escape from this overwhelming pain.

These feelings can intensify to the point that we find ourselves lingering on the edge, contemplating the unthinkable.

It's during these dark moments that we may find ourselves crafting an unsent suicide note, a testament to the despair and longing for release.
In a surreal twist, it can be disheartening to realize that the absence of a simple Wi-Fi code becomes the barrier between us and expressing our profound pain.

It's not that we're not willing to make an effort
to break free from the turmoil.
In fact, there are times when we muster the courage
to push forward, willing to endure the agony
for just a little longer.

The pressure we feel can reach a boiling point, as if we're seated
on a hot seat, where our entire existence teeters on the brink.
The weight of our entire life bears down on us, the uncertainty of our journey amplified by not truly knowing where we originated from.
Our confusion adds to the complexity, raising questions about our purpose and destination.

In the grand scheme of things, it becomes abundantly clear
that our path forward remains unknown.
Without a firm grasp on our origins, it becomes even more challenging to navigate the ambiguity of life's direction.
Despite this uncertainty, we continue to search for meaning,
hoping to find solace and purpose in the chaos that surrounds us.

The best thoughts I had were the ones in my own
darkness, where I could explore the depths of my
mind and contemplate life's mysteries.

It was in those moments of solitude that my innermost
creativity came to life, birthing new ideas and perspectives.
I felt an unparalleled sense of clarity as the darkness
enveloped me, allowing me to see my thoughts
with unparalleled clarity.

But beyond this introspective cocoon,
there was another desire that flickered within me.
I yearned to weave a tapestry of envy in the eyes of
those who dared to compare themselves to me,
especially when it came to you.

Your presence ignited a fire within me,
an unquenchable ambition to outshine and
outperform anyone who tried to stand alongside us.

My breath feels forced today,
almost as if the weight of the world is crushing
down on me, making it a struggle to inhale.

My tired heart beats with a heaviness that mirrors the
off-white shade of my worn-out Air Force 1 sneakers,
reflecting the wear and tear of my weary soul.
As I took a step into today, I found myself unable to walk,
feeling as though my feet were cemented to the ground,
paralyzed by the burdens of life.

And yet, despite the overwhelming challenges,
I hold onto the hope that even if I overstep my boundaries,
my worth as a person will not be diminished or erased.
My life, my soul, my spirit and very being are worth
more than any material possessions, including the worth
of my shoes.

I'm just a humble beggar, with nothing but
this old beggar's song resonating in my soul.
It may seem like there's something wrong with me,
but appearances can be deceiving. Deep down,
I'm content with who I am and the life I lead.

Just like a flickering candle, I find myself blowing away time,
as if trying to defy its relentless passage.
The hours slip through my fingers like grains of sand,
yet I embrace each moment with a sense of acceptance.
I don't long for death to take me away, for in doing so,
the whole world would descend into darkness,
robbing others of the light that I bring.

Though my circumstances may be humble, I find solace
in the fact that my voice can still touch hearts and minds.
With each note I sing, I seek to bring a glimmer of hope
and beauty to a world that can often be cold and unforgiving.

Just as a beggar's song tells a story of struggle and resilience,
my existence too has meaning and purpose.
I continue to embrace my role as a humble candle,
spreading warmth and illumination in a world that is in constant need of both.

Bring me up to my knees; as an intimate relationship
to a spirit's hymn, where the melodies intertwine with the
deepest desires of my soul and create a symphony
of divine connection.

As the colours of diamond eyes have witnessed my journey,
recognizing the sparkle of my worthiness as
I seek the constant reassurance of your promised presence.
As I wander through the corridors of my thoughts, I stumble
upon the resonating echoes of your blessings, reminding me
of the blessings bestowed upon me.

In stillness, I find solace, like a river resting in its bed,
emitting purity and pouring out serenity into the world
around me. May my feet be firmly cemented on the path of
faith, anchored in the belief that every step I take is guided
by a higher power.

Like the eyes of a lover gazing upon their very first love,
may my love be forever reminiscent of that initial spark,
a flame that is always hungry for more, constantly craving
deeper connections and experiences in this abundant universe.

And so, with unwavering determination, I move forward into
the calling of the creator, embracing the unknown with open
arms and trusting that every step I take will lead me closer
to fulfilling my purpose.

At times, it seems like I am skillfully navigating my way
through a block of words that could potentially hinder a
conversation, similar to how one would navigate
around the imposing Watch towers on a bustling street.

Dealing with these words becomes a sort of religion
in itself, as they stubbornly cling to their power.
Above all else, these words start to feel as if they
have been suspended in the air, waiting anxiously for
a compliment to grasp onto, like a game of
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," where I would willingly cross
boundaries just to capture the attention of a lover; if by her toe.

However, in doing so, our pasts would inevitably
catch up with us, causing us to confront
and let go of numerous things.

Consequently, I have transformed into a different person,
one who has hopefully grown enough to be
dispassionate towards my own individuality.
And if I were to personify my growth, I would become
that very message that I have discovered and now wish
to share with others, spreading the sense of freedom
and my new found deliverance.

As I stood there, surrounded by the smoldering remnants
of a testament fire, the fierce and burning flame of truth
licked at my lips, leaving behind the taste of ash and smoke.
It was as if the very essence of my being had been
engulfed by the scorching salts of the Pacific ocean,
causing me to drown away the weight of my past and
propel myself towards a new, transformative moment in my life.

In that pivotal moment, as I gasped for breath,
I could feel myself taking in a new perspective, as if I
were biting into the air itself to taste a vision
that the world could never comprehend.
The decision to speak out, to give voice to the dream
that had long been buried within me, felt like a bolt of
lightning striking at the core of my being, collapsing my
chest with the weight of my own despair.
Yet, behind the mask of my fixed gaze, it seemed as
though none could truly see the depths of my turmoil.

With each step I took through the blistering desert,
the searing heat pierced my skin like a thousand razor-sharp
blades, each one a painful reminder of the unstable journey
I was now embarked upon after losing my trusted steed.
My once-moist lips were now as dry as the touch of the hot,
heavy air that danced in merciless circles on my sun-drenched skin.

And as I gazed out at the horizon, it appeared as
a thin needle in my eye, relentlessly chasing the elusive
tip of the vast ocean, an ever-present hope of finding
solace and respite.

Yet, just when all seemed lost and the weight of my
journey threatened to consume me, a miraculous
sight greeted my weary eyes.
In a corner of the globe, hidden away from prying eyes,
I stumbled upon an oasis.

Its pristine water beckoned to me, tantalizingly
close to the edge of my own demise.
With each sip, it tasted as if it held the spirit of life itself,
filling my cherished cup to the brim and overflowing with
a sense of renewal and gratitude.

In that moment, as the cool water quenched
my parched throat, gratitude flooded my being.
I was no longer consumed by the burning flames of my past;
instead, I stood, reborn and rejuvenated, ready to embrace
the boundless possibilities that lay before me
— no longer burnt out.

I should paint out the movie scene, but I might run out of colors
because the vibrant hues of your presence have
illuminated my world with unmatched brilliance.
In the captivating touch of your skin, I found myself
falling deeply in love, consumed by the
warmth and tenderness of your cuddles.

With each beat of my heart, I hope you can hold on tightly,
just as we held onto each other in a timeless embrace
that I could never forget so lightly.

As the outside world peered in through the window screen,
their curious eyes filled with wonder,
attempting to imagine their own love scenes.

But let us draw the curtains of privacy and intimacy,
shielding ourselves from their gaze, so that we may
revel in the sacred connection that belongs solely to us.
As we both had a chance to lie, I couldn't tell a lie
of me doing this usually.

For forty-five minutes, I fortified my chest, determined
to maintain a sense of strength and resilience, knowing
that I had to keep going for at least another hour.
In this battle of life, I have faced numerous losses, but perhaps
the greatest loss was the diminishing of my own power.

Yet, when I look into your eyes, I find solace and tranquility;
a calmness that surpasses any tumultuous storm.
I yearn to see the serene stillness of the vast sea
within the depths of your beautiful eyes, a reflection of the
peace and serenity that washes over my soul in your presence.

       ****, that short moment felt so precious.

I am the keeper of treasured memories spanning a
lifetime before, encapsulating the very essence
of cherished moments, both big and small.
From the innocence of childhood to the adventures of youth,
I hold them close, everpresent in my thoughts.
Each memory acts as a conduit, allowing me to revisit
the triumphs, the challenges, and the growth that have shaped me.
These memories form the tapestry of my existence,
reminding me of the paths walked and the lessons learned.

Moreover, I embody a bittersweet nostalgia for the near
future, anticipating the moments yet to come with
a blend of excitement and wistfulness.
The familiar ache of longing for milestones yet to be reached,
dreams yet to be fulfilled, and connections yet to be formed.
And in this liminal space of the present, I find solace
and delight in envisioning the possibilities that lie
just beyond the horizon.

In me, the echoes of the past and the whispers
of the future converge. I exist as a bridge between what
has been and what is yet to be.
In every sense, I am a living testament to the
beauty and complexity of the human journey.

Tending to the soft, hushed whispers of the night,
I find myself drawn to you, longing to see
the reflection of your loveliness in my eyes.
It's as if you have descended straight from the
heavenly corners above, your presence captivating
me and causing my heart to race.
Just as quickly as angels fall from the sky,
we are all falling deeply in love.

The words of strangers often get lodged between our teeth,
their shallow secrets adding a touch of intrigue
to the synchronized movement of our lips.
I am reminded of the moon casting its ethereal
dance upon the clear surface of the sea, creating
a serene and enchanting landscape.
As night falls, a blanket of desires covers everything
that once was, leaving only a sense of a longing be.

Yet, despite this overwhelming love,
I find myself unable to find the space to express
your name with the depth it deserves.
It's as if any attempt to do so merely adds to the
trenches and pits – the abandoned hopes and dreams –
of those who came before me.
Your gaze, burning with intensity, consumes
us like a ferocious firestorm.
I can't help but feel a sense of jealousy towards
even the bathroom mirror, as it alone gets to witness
the intimacy of ******* you.

Poems and hymns become a whispered language that
lingers upon your ear, reminiscent of a cat's rough lick,
eager for a taste of your tears.
It's a language that speaks to my desire to
understand what it truly means to be in love.

And yet, I'm left with only reminders of what
could have been, searching for answers within
the confines of that picture.
Perhaps, if I were to expand the frame to encompass
the potential of our future family, then maybe, just maybe,
it would be enough to paint our own reality.

Darling, if only you could spell out the words correctly,
I could dive into the depths of your mind and
unravel the thoughts that occupy your every waking moment.
But alas, I remain in the position of not fully
comprehending what it truly means to be in love.
A plea escapes my lips, as I humbly ask for your guidance –
please teach me the intricacies of love,
so that I may fully grasp its essence.

In the midst of shimmering, pendant tears that fell gracefully
like a soothing, cooling summer rain, bringing with them
a sense of calm and renewal, I couldn't help but reminisce about
our carefree days of youth.

We used to playfully refer to such rain as a "monkey's wedding,"
finding joy in the whimsical nature of the world around us.

It was during those precious moments that we formed a bond,
united by our shared sense of humor and our pursuit of wishful thinking, always hoping to find that elusive *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
We believed that if we could stumble upon such a treasure,
it would grant us the luxury of time, allowing us to forget the struggles and challenges we faced in our everyday lives.
In our innocence, we placed our trust in the wisdom that only
a youth can muster up in their playful explorations.

As I reflect on those days, I can still vividly picture the magnificent mud castles we built, standing tall and proud, mirroring the immense joy and satisfaction we derived from our imaginative endeavors.
They were like immortal empires, resilient against the test of time,
but only if we nourished them with our ever-fertile imaginations.

Like tender saplings in need of water, our castles depended on
the constant flow of our dreams to survive and thrive.

And just as the sun warms the earth and gently dries up the
morning dew, I hope that if I ever find myself receding and
drying up, it is only in the context of my grand finale.
There is still so much left for me to accomplish, so many dreams
to chase and conquer.

In the hearts of those who embrace their inner child, there is a
constant beating, a fervent longing to return to that imaginative
state and be transported to a world that knows no bounds.
It is a nation within the mind, regardless of its size or its capacity
to hold the dreams and aspirations of its inhabitants.

There lies a straight and narrow life, visioned in my crooked eyes,
as I dream of a thought, but never thought much of the dream.
It's a constant struggle to grasp the concept of common sense,
trying to make sense of the world around me.
Sometimes though, I feel the need to find a few commas, not only
to improve the flow of my writing but also to make a little more
of the common cents, to bring more financial stability and
understanding around me.

I cannot; would not, still I can knot the lies on a
twisted tongue, but I've come to realize that like wood,
which doesn't break as easily within a knot, I too have my own
strength amidst the tangled web of dishonesty.
A reminder that we all have the power to resist falsehoods
and maintain our integrity.

Amidst the chaos and uncertainty,
I still hold onto my thoughts of the present, cherishing it as gift
in the moment and treasuring the lessons and experiences that
shaped me. I understand that these present moments are
the building blocks for my future. Each choice and action I take
today has a ripple effect on what lies ahead of me.

In this fleeting existence, we are faced with two paths — either
we cautiously tread on thin ice, carefully navigating the dangers
and risks, or we seize the opportunity and run as quickly as we
can towards our goals.

Regardless of which path we choose, we must always remain
cautious. Life is fragile and transient, and ultimately leads
us to the inevitable destination of death.
Try your best to enjoy all that you have in the moment.

I strive to maintain balance, embracing the straight and narrow,
in the complexity and uniqueness within my own perspective.
Like tranquil waters patiently awaiting the refreshing touch of rain,
it is wiser for me not to resist the natural order of the world;
instead, I rely on my God to serve as my powerful weapon.

Family will disappoint you when you least expect it,
money will often fail you, slipping through your fingers
just when you need it the most.

Successes, no matter how plentiful, will inevitably run dry,  
time, a merciless force, will never be on your side, slipping
away faster than you can grasp it.

However, your dreams will stand as an unwavering companion,
that greets you each morning and accompanys you as you sleep.

And even in death, your dreams will continue to live on
in the hearts and minds of others, becoming a part of your legacy.
—a lasting testament to your indomitable spirit and
the mark you have left behind.

Discovering the art of truthfulness, as I rest on my bedside, I discover myself surrounded by a cushion filled with falsehoods, where it lies. It's a constant struggle not to shed tears, for my eyes are always overflowing with pools of emotions, drowning away any possibility of finding the inspiration of this word, “beauty”.

My empty gaze, incapable of hiding a disguise, hates the shallow beauty standards that society imposes. We often find ourselves falling aside, overshadowed by the captions that emphasize our flaws,—                 much like the petals that gracefully descend to the ground.

Even when people assert that true beauty resides within,                         life has a way of reflecting our insecurities, mirroring uncertainties and fears. I would sleep for a thousand days, just to dream of a better world,— a world that would regard me as their, “Sleeping beauty."

No, no, no...instead I will awaken to confront another day, on my own terms and standard. And I  bet the world would have plenty to say, but so few are their words, for me to let them spoil my mood today.

           I am beautiful!

The night employs its workers after eight,
creating an atmosphere where individuals seek to escape
their mundane routines and indulge in a thrilling experience.

For one man, this nocturnal venture is
an attempt to buy time, to savor each moment of
a good time and escape the pressures of daily life.
Intentionally avoiding personal connections, he finds solace
in the nameless encounters shared throughout the night—
a world where the unknown pasts of both parties remain shrouded, not wanting to delve into the parts of each other
that we prefer to keep hidden.

Within the night's enchanting embrace, there is a woman
who possesses innocence and curiosity, although her legs
bear the weight of experiences accumulated.
She possesses the wisdom gained through countless encounters,
manifesting in the act of lighting a cigarette after moments of intimacy, letting the smoke billow upward to silently erase the tales of the night.

Her actions portray a yearning for something more,
as she continuously summons another night, effortlessly
dialing for the next thrilling adventure.

Yet, as we reflect upon the distinction between a mere
night out and genuine love, we realize the striking
similarities between the two.
Both demand a significant investment of our time, resources,
and emotions.

We willingly pour ourselves into each pursuit, striving to
stay entertained and maintain appearances.

The other hand is an ongoing exchange, where we pay to experience the thrill of a secret night, concealing our desires behind closed doors and hidden rendezvous.

In this clandestine world, we navigate the blurred boundaries between escapism and genuine connection.
The night becomes an arena for fleeting passions and borrowed moments of exhilaration, a space where we can momentarily indulge our desires and find solace in the darkness.
As we surrender ourselves to the allure of the night, we gradually become entangled in a web of undisclosed experiences, trading our time and resources for the secrets
that unravel after dusk.

I live to breathe, I breathe then seek;
to seek my dream.

I dream for one, and pray to one God for all;
for all who breathe.

I breathe to live, to live my worth, the worth
of time, and how it's spent.

I spent my days on the prayers I long to send;
I'll send out the message written in my heart.

I write with my heart, and never miss a beat;
still I beat myself when I'm not myself.

And by myself, I could never find a reason to breathe.

Roses are red, the ones that won't grow by my heart,
they evoke a sense of longing and unfulfilled desires.
Delicate petals, once vibrant and full of life, now lay dormant,
mirroring the dormant feelings within. All a bittersweet
reminder that emotions, like flowers, have a finite lifespan.

I'm tending my blue, in the violence of my eyes,
as turbulent as the crashing waves on a stormy night.
The storm brewing within me has fueled a relentless pursuit of
dreams, propelling me forward despite the obstacles that stand
in my way.

With determination and resilience, I push forward,
believing that the next turn of the century will bring
new beginnings and endless possibilities.

I had a tenfold of wishful thinking, my mind
consumed by thoughts of what could be.
Each night, I found myself wondering if my prayers had
reached the celestial gardens of Heaven, where they might be
nurtured and grow into reality. It was a hopeful plea, a desperate
attempt to manifest my deepest desires and find solace
in the belief that someone or something was listening.

In my quest for fulfillment, I planted a piece of gold in
the grounds of time, a symbol of optimism and abundance.
It represented not just material wealth, but also the invaluable treasures of love, happiness, and purpose. I yearned for a worthwhile time to be alive, where every moment was infused with meaning and each day held the promise of fulfillment.

My thoughts seem small by my gaze of your mini dress,
as if they shrink in comparison to the sheer beauty you exude.
Like a bee drawn to the sweet nectar of a flower,
I find myself irresistibly captivated by the sight of
honey dripping from a bee nest.

The way your dress gracefully hugs your curves reminds
me of an ant, diligently going about its business beneath
the safety of its shelter.
It is in these moments that I am reminded of my own strength,
for despite feeling overwhelmed by the urge to possess you,
I know that I have the capacity to protect and cherish you
within the walls of this house.

However, as my desire intensifies, I can't help
but feel a subtle discomfort. It's as if my own physical form
is rebelling against the constraining force of my pants,
constricting and tightening around me.
This sensation, though initially unwelcome, serves as a
reminder of the passion that burns within me.
It is a reminder that I am willing to endure physical
discomfort in order to pursue the release that only you can offer,
like a prisoner longing to be set free from the confines
of his own mind.

In this internal struggle, I can't help but see myself as
a creature trapped within the labyrinth of desire.
My thoughts, once free to roam, are now confined by the
beastly nature of my yearning. Yet, despite the entrapment,
there is a certain allure to this captivity.
It is a tantalizing proposition, to let out this hidden creature
that resides within me and to indulge in the forbidden
pleasure that tempts me tonight.
The allure is dangerous and tempting, like a siren's song
that beckons me towards uncharted waters.

So, would you be willing to untether this imprisoned
beast and play with the fire that burns within me?
Would you give in to the temptation and explore the depths
of passion that we both desire?

Amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions, it is your decision
that holds the key to our liberation, to a union that
transcends the boundaries of ordinary experience.

Black as an even fair, beautifully paid by the sun's kisses,
I marvel at the mesmerizing tone of your dark skin, akin to
a painting brought to life.

The way the sunlight caresses your complexion reveals a
radiance that is ethereal, as if the heavens themselves have
blessed you with their touch. It is as if the universe conspired
to create a masterpiece, blending the stark contrast of night and
day, merging darkness and light into a harmonious symphony
of beauty.

As the evening sun graces you with its warm embrace, casting
a gentle glow upon your features, it illuminates the hidden
depths within you. Within the lovely twirls of your hair, I see
a multitude of joyous moments interlaced, each strand a testament
to the ebbs and flows of life.

They seem to dance and twinkle, reflecting the light of
your spirit and the resilience that carries you forward.
It is in these majestic tresses that I find solace, a sanctuary where
dreams and aspirations intertwine, creating a symphony of desires.

I swear, with the utmost sincerity and conviction, by the
promises I make to myself and to you, that I shall forever long
for something as rare and precious as you are. Like a cherished
gem, hidden amidst the depths of our motherland's embrace,
you represent the culmination of generations of strength and
resilience. You are the embodiment of the legacy of our ancestors,
who fought tirelessly to reclaim their voices and redefine their existence.
By cherishing you, I honor their sacrifices, carrying their stories
and their bravery within my heart.

The tenderness and care that reside within the depths of my being
compel me to cherish and nurture you with every breath I take.
Your presence evokes a sense of awe and wonder, for you are an extraordinary creation, a queen among queens.
Your regality shines forth in every interaction, radiating grace
and dignity. In my devotion to you, I find purpose and meaning,
a profound connection that transcends time and space.

Loving a black queen runs deep within my soul, permeating
every aspect of my being. It is a love that defies boundaries
and conventions, embracing the fullness of who you are.
In loving a black queen, I celebrate not only the physical beauty
that graces your form but also the strength that flows through
your veins. It is a love that embraces the complexities and
intricacies of your journey, appreciating the layers that
shape your identity.

Together, we create a tapestry of love and understanding,
woven with threads of compassion and resilience.
And in this love, we find the infinite possibilities that lie
within our unity.

Mockingbirds, those beautiful creatures with feathers
as delicate as a whisper, find themselves trapped within
the confines of a cage, their melodic songs
silenced by the prison that surrounds them.

As they spin on the scale, their movements resemble
the graceful twirls of your hair, each strand reflecting the
music that dances in your soul. The sight leaves me awestruck,
my gaze fixated on the cracks in your eyes.
They tell tales of a life filled with both joy and sorrow, and
I can't help but be captivated by the depth within them.

But amidst this enchantment, I cannot help but feel
a pang of sadness for the little birdie that flew into a
deceptive net, its tiny body possibly breaking its delicate neck.
This mere accident, this twist of fate, has brought a sense
of loss and pain. In an attempt to make amends, to reclaim a
semblance of what was lost, I will venture back to the store.

I will seek out the mockingbird's freedom,
buying back its worth with the hopes of restoring
the balance that has been disrupted.

For in this act, I hope that I can bring a ray of light
to your world, honoring the beauty that lies within you
and the harmony that the mockingbirds sought to emulate.

May this small gesture of returning the caged bird symbolize
a larger journey towards reclaiming the freedom and worth
that was once taken away.

I feel like a dollar sometimes,
floating around in a world where money seems
to rule everything.

It may not buy much these days,
but to someone who has nothing, it always feels
like a million bucks.

Petals wilted fast
—breeze carried it far away,
all lost in memories

I never heard much of love playing in my ear;
as I've never heard David's secret chord to the Lord.
The melodies of affection and adoration never caressed
my ears or resonated within my soul. The sweet symphony
of love's harmonies, like the ethereal hymns sung by angels,
were foreign to my senses.

Sitting beneath the orange hues of a radiant sunset,
I found solace under the sheltering branches of an orange tree.
The soft caress of its delicate leaves brushed against my cheeks,
a gentle reminder of nature's embrace.

It felt as if love itself had taken a bite into the core of my being, leaving me intoxicated with its sweetness.
With every gulp of life, it filled me with an abundance of
emotions, leaving me speechless in its presence.

As I peeled away the layers of my pride, surrendering to
the vulnerability of love, it felt as if my very
skin was shedding, revealing the raw essence of my soul.
Like the strings of a guitar that linger in your mouth after a
heartfelt melody, love entangled my words, weaving
a intricate web of emotions that silenced me in its grasp.
The profundity of love was a force that rendered me
speechless, for words seemed insufficient to express its
depth and magnitude.

Yet, from above, a divine intervention occurred,
painting the sky with a vivid tapestry of orange hues.
It was a visual feast, a breathtaking experience to witness
the perfect alignment of colors and light. Floating amidst
the vastness of the heavens, this celestial swirl of orange
was a testament to the magnitude of love, a display of its
boundless beauty.

Within the ever-rotating circle of this enchanting spectacle,
I discovered an unparalleled love.  An elusive concept in this imperfect world, true and perfect love revealed itself to me.

It was a love beyond human comprehension, a love that
transcended all notions of imperfection.
This divine love, the love of God, illuminated my path
and transformed my perception of what love could truly be.

What to say about yesterday,
the day that seems to blur with the passage of time.

It's like trying to grasp onto a slippery memory,
fragile like a delicate pat of butter slipping through your fingers.
How I wish I could hold onto it, savor it, and make it last.
It feels as if I'm trying to spread my time like butter on toast,
hoping to cover every moment that I have, that I had.

Memories are like fragments of a puzzle,
slowly piecing together the story of our lives.
And yesterday, it held a significant piece, a piece
that I don't want to let go of. It was a day filled with laughter,
joy, and love, creating a tapestry of beautiful moments that
I want to cherish forever.

The colors of yesterday, like an artist's palette,
painted a vibrant picture in my mind.

The sounds, the smells, and the sensations are
etched in my memory, even if they slip through
my grasp like silky sand.

Yesterday is now a chapter in the book of my life,
a chapter that I hope will never fade away.

The past is a memory
The present, a moment
And the future will always be an idea...

So let's make memories, just to forget about them
at a moments notice;
As we'll think of an idea towards our futures.

If growing more successful and earning more money,
means losing your roots... please don't plant me in a
*** filled with riches.

If being famous means losing your soul... please don't
let me walk around with fame.

If being a leader of many means I start to become
corrupt... please don't put me in charge of a nation.

And if being heard means harshly silencing those
around me... please don't let me have a...

Scribbling out my thoughts, with each stroke of the pen, fervently hoping to extract a semblance of life from this inkless, desolate fountain pen. Its once vibrant hue now fades into anemic oblivion, mirroring the emptiness within me. As I sit in the dimly lit room, the scratching of the pen on paper is the only sound, echoing the restlessness in my soul.

Each stroke reveals a fragment of my innermost desires, like forgotten whispers fighting to be heard. The ink, trapped within the confines of this aging vessel, clings to the paper like a loyal companion, breathing life into my otherwise mundane existence. The weight of my emotions presses down upon the pen, as though I am trying to etch my very essence onto the page.

In this dance between writer and pen, the barren inkwell becomes the protagonist of its own tragic tale. It yearns to bleed its vivid hues, to spill out tales of love, loss, and triumph, onto the awaiting canvas. But alas, it remains trapped in a state of perpetual stillness, biding its time for the right catalyst to set it free.

Yet, in the midst of this desolation, a flicker of hope emerges, a belief that maybe, just maybe, the power of my words can awaken the dormant ink within this abandoned pen. The strokes of my pen become resolute, each scrawl breathing new life into the barren page. The empty fountain pen transforms into a conduit, a vessel of creative expression, as if channeling the very essence of my thoughts and emotions onto the once-blank canvas.

With each stroke, my pen becomes an extension of my heart and mind, releasing the simmering passions, the unspoken truths, and the profound yearnings that reside within me. Though the ink may falter and waver at times, its presence alone serves as a testament to the vitality of my spirit, refusing to be silenced.

And so, I continue to scribble, guided by an unwavering determination to find life within this parched pen. Its empty state no longer solely reflects futility, but rather the incredible potential that awaits, yearning to be discovered. In this journey of expression, every stroke is a celebration, transforming the mere act of writing into an act of liberation, as I release the boundless energy of my imagination onto the tangible page.

Let me down once again, burying me in disappointment;
a heavy burden, burying me deep within its grasp. A grim demise, but the truth is, I have experienced this feeling of lifelessness before. Scream at my face, as if I don’t listen enough,—following around like a personal slave to people. **** in my face when you’re ******* at me. Tie your opinions of me, as I have these knots on my tongue.

     Treat me as nothing more than a worthless *******, just
to cover yourself with a new sheet. Blame me for all of the mistakes, as I misplace my happiness and put on this fake smile on my face. Cast a shadow over my days, letting me catch a glimpse of your true colors in the absence of light.

     Call me, “*****,” and “little ****;” I doubt any of those words
will hurt as much as they did before. Break your tongue on
trying to say things that will break my spirit. You all already
tried to break me before; you won’t break me anymore.

I or you; is the question to ask of who will die first for who,
I owe you; an explanation of why I can’t say the three important words to give an account towards my wicked heart,
I O U; the three important vowels to make up that heavy weighted phrase:

                                          “I love you.”

Here's a story of a possible future, reminiscing on the work my
wrist would have done,— my next watch should cost me forty eight.
Two days later hearing my kids complaining about how they
barely ate. But it would cost me less if I had more fame; with
my biggest fear of people saying I'm not the same. Still I guess we'll only know when the times actually change.
Living in a mansion, telling a girl I'd like to live in her hand, just to buy rings to expand it more. Add a couple chandeliers just so she can see herself as an angel under her Lord. But truth be told, I could be on the streets, living in her heart only by corners of it. And she'd hate to ******* pride, cos I know it all tastes of *****.

Owing the credit to my success by every dream that owed a debit.
Thinking of it now, I'd be smiling in a much comfortable home,
knowing it's something I actually own. Telling people I did what I had to do, when my worries were knocking on my door with a lot dues. The uncomfortable conversation you make with your landlord when the rent is due,— but even with fame, society will come knocking to see what more you can bring... it's all nothing new.

I already have silent panic attacks, lying on my bed with open eyes, relying on tomorrow being a bit better. Still being alone in a mansion, waiting for a heart attack, as today's are already hectic, and tomorrow's all carry a lot of pressure. Would I really want to stop working, calling someone I sort of loved late at night when the Wi-Fi is actually working,— to tell them nothing in my life seems to be working.
"Was it all worth," she'd probably ask me. What could I say; I perfected my life but life still doesn't seem to be so perfect. Of how I found fame, but my identity is something I'm out here still searching.

The first to ****, regarding myself in first person,
by forty eight, dying alone without fulfilling his purpose. And your story becomes a lesson to someone in the third person. I guess I wouldn't have bought the watch in the first place; ticking away my life till it all worsens.

...So before I ever find fame, let me at least find my purpose.

Kiss me under my eye, for a reason for me to want to see you again.

igniting a fire within my soul, making me crave more
of your presence in my life.

Place a mat of your love on my back, to remind
me I need to tidy up my past.
With your unwavering support, I'll know I always have
you, even with the dirt I might bring home
Put a flower in my mouth every time we kiss,
so I can have a last taste of beauty before you go.
Later on we'll have late conversation when my confidence
blooms, at a call to rise;— the flower better be a rose.

Snip a piece of your hair to tie with my belt
buckle, just so I can wear a memory of you,
buckling at the future and all of our perfect heirs.

Cut a collar of my shirt, to have me by the neck.

intimate and possessive,
to symbolize your claim over me.

And if that material wears out, you can wear
my incense instead. Like your sweet perfume that gets
stuck on my neck; digging into my flesh with desire
—I'll be cut throat when it comes to show how you make me feel.

With all feelings involved, I can definitely say
what I'm feeling of those scary words,
"I think I'm falling in love"

Musty kisses, so much like cologne with a musky smell, leave a lasting aftertaste—an indication of a man desperately trying to conceal his insecurities. Rumors have circulated that he has resorted to manipulation and mind games in his interactions with women, resembling a predatory elite, a muskellunge lurking in the depths of a freshwater lake. As nightfall approaches, he prepares himself for the evening's activities, donning his goggles like a skilled diver ready to plunge headfirst into the murky waters of awkward conversation and those all-too-familiar first impressions. With an air of self-assuredness, he boasts about his past athletic achievements; "Hey I used to be good at sports," obviously spelled out on his letterman jacket as evidence of his once formidable sporting prowess. "While I may have retired from the game, but perhaps tonight you can play ball, and be the one to play with my *****," he slyly suggests, fueled by liquid confidence provided by a few shots of courage. Unfortunately for him, the weight of his words pales in comparison to the value of the drinks he has been offering the object of his attention. So of course she won't pay attention.

As her patience wears thin, she cannot contain her frustration any longer and resorts to throwing the last swallow of her drink in his
face, an act meant to deflate his ego. Instead of swallowing his pride, he bounces back like the reverberations echoing through the empty club. Retrieving a cigarette from the left pocket of his coat, he ignites a flame and engulfs himself in a cloud of smoke, attempting to find solace in his self-imposed camouflage through his chimney neck.
Without skipping a beat, he beckons for another glass of whiskey and casually whistles a tune before every sip, as though seeking comfort in the familiarity of his routines. In a fleeting moment, his gaze meets mine, almost as if we were old friends sharing a silent understanding.

Little does he know, I am acquainted with the man behind the facade, aware of the pain he actively conceals behind his bravado. There is a tragic narrative woven into his life, one in which he has been consistently belittled by a brother, leaving him with no choice but to compensate for his perceived shortcomings by pushing boundaries. Within him, there is an unmistakable sense of being lost, drowning his sorrows in a bottle. Tomorrow, he will consume his own words, choking on the regret that accompanies his intoxicated state and *****. It is a sobering tale indeed, one that asks us to consider how we may overlook fragments of our own pain reflected in the brokenness of others.

Open to the mesmerizing sight of love, I would fervently pursue the captivating idea all on my own, like a lone wolf relentlessly hunting down its prey. With a predatory grace, I would skillfully stalk you, my innocent deer,—
In this unspoken forest of the night's serenade, where the moonlight casts ethereal shadows upon the earth, I find myself compelled to howl at the songs of their mysterious silhouettes. With an uncontainable excitement building within me, I carry a devilish grin that tugs at the corners of my lips, anticipating the moment when I can unleash a torrent of words, forming a sentence that will not only capture your attention but also leave an indelible impression on your soul.

My words, like white-water rapids crashing against the rocks, will bite down on your ear with a playful yet alluring intensity. They will weave sentences that touch the deepest recesses of your mind, evoking emotions that you never knew existed within you. Like a gentle caress that ignites a fire, my words will tickle your pleasure, awakening desires that have long been dormant.

With every beat of my heart, I am driven to explore the uncharted territories of love with you. Together, we will delve into the depths of passion, traversing treacherous landscapes of vulnerability and trust. Your heart will become my sanctuary, a place where our love can flourish and grow, protected by the fierce and unwavering loyalty of a wolf...
your gate wolf, forever vigilant in protecting the sanctity of our shared connection.

I saw Heaven hanging over my head like a chandelier, it's
angels were swimming in the light, whispering sweet hymns,—
in a kaleidoscope filled with broken dreams.
The gates fell open like a strand of hair, trumpets were blaring for kings, with thrones like rocking chairs, of my ancestors and their heirs. On earth, I had cattle trodding around my heart to pay for love; as dowry couldn't pay enough for who I once loved.
I drank the tears of Heaven's rains, to tie my tithes wrapped
around my neck; waiting for their fortunes reigns.

I kissed an angel that melted my lips, and had suckled on the ******* of mother nature, who fed me milk and honey to keep me alive. I danced around the edge of an end, where life begins once again. My toes felt cold as a tear drop lost in snow,— my ears were ringing like the church carillon, calling me to repent.
And from the stained glass window frames, it all immediately painted out my pain.

I thought of you, just before I took my last breath, begging the favours from the mistress of Death. I felt like a flower in your hand; each petal being picked away, asking the question of,
"does she love me or love me not." I thought of being holy enough to fit in your heart, but I was as holey as the holes in my socks. My prayers all stunk of the lie behind them all. I looked into your eyes to see heaven inside, as I was living in the world.
I bit on time to have it for seconds, and served a dish of revenge only in my heart,— I was taught it will always be a cold meal; so
I'd use my spark of love to keep it warm. I shared stories with
the world, told my biggest secrets to the sky, and left
breadcrumbs to them, in every word of my poems.

Still...in the chaos of my mind, lied a still river flowing with worth. Drowning myself in your eyes, as your every tear was the inspiration of what became our story. But I know in the end, our love will just be another person's story...

When we were young, sipping on cherry lip kisses,
with a blush of your tears in the afternoon
Simplistic conversation between as two, to seem
casual around your friends. Worshiping our music
on these random rock playlists, while I spoke of your
name, as if it were Queen,— giving you a reason to rule.
Bathroom stains of blood dripping down the black drain,
concrete smiles, drinking chlorine out of broken glasses
Cutting at our smiles; marking each other with bites
on our necks.

Boys with ripped jeans by their pockets; we couldn't
carry a lot of our dreams. Camouflage wallets filled
with an army of our last coins just to cover a ride back home.
Living on a small income, hoping for a good outcome,
and to not baby the night for each other without ***.
But every girl is smiling for a money shot, knowing they
could never afford a real ******. And the boys trying to protect
desires, unfortunately learning how to wear condoms watching ****.

I still remember when I drove ahead of the road, just to
get some head. Blowing away my brain with a few lines of blow.
Trying to find my dreams with a bottle full of sleeping pills,
resting my worries on a torn out mattress, in a city with no area
code. I didn't have much people to call on, whenever my bipolar
started to show; when you sold yourself short on your happiness on
some cheap night thrills.

Sunday blues became the sobering messages while you're
hungover, burning on a bush that never seems to burn over.
Never owning a bark to the trees we've smoked,— still I remember
the good stuff could be bought for just a buck. Still trying your
luck at popping a girls box like popcorn; hoping we can make a
movie with the snack. Still if I even had the skill to blow out her
back, my attachment issues will always have me coming back.

I could never apologise for my youth, till I die young.
But as my eyes live till forever, being forever young would be a
death sentence to me. Serving time on the words we all loved
to say of that stupid quote: "you only live once"

      _...yeah right.

I am a raindrop, born in the clouds. My existence, a fleeting dance between the ethereal and the tangible. I join my siblings, millions of others, in a journey that seems both endless and predestined. We tumble, we spin, we collide, and yet there is a strange sense of harmony to it all. As if we are part of something greater than ourselves, something that transcends the physical world.

And then, finally, we reach the edge of the world. The vast, endless expanse that stretches out before us. We plummet, feeling the weight of gravity pulling us down, down, down. The wind rushes past us, tearing at our tiny forms, yet somehow it also carries us forward. It whispers secrets of the world below, of the life that awaits us in the depths.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, my journey ends. I strike the surface of the water with a soft splash, disappearing beneath the surface. I am no longer a raindrop, but a part of something else now. I am a leaf in the still waters of a pond.

The world around me is a study in contrasts. Above, the sky stretches out in shades of blue, dotted with clouds that occasionally drift past, casting shadows over the water. Below, a carpet of greenery sways gently in the breeze, hinting at a hidden world teeming with life. I drift lazily, carried by the currents, my only concern being to stay afloat and avoid being swept away.

Drifting gracefully on the serene surface of a tranquil pond, I exist as a leaf with no defined purpose, no specific path to follow, and no inner musings. Contentedly, I meander aimlessly, embracing the tranquility that envelops these undisturbed waters. As a leaf, I find solace in simply being, surrendering to the gentle currents that guide my journey.

An investor buys an expensive watch to stay ahead of time. While the rest, will buy it to look like they have all the time in the world. We'll hold onto to the past, to appear we can hold time in our hand; wrapping your arm in the tune of your own success, both for the applauds of a band. Still if money does talk, there'll be a disconnect holding money to your ear. Trying to seem like you talk business, but in the efforts of a sold out career. The taste of a risk, is the blood your poured out of your wrist,— covering up those scars with a time piece. Still time never gives me any real peace, for a piece of thought, is me always wondering what time is.

Murderers killing the itch of time, scratching at the wait of doing something productive at every inch. The weight of robbers stealing time, will be carried away by the imaginary fortunes they think they have, just like the rich. I know you can't really scratch that painful itch by being rich, but it does help me afford the cream to soothe that feeling of a pinch. To not pinch a penny, over thinking how to save your self. When every penny for a thought, is thinking about how you can increase your wealth. As time is money; money only comes in due time, I might have as well bought an expensive watch, to keep watch on this money of mine.

...Still money will never be enough, as there will never be enough time.

Put away your glass eye, and you'll see just how delicate you truly are. Your mind may be sharp, but please, don't gaze
upon my chest and leave me with another scar.
Allow me to demonstrate the foolishness of being madly
in love, when you constantly say, "you run miles on my mind,"
but truthfully I need you to first find that path.

As we compare ourselves to the past, time refuses to wait
for us. We can't spend too much time second-guessing,
as everything comes to pass, and even when I feel irritable,
it all falls so short in my very face.
But hey, life is too tall, and I can't afford to fall so quickly from grace. Still, even when I express my gratitude, it seems to
be the only most answered prayer. Still I pray to protect you from the preying eyes of the world, like the many wolves lurking in the shadows. Every man has an instinct to hunt, but I could never sense their intentions with my own cold nose.

Some days, I yearn to touch your skin as gently as I touch
the sky, always hopeful for tomorrow.
I want to witness every petal of tears that fall from your eyes, reminding me that you are my precious flower. I must protect and guard, while leading with the energy of a man who is still learning, but also in charge.

Yet, life as I know it feels like a stubborn plug in the wall, refusing to give in even when I'm on the verge of burning out. Unlike an angry dog, I may drool, but it's not a pretty sight
at all. Beautiful thoughts only seem to exist in the corners of darkness. Perhaps a single kiss from you will ignite a spark of love, even if it only comes in fleeting sparkles.

Bur don't indulge in my darkness, for the void is filled with nothingness that will make you starve.
But let me gather the courage to say, "I like you," before
I can muster the strength to call you my love.
But then again, what is love: an awkward word, one that carries a multitude of emotions and sensations that delicately tickle underneath the surface of our skin. It can be a rollercoaster
of feelings, sometimes even getting on our nerves. Picture love
as an unlikely image, framed within the memories of one being so, so afraid to talk to girls.

Imagination, on the other hand, is a powerful faculty of the mind. It is an untamed force that can conjure up vivid and extraordinary scenarios, but it can also be harnessed and controlled by a trained mind. Love, however, is a different story. It is wild, unpredictable, and capable of leading us off track when our feelings can no longer hide.

Love is like a tempestuous storm, capable of stirring our hearts passionately and altering the courses of our lives. It knows no boundaries and can ignite an intense and overpowering flame within us. But playing with your match won't be so wise; playing with fires. Love can make us feel vulnerable and exposed,
as if the mere thought of interacting with the opposite ***
could send us spiraling into a spiral of anxiety and self-doubt.
Pricking at my heart, while I go around picking up another rose.

Still when it comes to true love, I never have enough words...
so perhaps that justifies me to say I'm in love,— being lost
for words. Or course that goes against the laws; if love ever
had them at all.
You could live by forever, but truthfully forever will always
be so far away,— so we'd just have this moment where we stay.
And one day, someday or even a Monday, love won't lack
the passion, and making me feel so mundane. But I'll only
know when I fall in love one day.