Loving you is like being kissed by the stars
A whole galaxy of experiences,
Caught in between that space,
—legs that are wrapped around a face
Our hair—a complete mess, and I must confess
that the taste of you is a taste of cosmic prowess
And I’m always stuck on loving you for hours

As is our nature, we who dwell on this earth
I’ve now learnt that your natural waterfall flows
After I’ve treated your wet flower source with a timely worth

A slow tease creeps up and down your skin
Your arched knees are a resting ground before another
journey of my tongue. As the sweetest taste is a taste of fun

By the skin of teeth, are the few bite marks
I’ve left here and there. Your digging fingers in my hair,
Is all the pain you and I have to share.

It all seems fair.
You’re lost for words, choked up by fiery passion;
my gentle hand around your throat
And this rule of thumb; is the one you love to bite on
An aggressive action, but never to be passive

It’s 945, and quarter close to ten
Usually the time we should be resting in bed
But instead, I’m resting my tongue in you

                         It tastes like a perfect end

There was a dream of mine,
an idea of most in a different space of time.
I dreamt of a place where a man stood in front of a crowd. People of so many colours.
Unashamed of the colour on his face,
nor the song underneath his voice.

Some of course,
hated him and his so called gang of "stereotypes".
And in all honesty, it wasn't a shy away from racism,
cause they introduced them as short time hypes,
failing to even pronounce their leaders name.
 
So that's what they walked in as, "The crazy gang of dangerous stereotypes".

They crowd fell quiet at their arrival,
and really the few who understood their vision came up in front with their tiny cheers.

Those against them sent their spies to try and infiltrate the group inside,
But their leader didn't mind. "Let them try and break what's outside, we're much stronger inside".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.

Those against them tried to pull the plug on their little performance,
but it just made the leader chuckle.
"They can turn our mics off, but our voices will always be on".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.
And now turning to the crowd.

"I know you hate us, I see it in your eyes.
You think we're quite strange for being a gang of such vibrant colours,
Which is the case, but also the case of how different we are from one  another.

There's white on our keys, 
black on our drums,
yellow on our bass,
red on our strings
And mixed in the lead.

I understand being mixed seems a little overwhelming,
but trust me, it was for all of us at first.
Still we need you all to listen,
we've got a song to give.

We're tired of this hatred for different colours".

Their leader gave the call,
as the drum began the count,
The crowd grew closer. A few began to dance, while others still stood in their places.
But you could see the jig expressed out of their faces.

As the song was halfway done,
the crowd was entirely full.

Where the leader swerved left and right,
the crowd did so without hesitation.
And those who had stood in place where now dancing with everyone.
Dancing as one entire nation.

Their leader lifted up his voice to the Heavens as they rained down a shower of lights,
flooding the entire room.
The leader fell to his knees as did the people,
his voice was tired and broken
But he kept the song going strong.

He got back up building his voice till it was echoed high enough to bring down a mighty tower,
And with one mighty call to the Heavens once again,
the song had filled the room with cheers and tears.

Those against them had stood behind explaining,  "sorry but you've been suspended".
The leader with a smile replied, "we kind of figured, so we're taking this party somewhere else".

As he left with his stereotypes, the people inside had begun to follow behind,
They tried to break what's outside, but we're much stronger inside.

And that's the strength of our song that goes,
*** *** da da di *** ***,
*** *** da da di la la.

Kisses don't last forever,
lipstick scars on my collared shirt;
sweet perfumes sinking into my neck.
Searching for a rush,
there's a rush out there looking for me.

Let me play my tongue on you;
just like I love to play with my words.

Lust of rush; my eye on a crush,
She's a crushing feeling; as when my cheek
bones hurt every time I blush. Plush; so richly
filled and lush. Could I love you as a must;
But a piece of you is far too much.

Do you...

Indulge in all of those senses;
As my sense of appeal is to be the one who
stole your heart. I'm much made of steel;
heavy weighed inside of my pants.
But why be quick in our advances; let's have
a little romance. Pick out our cards at every chance.
I'll play your King, with just few plays with my hands.

A squeeze; you feel the weakness on your knees,
each time I wrap around your neck.
And proceed into those long kisses that steal your
breath. Bite you down like an enemy; be tender
to all of those marks like a friend.

But I'd soon forget, of which of us gets naked
first; before pulling the covers of the bed.
I'm sitting on the edge; grinning at a striptease
doing in my head.

I can't pretend, that my skins aren't hair raising;
lips craving, body shaking, and I'm embracing
the embrace of me driving my destination inside
of your place.

But these are the thoughts on the road:
of what's about to come.

I'm still on the way.

Body

Let me love and care for the art piece
of your body- every pulsating touch of your
spasms. Jumping wildly; while washing
me in your spring water on top a mountain
of passions. I’ll spurt within you, from its tip.

And in kind; let the wetness of your lips
sooth my skin. Kissed by your sensual soul, as
it echoes every word of thirst, running down your
throat; chasing after every breath we lose in
a moment.

                       Still, let us not love in haste.

Amazon Queen

I gaze at you, as my sprouting rose in
bloom. But not something so delicate; she is
tall, shapely, and sturdy— my Amazon Queen
that keeps me in the centre of her rainforest.

As she lets my words water her floret by
their tip- its warmth and gentleness spoke of
a love so deep and fulfilling.

*******

Oh, how she stimulates my eyes,
as I make out with her eye’s persuasion;
my mind often rehearses how I’ll love her
in it’s imaginations- my mind’s perfect
simulation;

For our desires are much sweeter,
by every bite of her smooth chocolate skin
I adore her more than I would have
yesterday- to quietly bless each step
she’ll take tomorrow. And a reason for me
to kiss her feet.

Moist

Surely as the night is washed by the gentle rains-
I have these saturated thoughts, pondering how
she’ll drown me over another night’

As she could never
have the most without I in the middle;
her underwear feels so moist.


Climactic Prelude & Conclusion

Would you love to experience a climactic
prelude; a middle so sweet in its time;

While my eyes ripen at the sight of your
ripening fruit,

Oh, so sweet in its time, let me capture
and savour that juicy fruit,

For yes indeed we had fallen in love-
but let not that fruit eventually fall;

From its tree, to rot off its vine; let me bite
you as mine- to taste your heaven’s ecstasy;

In this climactic prelude; I promise the middle
is filling, and its conclusion won’t be short lived.

Numbing pain; headache tablets full in a mouth,
speedy replies, and local loves. I love the rush.
I broke my heart for a crush.
Reminder: life is a little too
rough.

But I'm acting tough, close to the lines of messing up.
Always about to cuss. I swore it was the last,
but that's just a whispering bluff.
Enough of myself, too full of
myself every time I
laugh.

I spend hours thinking about random stuff; to huff
and puff, and blow away my best love. And we
both love spending hours talking about
some random
stuff.

She's had enough, with pure innocence of a dove.
And I'm the one sinning on her behalf. She's the
better half; but still a kid at heart, acting
tough. She's a calf, domesticated from
her wild love from her
past.

We're tragically in love, not from above or succumbs;
pushing time into each other, as it will shove.
Holding necks with a love glove, it has me
so choked up. In the first line of
love being a
drug.

I should know how far beautiful I am,
but also be closest to the fact.

I am beauty in the words I speak,
I am beauty amongst beautiful people I meet,
I am beauty as the first to choose peace,
I am beauty to smile brighter when I'm weak,
I am beauty for it all resides in me,

I am beauty as a people of my land,
I am beauty as the many of ocean sands,
I am beauty for being proud of who I am,
I am beauty in the can't that I choose to can,

I am beauty of the moments I make,
I am beauty in the creations I shape,
I am beauty as I sleep and wake,
I am beauty for the many mercies and sake,
I am beauty because I see myself as great,

I am truly beautiful.

Warming up to it,
up and down strokes from the neck.
Pulling away the essence of you,
in the moment I don't hate these cigarettes.

Just a little stressed out today.

Line a few shots,
bullets of your strongest brandy.
Giving all I got,
truthfully I don't love the drink that gladly.

Just a little stressed out today.

Let me have a taste of a body,
acting if I can solve my problems with ***.
Sure in the moment I'm giving my best,
straight afterwards I ask myself what's next?

Just a little stressed out today.

Lock my eyes on the many screens,
that I even forget to blink.
Wishing I could live their lives,
not too long, just for a week.

Just a little stressed out today.

Why must I run to coping mechanisms,
doing in my head at times?
Not trying to live up to the hype,
but out here believing the lies.
I know I'm stressed out sometimes,
but those sort of things aren't my life.

But I'm still just a little stressed out today.

The darkness that consumed me made me feel like wanting
to die, even before the age of nine.
However, let's count our blessings that none of the individuals
in the house owned a nine. I find myself engulfed in these thoughts,
I make a desperate plea to hold on, just like hanging
clothes on a line.
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.

My heart remains motionless, resembling a lifeless mannequin, and if you look closely, you may witness the damages.
I cautiously open the door to my own insanity, but the idea of grappling with its dark influence feels overwhelmingly intimidating,— I can't handle this.
Fear grips me as I contemplate unveiling my eyes, for I
dread the somber reality that they will behold.
Once again, I urge my thoughts to remain steadfast, like
clothing hung on a line, as the echoes of the voices -
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.


A peculiar itch consumes my lips, almost as if I long for
the  Death's kisses. Within the depths of my depression, I struggle to maintain a sense of identity, for this overwhelming sadness has become my greatest weakness. I endeavor to traverse the arduous path of mental instability, navigating the metaphorical distance of a "crazy mile".
However, I feel invisible, unnoticed by the world as I bear witness to my own pain. The allure of escapism entices me, enticing me to run towards the temporary relief that a blade may bring,— cutting myself more this time.
Once again, I beseech my thoughts to cling tightly, like
clothes delicately draped on a line.
The voices inside my head ring relentlessly, like an
ominous chorus on this figurative suicidal line.
            1-800-273-8255
Please could you pick up, it's feeling serious this time.

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.

Letting off your despair,
looking ever so lovely today.
Let me run errands with my fingers
throughout your entire hair.

Those afro and curls,
how can I make you my girl?

What I see is what I get.
And once I have it, I won't regret.

Let go, and let go of your hair.

Seems wild to others, but tame in my eyes.
Running thoughts running in your hair,
telling me what's on your mind.

Going round and round with words,
tying knots to an issue with your curls.
Always to get on your nerves,
for speaking in vein of how I'm in love with your Afro & Curls.

New flesh
nudist art next to a pretty dress
as a naked eye sees want it wants to see

A little of an unexplored world in between
—ironically a queen on her knees
A flowing river; centre tongue licking drips
of a honey cup
Tip toeing sounds, silently in their subtle
under the secret sheets towing the sky

A mist for night; a mister of the charges
—who leads who
Being lonely for two, been through a
misconception of missing you

So I just sit, waiting in this empty room

Depression...
angry vultures pecking at my mind

Depression...
crying glass out of my eyes

Depression...
a pretty portrait with only black lines

Depression...
defeating the purpose to fall in love

Depression...
street roses red of mistrust

Depression...
scars hidden under an innocent cut

Depression...
suicidal thoughts as an only option

Depression...
OCD with a lot of precautions

Depression...
misbehaving to fill a little noticed

Depression...
irritating as a bleeding nose

Depression...
an excuse non excused of sickness

Depression...
told to get over yourself and weakness

Depression...
coping with life by stress eating

Depression...
looking for another high in an addiction

Depression...
sounds so wrong when you're Christian

Depression, depression, depression, **** this depression

Love for breakfast,
filling a cereal bowl of-
      confessions

Milk of her tears,
sugar piles of his affairs.
Biting into the Apple of:
  someone else's love

"Do you love me now,
and her later,"

She begged the question,
after she found texts of-
    a lover's liaison.

It all feels like a craft of love,
a tight fit in my eyes naked views
A beautiful body of work,
grinding my gears to a halt,
At a place of it being wore out in perfection,
the once new smell, becomes as creased
as my socks.

But even with its imperfections,
the painting still manages to wiggle
its way into my heart, leaving a lasting
impression that I can't shake.

It's like a tapeworm inside of me,
recording every beat of my heart and
every thought in my mind.
I try to pull it out, but it's no use.
The painting has become a part of me,
a part of my soul that I can't let go of.

And even though it brings me pain at times,
I can't help but smile. It's like a silly game
that I can't resist, a game that brings me joy
and laughter even in the darkest of times.
So I'll keep it close to my heart, like a knife in my mouth,
ready to cut open a crack of a smile whenever I need it most.

Dark skinned and gifted,
high on all my ideas and imaginations.
All that keeps me forever lifted.

Brightness in my smile,
ten thousand years of wisdom behind my eyes.
Like the motherland I live in,
dearest mother has birthed a precious child.

Kissed by the African sun,
always dreaming under it's moon.
It dawns on my pride,
as I rest in it's afternoon.

You're worth is the worthy one
you have inside.
Hold onto that,
carry with it your African Pride.

I am the sun
in my eye,

seeing bright smiles
of beautiful people:

solar flair of hope,
wide spread in an instance:

a reflection of light,
from the great above;

                A moon child.

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

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

I USED TO BE SUICIDAL

I've just changed that statement nowadays to:

I DON'T WANT TO BE SUICIDAL TODAY

Her fairest words not an apology,
Words that bother me, eating her up,
'All that your are is swallowing me; doubting me,
feeling cowardly:' But not what you want to be:
For daily days so hourly, judging men horizontally,
screaming in your head 'acknowledge me,'
'And just apologise to me':

Back when the world was loving,
You for your chest, interests in *******;
They're spending pays on and invest,
Leaving children eggs on your nest:
None of them did impress, but only did undress:
Leaving your hair in a mess, and moving onto the next:
With their sins stealing your bless: To Pastors,
how do you confess? The gave you more,
but made you feel like less:

Child how do you love;
As you're sick of what some of
Them speak of when, they say it's young love?
Taking your portion, and happiest emotions,
Bare on your flesh like erosion,
Rubbing against you like- Their body lotion:

I do try to love you for you,
But can't relate to what you've been through:
They've stuck their hurts on you-
Like glue, more than one time or two:
They used you, abused you, tossed you,
away, straight after they ******* you: Threw you,
Found their release through you: Lining up,
To view you in a-
Queue, fitting their sizes in a small shoe:

I now understand why,
You are who you are in the first verse.
Giving them your worst, from those who
stole your worth: Hands in a bag-
Stealing inside your pursue. So hard for you
To converse, hoping to be anyone else in the entire universe:
I see how it hurts, and how quick you curse:
Told to move forward; trying to have,
All your pains and struggles go in reverse:
They gave you their love by force,
And all of the times it did leave a hurt:
Without remorse, making you their main course.

So as I write this verse,
With tears through the pain of your teen years:
Those darkest moments and your fears. All of those,
Left you after a night shift; shifting their gears:
But I'll try my best dearest sister,
To be right here. When those demons-
Try creeping back in: When the lights are so dim:
But I don't know where you've been,  
But I'll share all of your hurts like a twin.

Raise your chin;
Clear you're skin,
And help you fix what's broken from within.

Pen this verse-
For all of them to know;
That you don't have to face the hurt alone:
Don't feel like you're all on your own,
You could be whole, even if the process is slow:
But I'll help piece back together your shattered Soul.

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

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

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

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

For all-inclusive

At the tip of your tongue,
o' love, so much I can taste-
      the taste of your love.

My dry lips that call,
  those licks of words.
You come to my mouth,
as it's theme song!

For as you are my darling companion,
    shall I find myself in you,
    as I rest under his strong embrace.
My lover of his brightest eyes,
are like sun kisses to my face.

As gentle as the gazelles,
and all their delicate deer,
   my love for you shall arise.
I will embrace the touch of
     both our wettest skins.

Stuck close to the grips
     of your sweetened lips.
Close to feel the gnashing of
        perfect teeth.

Come away from me-
     my mightiest lover.
Your touch for me is much.
     You are the glee to my heart,
held down by your love-
  on this scented bed spread.
By suchlike a touch so rough.

Your beautiful eyes of their worship,
as with a strong voice of prayer.
I shall plant within you,
  of what more words show.
And shall we together,
be of one flesh, and
       bone of bone.
To our spirits to connect
              of their souls.

A reflection of loveliness, you spend tiny
seconds in the mirror,
Sparing not a hand of beauty's lend; to lend
cherished care,
From childish abuse twined in life's hair, your grace
does rush my eye,

In the many,
amongst the traffic of people, your sweetest self
could not deceive,

Yet...

As your nature calls to itself, to break
my heart (as you're to branch off, and leave.)
Your beauty is the tombstone, And I
sadly won't find my rest.

                                 ....I indeed loved a mistress.

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

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

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

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

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

Cries of a wolf—howling in the
burns of a shadowy night. Preying eyes,
seeking, pouncing to hunt you out my dear.
Chasing love, or rather being chased by love
behind a trail of youthful winds. At the time
we still could count the scars on our knees.

Seems we've barely got skins holding solid
on our bones. Time is a she-wolf feasting on
once was youth. Her sharp tooth digs into my
eyes—gnawing my ability of sight.

I'm haunted by the long nights; seeming longer
if you're unsure you'd wake in the morning.
Death is a mistress of non screaming echoes,
but a peaceful whisper of her calling. She knocks
at the door of my cold feet; a deathbed unlike
no other rest to your eyes. (It's subtle goodbye)

But a longest night, makes expectancy of the day
brighter than it's tomorrow. But a few extra hours
is never what we'll borrow—still the hours of
wisdom we left behind is hoped to follow.
To let new things grow in the rises of one's
written experience, as the story of a Morn' flower.

In deeps of love
   (termless)
We're only drowning;
trying to swim to the end.

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

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

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

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

The effect she had on me...

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

This a weekend shirt, that some people wear you
down on a weekend shift. I met a nice girl at a party,
where it was a plus one, yet the body was a plus two.
If she fell in love with my sharp mind, I'd plead to her,
"I hope it never cuts you"

But here's a plot twist; when you share your heart
with someone so heartless, You pray that they would
love you regardless. But here's how the continuation of
that story goes:

A young boy activity, activities of extra curriculum,
used of messing around with girls. Open conversations,
with closed results. Still needing them all. Energies so little,
but loads of choices we can make to be safe. Riding the front
tooth for a bite of love, and kissing in perfect waves.

I’ve got nickels, quarters and dimes, of all the money on
girls overspent. So maybe there’s a cost to the regrets.
Of the lack of sense I’ve got left. Owed the change, to the
better things of my life cares. Or those truths after dares.

Resemble this, when you remember this.
When you’re still young calling any potential a Miss.
“I miss you texts,“ under the blankets, with the lights glaring
in my eyes. I send happy emojis, as if that’s how I really smile.
Don’t forget to say good morning, or at least say hi after your
tender goodbye. Oh wait! Never mind.

I’ll just type the message with my data off. Turn it on in
the morning, and the message is sent to look like the sweetest
actions of sweet words.

“Hello,“ we open ourselves to casual talk.
Cheering each other up for the day, and the struggles we’ll
face at work. “Of course I’ll be thinking about you till the last,"
I’ll say as a start into sexting for some breakfast lust.

Put on that mask, not for my mouth or nose,
but for the face scars. Untrimmed beard, awkward growing hairs,
and a comb making sparks through the sounds of knots.
Put on my favourite red long socks, and pull out my jewellery
out of their treasure box.

I get a quick text from her, and read the message as a notification.
Thinking about the best reply to use while putting on my shoes,
and promising to make it to her place, if she shares the right location. Lotion on my face, heavy cologne on my neck.

Spray, Spray!

Vaseline on my morning dry lips, lick it into place
so petroleum stays in it’s grips. Spending the Friday morning skipping through work. The final whistle blows, thinking I can
get my whistle blown. And here I am again; off into the world.

In town on my phone long texting this girl. Oh how will
this story go? Who really knows, but just it’s end. As her and I pretend to still be friends.

A word to hide behind our guilt. Making myself out as
the *** guru in quick words, but that’s not how I was built.

So as I got close to the deed’s door, I just run off.
I couldn’t play the song to the dance of chance,
without the right chords. So in the end, I just found myself
better off staying the weekend at home. Peacefully alone.

I'm that weekend shirt. And feeling like a piece of shirt.

A leaf in the wind;
was falling in the rain
(such heavy rain)

It's despair,
the story of a kid
(such a common story)

Who fell away from their peers;
as it's so lonely to be brave.

As poverty's coin flipped over;
soon dead on it's head.
Chasing any chance of wealth;
going round in circles,
Chasing it's tail.

With a gun of six;
shot, shot, shot, shot, shot, shot!
The weapon of man's hand;
that only revolves around death.

And I'd still ask the Lord,
to shine on our worth;
Despite of us being at our worst,
never lose the light of earth,
as we keep shinning our torches.

The night is young
tis fair in the crickets silent song
alates that come after summer rain
rushing traffic splashing brown water
—my socks are soaked; wet toes,
and cold shiver's marathon in a running
nose

My head pounds like a child
beating a drum
Undisciplined, uncontrollable buzzing
like bees making a hive of my thoughts
choked words by the feelings above my throat

Clouded mind, to now be feeling grey
it's grave to me to dig up my past
Clearer skies, exposed skins, and parent
shoutings, about playing where ringworm
lie in grass

The scent is sour; heaven tears left
on the soil—bending a flower
the silence ends here, but it will
again rain another hour

No orange rhyme

Just a word rhyme,
a range you read with your eye.

No orange rhyme

Just a few slices with morning porridge,
I prayed before to keep homage.

No orange rhyme

Just me nearly close to courage,
a couple more words to speak knowledge.
The know is hanging off the ledge,
where dreams fell into being dead.

In over my head,
so over in my head, to be
back again at knowledge.

No orange rhyme

In amongst any line,
hard to find an orange line,
That's so sublime inside this
orange rhyme.

There's no orange rhyme

But just an orange blossom,
inside Orange County,
If you need a few, I brought some.
Sing how, and I'll follow with howdy.

We'll have some orange juice,
while we both wear orange shoes.
Groove on in an orange grove,
just like the cultivation of an
orange group.

**** on some orange's mint,
amongst the oranges picked.

And talk about no orange rhyme

Ole to the beautiful flower hidden underneath
a shadow- a beautiful flower in bloom, alongside
a naked truth. Sensual images, picturing gentle
moves to drive love so pure and never felt;
its eyes a flower garden of unspoiled- felt so heavenly.
Permit me to kiss you evenly by heaven’s sweet entry;
flowing in sync; we’ll rest in a lily field of complete
serenity.

And she replied to him:

Our first meeting of first feelings- never felt before,
as I waited in the shadows; longing for the needs
within us, for one another. Aroused in my inner core
to touch and explore love in treasured completeness
and wholeness. Share your life with me and within me;
darling fall into my arms, and allow me to feel my inner
spirit for you within- burning endlessly from my soul’s
aflame.

                                      Shall we burn together.

Skin tone; like bright pearls under the sun.
Standing straight hairs by the goosebumps of a touch.
Chills down the spine; a travelling sensation to her curled toes.
The kiss of morning, with a hint of coffee breath. Dry crusty
toothpaste in the corner of the sink. A noisy tap, and running
shower waiting to get warm. (Running away from the cold)

The warm embrace of a hug from behind, a background
picture of love making from behind. (A favourite position)

Bacon and eggs, sitting on a lap with yesterday's only crisp shirt.
Short like the days of a dying wish, dead in the sense of the
time they both have to ****.

The morning routine of lovers.

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

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

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

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

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

Stardust in your eyes, fairy tale inspiration
of the princess I can see
I'm just sad; a poetic anomaly, and the social
deviate from being any standard of someone to love
But I gave you my heart—to concede the respect of your
royal family ties to love a moderately *******

We could find the keys to lock our love in wedlock
beneath the solid surface of desires nightly
imaginations of the best positions to get that perfect
bedrock

You're waking up in the long creases of short socks
as it's human nature to want to increase
An increase in the funds to afford the fun
of a light-hearted pleasure under the lights of stars
And I could count them all, but they'd seem less
than my scars

Still its astronomical of all the particles of earth
that I'm always struck by your eyes stardust

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips, a frozen fire that burns within
Your touch, a gentle warmth that never dims
I crave, oh how I crave you endlessly.

When you're not here, my heart aches, longing
for your touch, your presence. Memories of you
linger, haunting me like a bittersweet melody.

Your words, now distant echoes, still send shivers
down my spine. In my mind, you're a queen, a
goddess, above all else. My love for you is
unwavering, like a regal crown upon my head.

In a wicked twilight- I had dreamt a suicidal dream, roaming
around deserted lands; screaming within. As every tear drop
was just a dew drop watering the lands; I once envisioned
as a blank page of life- those colours drained away.

My smile is covered in the ink of a tear; as I wondered if I
could catch them running quick- flowing to the pavement by
every blink. Soon after the rain-washed the days, everything I
once seen, became so, so, so bleak.

I caved into the arms of someone- her flush pink cheeks
injected the clouds with their colours, that you could pick
apart. Sealing the pit of despair in a glass jar, stealing from
time a lingering kiss, to scatter wide and far.

Hoping that this time, this time I won’t find comfort in
an element that burns in time's fire. Scorching my soul to
the ends of longing to meet death again.

            Till I realized, I wasn’t dreaming at all.

Fear...

As passing mist;
smoke and mirrors of devil's
magic red right hand.
Under his ******* hanging coat;
hangs speculated thoughts and myth.

Fear...

Is all to self.

You act as a fatherless child,
Far less better than your own pride
In amongst life's streets,
Crying dirt out of your concrete eyes
But even if taking my heart was as easy
As taking back all of the time,— I'd be stuck in the past,
As two beings living out of a bag, suckling on our dreams
Hanging off time, as we pass the time with painful laughs
Under the laces of when you feel so sure of yourself,
So full of yourself, from swallowing all of the fears you had.

Love is always a resounding banter,
Battering you into a nostalgic feeling,
But by the second and third attempt,
You'll still be comparing it to the first's feeling
As once upon a time, you were on my mind,
But what's a neverending story, is chasing after forever,
And ironically for us, forever is all but on limited time.

          XOXO, please cross me out of love, before there's.            
                                    another ex, I'd pretend not to know.

Free space, free myself,
to free my mind
I've got some free time,
and a place we could hide
So leave your skins behind.

Free love,
don't waste your time buying it at that corner store
Free entry into my love,
seeing me exposed. Enter if you're brave enough, I left the key by the door.

*** must be a fire,
burning in it's yearn
A desire unlike any other,
burning underneath your skin
   (Just not in vein)
Under the covers, and the night
Who knew this time comes and came
(Shall we do it again?)

Sleep now my little baby,
as the night whispers to you a sweet lullaby
Under the stars tonight,
bright dreams will keep you warm inside.

Sleep now my little treasure,
drift off into a peaceful sleep
In this quiet night where everything sleeps,
you won't hear a sound, nor a creature peep.

I'll tuck you in tight,
these warm blankets will comfort you all night.
The Sun has set,
the moon is up from the west
Your bed a nest,
sleep now my little baby
And find your rest.

Off to dreamland now,
I'll light the way
I won't make a sound,
till then, I'll meet with you the next day.

Goodnight my sweet,
and sweet dreams to you.

Love is a two way street.

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

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

Love is a two way street.

Burnt out heroes
in amongst the burning plans of villains
Fearless- in amongst trying to be like your heroes
within comic feelings. Sounds comic; chiefly
read in pages of a lifestyle. Naked eye strips,
greyish looks of cloud lids filled with rain in my
eyes

Heaven is crying every night, a thousand
angels in a stormy night
Reminiscing fallen angels from that hole
in the sky. Human are too fallen; those lost
of conduct or virtue- a hole in their soul's closet
the devil that urge you. Church who; probed
questions of your faith to search you.
As I refer to you being trapped in your mind
off it's strict curfew

Even as a role model plays a perfect smile
there's still an act to keep thoroughly
But in that case when fans aren't around,
their face peels away the skins of lie
No need to practice your lines
no need to pretend to be a star out of Hollywood
like light's shine. Shyly acting free!
The end of the scene, a role model no longer blind
when they're now unseen

Skin grey
un rubbed emotions, and cracking sounds
drawing river lines on the skins display
All applauds are gone; just you clapping by
yourself under the clap of thunderstorms
Still feeling empty, even with the person you
brought home, bought home- to come and practice
those secrets tabs of your chrome

At times trying to be anti pessimistic
anti climatic, of all you've achieved and all
those childhood wishes
Swimming with the ugly fishes; selfish needs
you couldn't have had before
It's the role models, having crowds dancing
to their tune, all pressing their head on the floor
Can't mask a flaw, only disguising it until
it all comes out in the world

No role models left,
just the ashes of their dead careers and
immediate deaths. O yes, success tickles
the ears—as common sense becomes so deaf
All is grey, grey is the colour of my heroes,
forgetting they all started as imperfect people

To applauding of the stars
the pleasing sight of God
  Mesmerising were the words spoken on
    to have loved, to have once been in love.

To as a Queen; ruling my heart
she—black beauty, as the blanket dark of
  night; filled in angel’s stars.
   Mystic dust, upon the early virtue of time.
     To have loved so young.

To have tasted a fruit of passion
  minor still, but a major experience
   That which is in present, a memory entangled
    in my dreams. I’m restless,—

As my lips quiver of a then long before
  Longing presently; ‘verly for more
   As so—how could I ever forget...
          forget the first I kissed a girl!

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.

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

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

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

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

This winter is cold.

Now how do I put it into words,
Explaining a feeling I've never felt before,
A little piece of love; making me yearn for more,
A richly deserved taste of it's brewing love,
Inside of my cup; sometimes in a long mug,
The steam tickles my top lip hairs, I stir, and stir,
Sip, sip, careful not to get burned.

That little *** is boiling over the stove,
It whistles proudly; of my warm heart for my love.

Pulling the draw; grabbing a spoon, three teaspoons
of sugar, a full spoon of coffee, and the hot water I pour.
Oh! Looks like it's a bit to bitter, so let's grab the sugar
and add one more.

Warm blanket, warm thoughts, a warm paper,
and pen, then my warm words.

Warmth. Warmth is all I can describe of my
love in words.