A story of spheres,
I'm wondering who fathered who; in the darkest
kisses all under this moon.
Oh, is the truth as clear under the sun, in the eyes
of the lonely son? Daily are the games of fun, running
away from troubles. Chasing a shot to success, like we're
all chasing a gun.

But I'm into changing thought. Like the days
that must come and go. Everything changes under
the sun that kisses the Earth.

But in all the wonders of the sky, and it's reason
and wonder. It all begs this question of, "why."
In this night, his lover is so bright, gazing upon
all of her lightness. She slowly fades out of his sight.

Wedded to his only bride, days setting,
kissing her goodnight; every time he brings
her a good morning. Saying hello as she's saying
goodbye; hurting him more in their only first sight.

Feels like a similar to my life.

"You're a pretty flower I can't hold,"
he sighs, just pondering at her marvel,

"Of the sweetest of things to behold;
you're always the one touched by my light,"
his love reflects, watching it all go to another.

"Why so, must I be allowed to watch;
as you're shining it upon my brother,"
as the story of spheres goes.

Alas, I'm often the son of the sun, in these daylight
thoughts. Anger burning my skin's surface;
but what comes in between happiness and self worth?
Successes of things I'm still chasing from birth, and
running around in three interlinked circles.
I just go back to myself in the first verse.

Again into daylight thoughts.

we are speech and breath
the days are red; painted blushes in the sky
would the Heavens tell us stories of true love –
a message well read?

There’s an apocalypse in my eyes – but I’ll only get to see it when
I die; for the moment of my demise. Bring back the day; for I am
acutely aware that time runs its course, on an endless mile – an
infinite stretch. It pains me to don a fake smile, yet it appears
simpler when they insist, I haven’t worn it in a while.

I’m a lot happier inside!

I have a few events scripted, priming my heart for people’s let-downs,
and my disappointments – when you’re ready to face a torrent of
hurt, you find yourself anchored, awaiting their appointments.

Pain is faceless!

The past lingers with a relentless patience, ever eager to unveil how
you did it wrong – in the garden of life, regrets sprout like stubborn
weeds. Do tend to your plot, and sow the seeds of every lesson
learned, and hope wisdom grows.

You’ve been the prettiest flower all along!

The pen –
is an extension of my body, held by my hand, as it
beats with my heartbeat; it's my very breath between
words, the intentions of my structuring, the brush to
my thoughts, the paint of my imagination.

The pen –
is the mic to my voice, the scope of my eyes, the chorus
to my soul, the bass to my heart, the shadow of my skin,
painted by the night, and why my pen chooses to be black!

It is bold, it is wild, it is persuasive, it manipulates words
to invoke change, it is controversial, it is understood by
few, yet it speaks to all.

The pen is an extension of my body –  for we are One!

Empty: as the word meaning a
glass bottle in Africa.

I'd have my fill;
to the brim of life's expectations.
Expected of the plenty from the very
little I have given.

Life is that empty,
as many are trying at their fill.
On the straight and narrow, of where
it sits.

Hoping it won't spill.

How tall do you measure your glass
view of life?
Fragile are the moments; tapping on
the taps of glass.

Hoping it won't crack.

This bottle is what I make of it's fill;
Am I overburdened, or overflowing,
with the cares of the world, or whether
the Holy Spirit?

A question, only with the answer from
within; and as I ask from Him.

Slit wrists, stained kisses; the night of young
and dark thoughts to succumb. All at once, was
dreaming so fun, before the nightmare of daily life.
Surpassing the intent of suicide, staring at that
knife in pen. Then again—ink bleeds out onto
the paper's spread. ~the dark thoughts of my head.

Where I'll lie, laiden on a maiden I'd want to kiss,
a girl to call a Miss. And a softer wall to my fist.
Knuckles cracked in two by the bone; the flesh torn
as I'm fighting my demons on my own. ~what's the score?

                                         10-0

Ten of the times I feel like a zero, in the eyes
of imagining myself a comical hero. I'm a villain;
self antagonist in doubting my potential. Eggshell
walking steps from taking a risk. ~a little too careful.

Mediocre—the media oak of it's power to grow
in longevity, endurance. Enduring the worst parts
of me—in a Hell pit swallowing me. The burn marks
of scratching shoulders of the crowd to acknowledge me.
To be called a young Prodigy; ~with great honesty.

But honestly; I'm waiting for things not seasoned
in the time. In the directionless ways of a life with
no signs, or boundary lines I haven't drawn.
Covering a heel to bites of snakes slithering on my lawn.
If I got a loan for a night's success, what would the
world want in return? ~hopefully not my soul.

All my confessions; these deep depressions,
counting out my sins with the fingers of my blessings.
Hoping they aren't lessin, in the world's quick call to
change, is to keep on weaponing. ~wars are all we know.

Even the ones we never fought. We've been taught
how to fight back before the fighting began. Perhaps
we try our best at fighting alone. ~that's the way of
the world.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
In this courtship of our growing love
—only your parents could judge me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
When I unveil my authentic essence
—your weeping eyes continue to love me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
To say you're the woman of my dreams
—there’s no rest to provide you with the
justifications to profess your love for me!

Love isn’t a romantic movie…

You know what they say about men with big feet –
“the socks don’t fit so easily on the first try”
And by the series of events, the more you get to
know someone; the easier it is to relax together –
"Netflix and chill"

But a job not done so well has an obvious result –
“hit it, and quit it”
A few men put up so well with a woman’s
whole bag of *******; lets just blame –
“that good junk in the trunk”

Find someone to rest your worries on –
“some good pillow talk”
Have a kick out of extracurricular activities –
“with an *** to boot, in your boot knocking”

Still stand on your standards, but avoid living
on double standards – not everything works
so well with their – “double meanings”

I'm less of a mathematician, but still counted
as a human who sometimes makes a bad decision.

As the eyes hunger for everything;- they also
betray me on a constant treason.

Misplacing most of my why's to sound a bit wise,
still that's no disguise;- to displaying true wisdom.

And you squeeze my heart like a trigger;
a gun for a mouth; every word is a bullet piercing
at me with your deadly, and gripping love
You appear as a wonderful monster; roaming
in the dark; an unforeseeable future, focused
on a never-ending hope, that you and I shall last.

Our words become ash, skin will turn into dust, bones
become rust- my rib will one day disappear; the one that
belonged to your side. And by my side; you were my
much-loved poem, keeping me company, as all my old
lovers are above me.

Your very smile is an island that I’m stranded on,
your bright skin is the sun; our love a message in a
bottle, filled with …our words, kisses, voices, messages,
poems, verses and secrets untold.

And for one last warmth of your lips,
I’ll feed into them like a flame, and being burned
by your love. Goodbye, goodbye to us, and goodbye
to our love.

I caught myself dreaming of places I’ve
never been to and seen before,
Breaking, decaying, crying my eyes out till
they’ve flooded the floor.

I’ve been flying; without the wings of
any of the angels or the birds,
Living with strangers; so unfamiliar inside of
this very small world.
Repairing these many things that never broke;
putting back the many tiny pieces of my soul.

Wondering where next to go.

Screaming, “keep your long breaks”
you can’t break into my heart.
Ease your pace into falling in love;
and my love test your brakes.

But I’m smiling in the dark,
hope you see my bright smile;
I stole from a thousand stars.
I drew a constellation in the skies;  
just to remind us who we truly are.

People!

Or have you forgotten, four gots; still
you’re counting them all,
Why are you so afraid to open up,
instead of letting people peep through the door?

Complaining about a little, but you could never
afford, or handle any more!
Waiting at corner shops; when there’s so much
in store.

Myself is the longest fight,
the battle never ends while you’re still alive.
But wouldn’t it put the enemy off, if you came
to the battle with a smile?

I can’t say it wouldn’t work, but it’s worth a-

Try!

Let me draw you as a sketch;
a portrait of all those beautiful memories

And we can make up some future events,
with like a little paint on a face-
All of the colours of a world, you and I have to face

Stick to my side like a rib bone,
say that you love me with your chest

Skip the conversation about rocking your world,
and let me skip a rock on your stream, when we're alone

Let's tell each other all our ***** little secrets;
the ones with a little dirt, to keep us down to earth

Going around trying to pick at each other;
I do prefer to fork, but I had a spoon to scoop you up

Let's build a mansion of all our dreams,
and live in their moments, before the disappear

I'll let you be the playlist of my day,
and let you be an airpod in my ear, to hear you clear

Tell me, what's your favourite part,
and I'll play out the role with a script written
out, by all the feelings I have at heart.

Love is a
four letter word-
As so is time.

As the love-
you have for one;
Is time you spend.

The time in love
as what to give-
Also a four letter word.

Spend the time
you give to one-
To the fullest,
as to show true love.

Lost my socks,
guessing while I was drunk.
In a car I placed them was,
looked again to see them gone.

Still new to me,
a long type I don't wear usually.
Black with white dots,
didn't cost a lot, but still hurts as much.

Kept my toes warm,
I kept them well, making sure no holes form.
I bought two pairs to compliment each other,
I guess now the other is alone.
They were like two lovers.

Though I have a spare,
my heart is still in two from losing that pair.

Goodbye my socks, I'll be sad about you.

This obsolete word- love;
in its pathetic love passions; - a lover’s promise
to do better– is a sorrow for a morrow. Digging in
your heart to express jealous feelings- love has just caved
in; loving one from the very pits of their own darkness.
Love is beauty, but also promises probable harshness.

In the letter ‘L’-
is longing, but also many let downs.
‘O’ – openness to broad communication; also the
opportunity to opposing standards. The rest of the letters
are blurred- as to why you won’t see me express them well.

Of cos, one should be sentimental;
still the mental response of love- gives tears;
of a heart building up a great sentinel…

You cherish me merely as a coin — always anticipating change,
you seek me out only when it’s time for heads, chasing after tail.
I’ve been tossed about by you countless times; my feet now bear
the weight of my head. Say you love to call me, “mine,” yet
you handle me like a mere dime tucked away in your pocket –
only reaching for me when your hands are empty of anything
else to own- and pass me around like a debt you owe.

Beloved, your touch is far chillier than all the jealousy that
exists in this world. I'm just a cold coin to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even on this long road of thoughts; some days I don’t know my way
with words – as to describe your face; it just drives me so insane.
“You’re so pretty,” feels a bit too plain; so it always bears down on
me, this pressure. A rock in a hard place, and I’m also being pressed
with stones, biting on my words, that I bruised my lip. Slowly sinking
deeper, and letting blood flow – being so afraid of your reflection of
me, staring back from your eyes, as my tears dance along a running
stream. How you’ve become this silhouette of a perfect dream.

But I'm not as deep as I seem to be; just like swimming in a pool, I
first need to find my feet. And I’m only a pebble against your skin;
trying to skip across our conversations, and finding a reason to kiss.
But instead, I'm laughing in the bathroom mirror, letting the echoes
of that room wash me clean. And it would seem in vain to say I
fell in love with you – even as I wear your smile under my skin.

So I quietly let those very six words find their rest, and go back to
my bed, and sleep – cause who the hell really feels the depth of
those words, over a late-night text?

Never too wise to stay up late, with the opposite friend.

never felt as much – thoughts on how this
crush had turned into love; and how it has
me questioning the value of time
             the right love at the wrong time

if a sunflower grows wild in the winter;
would it still find it’s place to shine – we wait
for love on empty paths and our heart’s many
phases; this seems to be the phase of real love
                   the right love at the wrong time

still are any of our moments better than
the ones before… to be honest I doubt that,
when life gives us more – looking forward to
an unwritten future, whatever it paints out as
I find myself so drawn to you, in this
                      right love at the wrong time

Wayward thoughts, I think far ahead of myself. Stuck in my ways of a procrastinating thought, at least in the times I don’t know what to do.
Seems like there’s a lot of pressure nowadays. Alas with my careless
ways; of not caring at all for myself. Involved in the opinions of others, likely more than I listen to facts.

Sigh! Every piece I write feels like a sorrowful love letter to my past
self. That child would never sleep peacefully; knowing what future he
has to wake up to. But I need that younger me to keep on dreaming, for me to have something to believe in, (to hope in ) at these critical
moments.

But what about the future self? Do I even have the strength to bite on
my nerves; to remind him of current events? Writing in a diary I’ll
forget about in the coming years. Whether he becomes a success or
not, how long do I have to wait for the answer?

Longer than the patience I hold in my hands. Time fades away like a pair of jeans, worn out by the wearing anxiety of life. A button missing, with the threads sticking out. I've stuck out plenty, but few of the times that put me at an advantage. Foreign are my lips; by a tongue speaking blessings, that it feels like an unfamiliar language.

The pain never ends, but moves onto another. To change face, but still the first face you'll see in the morning. So perhaps the only thing I'll say to my past, and future self is, "I'm sorry"

When I say I’m in love;
it feels easy to say, but much harder to do, much harder to
prove—to keep it entertained, in maintaining my youth.
And to walk all over somebody’s heart; you fit the world’s shoes.
So forgive me to say;
it’s not always as easy for me to say that I love you.

These are quotes about love.

Love is a drug—I guess as the addicts who waste their funds.
Funny how the nose will run, chasing a cold love. To cuff your
heart in the glove of love. Sometimes we’re not left breathless after
making out—it’s in the terms of us breaking up.

These are quotes about love.

Love is dumb; as the phrase, “two fools in love”.
But what of those intellect—to invest time into their love.
Never mind, I won’t speak up. I don’t have the heart to speak up.
I’m really not in love.

These are quotes about love.

Love is lust; for words in factor of those who want love
after trying their luck. You look to a love of what’s to come—
the question of, “will their make me ***”.
To few of those who want to make love, but instead just want
to fake love.  Enjoying the moment of a rush.

These are quotes about love.

Love is sorrow; phrases of, “I’ll make it up to you by tomorrow”.
But does it follow. To swallow his pride—I doubt it takes like chowder. You fix your face with powder, but you address
the situation with a new dress. As if you being sweet could
turn a person’s sour.

These are quotes about love.

Love is King; as it rules your heart—knowing every King needs
a Queen. As every hand has a mouth to feed. So do you make
food for thought, or the sweet nothings of make believe?

These are quotes about love.

Love is gem; precious if true, if you don’t make it pretend.
You’d love one, but unfortunately would of kissed ten.
You could marry a friend, or a stranger instead. In the end,
do you keep your love, or quickly spend?

These are quotes about love.

Love is eye; we all see what we like.
Some value curves, others the shape of beauty inside.
Some fall for the heart, others are attracted by the mind.
A few in the sights of vile—as toxic relationships in denial.

These are quotes about love.

Love is wrath; the wrath of a heartbroken woman,
burning everything in her path. You had your chance.
As you’ve loved first, you will love last.

These are the nine quotes about love.

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

Embrace the future's call
treasure the present's glow
and transcend the bygone flow.

Mountains that are tall, cover the dreams
that are shallow. Valleys that are long,
are the lives that are too short,

Love that is blind, is a tragedy to eyes. Words
that are sweet, are sour to the years.
Beauty that is made, is the grief of an early
morning,

Choices that are made, is the shaping of
their future. Creatures of a thousand
breaths, are all under one Death,

Tears of now, aren’t the ones of forever.
Spirits to be filled, are of those empty vessels.
Transformation isn’t a sudden, but all a
continuous event,

All that we want to be, can all be.
The question is only,—

when?

When do you choose to move, in all
the things of life holding you back,
When do you choose to be brave, in all
the fears you constantly have to face,
When do you fix a broken world, in all
of the brokenness to be fixed in you,
When do you choose to love another, in all
of the less love they have for you,
And truly when do you make a change for yourself,
in all a society trying to change you,—

tell me when?

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of love,
of time, of hope, of faith, of promise, and the beauties
of my yesterdays...

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of grace,
of joy, of peace, of forgiveness, and the dreams of
my former slumbers...

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of you,
of when we once loved, of our youth, and the desire
of a forever...

Of us; in the seasons of summer. The warmth of knowing
your bright smile. Of the spring; in the skips of steps towards
a future.

Do any of which; ever reoccur as like memories... Or are we
just moments; soon to be forgotten..

Will I reoccur in those memories...

Please don't burry me a hero'
I was born a simple man-
When I came into this world:
Please don't cry for my absence'
I was more active in the present.

Please don't speak about could have'
When you all should have,
Please don't cry on your knees;
But cry and dance on your feet.

For once I'm gone'
You'll forget me once time is long;
Even if you sing all the songs'
You'll forget me once time is long.

Please don't drag Amazing grace'
You may be sad for my death;
But for all I did in my life'
I'd love a little bit of praise:
And even in my death'
I won't be a fan of-
Long and complicated prayers.

Until my creator calls'
Spend the most of time we got:
Life is a breath away from death'
As we all, don't have a lot.

Remember me well in life'
Not showing off my memories,
For your never did before death:
For in this short life-
The season of remembrance-
Is still now and yet.

Cry more for me now;
For you'll cry less in my death'
Not crying for me,
But crying for all your regrets.

Tangled thoughts – I love
your beautiful strands of hair,
And not having them tangled in
my fingers, leaves me so stranded.

I can’t help these tangled thoughts;
thinking about your curls.

Let our memories be as gravestones;
we’d have traded in marriage certificates
for graduation certificates- place on top love and roses
Roses and tears, have gained the sweetest refrain
oh darling, forever entwined shall we always remain

Pleasingly chiselled marble slabs
every piece of our love story lettered in gold
Death makes us shrouded sleepers; beings barely
warmer than the essence of life and truest love
Love is to sacrifice self, with no intention of gain
the love ballet it is; dancing as heads of concrete bodies
I’ll lead ahead, the way into Heaven if I must go first,
as you always mattered more in the first place
Dead beneath all of our loved ones, still in an afterlife
we will live to fall in love again…

A girl can be a mean ***, with a mean ***,
But I don't mean ***, I mean, as in being
Mean, even when you're already an ***.

And also I could be mean too much,
Or maybe I could mean too much —
But it wouldn't mean that much,
To be mean, that much.

And I could be mean as such,
Really for any means as such —
In order for a means that has a such.

Even as this, seems to be a mean verse,
The question is, which one of course?

We're all marvellous,
shining bright diamonds.
All the stars within us,
as God has made.
Different in places,
but we'll all bleed the same.

A marvellous people,
a tad complex simple.
All a riddle,
indeed this marvellous creature.

Marvellous are we all, all are marvels to be marveled.

Under the tears of sun
burned by light,

Touched by desire
and filled with fire,

I am bright as
a son of a sun.

A lullaby for my waking heart, someone sing it well.
Many mornings will come and go, yet for today's day I don't feel the same. Couldn't you tell.

Sing a lullaby for what this heart would take as it's favourite song,
Sweet voices to be sweeten in my ear, I'll find my lips to sing along.
As so my words could never paint the full picture but leaves a lasting outline.
Time should tell if it's been counting the days to add worth to my life by the quarter to a dime.

Still sing a song of smooth, sweet whispers to calm such unending nerves,
Lullaby of tender whispers all through a night of craze. To ride upon on Ocean's waves and curves.

O' I've burst a bubble for being lost in a moment. My heart could be dripping everywhere.
So be a voice to mix me back to one. Sing till you sing no more, if you dare.

Lullaby, O' Lullaby, sing loudly to bleed out my ears.
Please a voice of sweet and reason, calm a heart and wipe it's tears.

I have endured the gallows, revolutions,
the many twists of time, and the crashing waves
of change that have battered the shores of my life.
Through the decades that have come and gone,
I have stood as a witness to the rhythmic dance of history,
embracing the insights gleaned from its elegant movements.

The first time I encountered it, I meandered along a forest path,
surrounded by the murmurs of ancient trees, my senses finely
tuned to the secrets hidden beneath their mossy embrace.
Oblivious to what lay beneath, my curiosity propelled me
to the brink of revelation, where the curtain was drawn back,
unveiling a realm where time paused and possibilities
unfurled infinitely before me.

My skin, once marked by the trials of existence,
now glows with the light of resilience and grace, shimmering
like the morning sun as it spills golden rays upon the earth
at spring's first awakening—a tender reminder of the beauty
that emerges from enduring the darkest of nights.

A subtle gaze into these mesmerizing brown eyes,
captivated by the intensity of the desire that burns within
them— these eyes are like two galaxies, vast and infinite,
in which I find myself happily swirling; as the joy of all
my dreams, are like a kiss that pulls me in deeper into orbit;
a celestial dance fueled by this magnetic connection to
achieve all that seemed so impossible.

The pull is irresistible, as I find myself helplessly drawn to
it, unable to resist the gravitational force of passions.
A moment of cosmic unity, I yearn for you with a fervor that
surpasses time and space. The past becomes insignificant, and
all that matters is the present, the unyielding longing for a
touch, an embrace of accomplishments, playing out in my
life’s celestial opera.

Broken family ties;
are you caught up in the lies,
And could you survive?

Reading the Bible, when Jesus died
Each time I was feeling suicidal. Grab onto the rifle,
Feeling ****** in those cycles. Who am I though, in the
These staying thoughts, wondering where to go?

Reading a newspaper, to impress the daily
Struggles of my neighbour. Asking for a teaspoon of cooking
Oil as a favour. We all bleed the same, but act as if we’re
Not made from the same creator?

Reading the comments, the racial barriers,
Looking black, but I was told I belonged to the coloureds.
White tongue speaking, too seem a little different, yet
I wasn’t regardless. A garden of people, but why did it feel
Like we weren’t any part of those pretty flowers?

Reading the gimmicks, the fake prophets, and
All of those acting religious. Irreligious, eerie thoughts
Of those seeing their own hate as a witness. Can you believe
This, or are we the generations just to repeat this?

Reading up on the icon, believing one could be my
Saviour while they’re well gone. I could remember all
Of the lyrics of a trendy song. But not enough verses of
My Bible with the dust on. Would I rise less to Heaven by
The next dawn?

Reading the tears of years, I’ve got the tragedy of
Losses to former peers. Not in death, but feels like it
When we haven’t spoken in years. It’s clear we weren’t
Here for too long, to relate on our greatest fears.

So I’m just reading, reading, reading,
Never to stop reading all that I see.
I’ve read into so much matters of this crazy world,
My eyes at times bleed.

I read on...

This world shoots you down for no reason;
try to make peace- there’s no treaty
Divide our kinds, but still claim we’re all equal;
give us numbers, to define the body count of our people
For war is the longest film to mankind; but it feels much
longer when it comes with a sequel.

               We’re just trying to survive
               hoping tomorrow we’ll still wake up alive.

Open handed to close hand,
in between feeling sad.
Going through an endless trial
in life a bracket smile.

=)

Two lips are foreign before a kiss; we speak as friends,
laughing together as lovers – and hoping to finally kiss
as the latter.

But it takes time climbing up that ladder; taking each slow
step, to lead up to your matter meeting my matter; making
it really matter.

The sting of cheeks, the first time you taste something
so sweet; a flower on my lips by the scent of perfect
dreams – I’d shut my eyes each time we'd kiss; it’s just
a natural response, and one I hope lasts us both so long.

I haven’t kiss someone for so long, that it’s a taste I long.

I've been writing as an adolescent, as a teen filled
with adult lessons. Somewhat a mix of all my confessions,
and a touch of  my deepest depressions.
I use them all as a weapon, to **** away all thoughts
of suicide. My escape is in the words I write. The pictures I
try to describe, in all the lows between my little highs.

I question a lot about life—like why the talented famous
supposedly have to die so early. To have never aged poorly;
they only respect you now out of paying respect for your death.
To pretend they were your biggest fan, or closest friend.

Why publications ask me for fees they know I can never afford,
to invest in your royalties, and never gave a chance to your
dreams worth. I've battling all my addictions, trying to fill
myself with empty pieces. Seeing girls for only kisses,
considering getting paid for being involved with a mistress.
Just to afford to start up my business, to help those in their poverty.
But obviously that's not a possibility, but it doesn't stop me from wondering.

I've had my fill of gluttony, in pleasing my flesh.
In the thresh of cutting away my chances of being blessed.
Pretty am a mess—while putting on my face of the best, and
keeping a little pride on my chest. I still don't know how to dance,
but I pretty much prance in my room before I write a poem.
Switch between writing a little more or riding my way into
watching a little ****.

I don't trust my morals, if they're not on a placement of their
foundations. Ethics are kind of shaky, if you spirit is out of
concentration. I'm seeking for good relations, but hate to be basic.
Or basically falling over a girl who's just hungry for money chasing.
And it's so frustrating, when the right one you rightly push off.  
And now it's just awkward for you both. I'm not to good with my
feelings around pretty girls.

But that's me I guess,
writing late hours when I should be in bed.
Acting as I if don't really care—so oftentimes rare.
A habit rabbit, that my eyes are a black hare. Self destructive,  
self distracting kind of traits. I'm in dire straits, Lord please
save me from psychotic ways.

I hope this isn't where I die today. After having the usual
psychotic break.

A taste of a kiss:
oh is a memory you'd vault
your lips, onto the key of your heart
A rose—petals open under the
dew of mouth rain
As would I kiss you, I'd long to kiss
again, again, and again
A sound of grips; passionate whispers
it grips me to know I haven't kissed since long
You mist my eyes, and it's a foggy vision
to remember such a good kiss—I had my tongue
write lyrics of song

So long, so long, too long

As I rest on the rigid air – a leaf drifts down, soothing in
its descent; by a gush, the wind that blows through hair.
Tears cascade like rain, shattering and scattering as they
touch the ground— parting the throng of young and old,
all yearning for the fill of love to seep deep into their pores.

I am merely a frigid leaf; the tear of my once grief
the bruise of all dreams pursued with bare feet.

The gentle kiss of light seeks to rekindle the spark in your
eyes— I've heard the haunting echoes of blindness, of a
relentless quest for self, yet finding nothing of substance.

I am just a sigh, empty and bare.

Diamonds that are forever; with love not being a treasure,
nowadays the news is all depressing. We seem so relatable
when we're talking about *** things.
7.6 billion people, and the whole world still feels a bit empty.

On the inside;

Where those battles are loud, when you're just a silent echo
in the large crowd. The ear to everything; but your own problem's sound. Out aloud, screaming in your head, what if today is the day I feel a little dead? I meant to say dared; into living this life. Living the lie of where you'll finally rest when you die.

Okay, that's depressing...

Let me try a better trade of thought. Butter the centre of my fill; to feel. No big deal! Weighing the bargains of too many dreams,
and all that's real.

But next line now.

I'll take my stand in this next stanza. Even though I have more questions than there are answers. Profiting from wisdom passed down in a bonanza. There's freedom in knowing who you are,
and being lost in that extravaganza.

I'm not working on myself; but rather working on my entire surrounding. In the wake of living, where a lot of things are so alarming. I can only live by one positive statement;

WE'RE ALL SO AWESOME

Amidst the echoes of a victorious romance, would you seek me?
In its subtle notes, I harbour every grievance, silently measuring
you against the passions of pasts, the ardour I once knew with
those I loved. The heat of your lips ignites a longing within me,
a rich Cyprus wine that awakens my very soul.

My skin bears the marks of disdain — a fallen star I proclaim,
for those who yearned for genuine love, yet bared their desires
to the world. The sincere man allowed each kiss to belong to its
rightful muse, while a desirous gaze conjures love born solely
from jealousy.

The eyes, those envious masterpieces of humanity, without
a doubt.

Why cry behind a mountain? Because I'd love to fill it's valley rivers with my tears,
Why cry in your sleep? Because the pain of it quickly wakes me
up from that dream,
Why cry when you're happy? Because the smile doesn't show enough emotions,
Why cry in a corner? Because it's a tiny space for me to count my tears,
Why cry when no-one is watching? Because I can cry for as long as I want,
Why cry in a glass bottle? Because I've cried about spilled milk before,
Why cry in the silence. Because the sound of my emotions makes it feel real,
Why cry about the future? Because the present fills me with the feeling of weariness,
Why cry about love? Because it's so overwhelming to have, and to not have,
Why even write about crying? Because everyone cries. And yet I'm the fool asking myself these questions.

The answer is: I'm just reminding myself of all the best places,
and times to cry.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

Greetings, O Death, why do you not approach? You are aware of my
depression, and we both recognize I’m such a mess; speaking from
my chest, while my heart is shielded by a metaphorical bulletproof
vest. I am shattered in this tomb-like gloom; those funeral regrets of
not having the power to decide if I’ll be dressed at my level of best.
The residue of sorrow clings to my breath, like coal dust – as every
train of thought rides the tracks of my morbid dreams of death.

But do you know the sound of pain – those around me seem so deaf,
even as I look like a piece of parched land; my eyes are a dry red -
I have no real tears left.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

Hey there, can you hear me now? These words may seem utterly
absurd, yet I strive to have my voice heard, like a solitary soul lost
among the herd. But maybe a gun to the head can make me seem so
heard – you know I’m just so hurt. Your silence lingers, and in this
suffocating darkness, that once-bright flame of passion feels so burnt.
I find myself devoid of tears, breath, or any glimmer of hope, and
though I rarely swear, I feel as if I am under a curse.

Lately, my inner demons have become my closest equals; my friends
feel more like other people– and this is the hardest part of my life,
that death seems so simple.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

In the spaces between my breaths, there’s heavy pauses; as I give out
a lot of fake poses. Here I stand, at the intersection of my loneliness,
waiting for you, in hand – a bunch of roses. I’ve had to force myself to
accept these ungodly forces – trying to worship, even as I view my
existence as a sea full of war ships.

But maybe you shouldn’t call my line – when I’m hanging with
family, that have me feeling like hanging myself; it was a folly,
pretending to them that I was always fine.

Until we cross paths again someday. Bye!

My floors are drenched in crimson, wine cascading
like unsolicited wisdom, a testament to my attempts at maturity,
Hoping it seeps into people’s gaze. Yet, to their astonishment,
I revel only in the celebration of my own existence.
Fragments of my being are enamoured with self-love,
serving myself a lavish feast of introspection.

In my unconventional revelries, I find my heart eager to
drift apart, tethered to someone who thrives far from the
clutches of shame. As you dwell in the dreamscape you've
crafted- a vivid mural of your own utopia; I firstly succumb
to tears on my pillow, muffling all the echoes of my anguish.

My floors remain a vivid red; every moment of pretence
fades into oblivion, yet the pain lingers. Time hangs heavy on
my wrist, each second bleeding away, striving to meet an
acceptable standard. My fears and anxieties rise with the sun's
glow, while many struggle to confront their own truths,
choosing instead to bury them deep.

My floors are undeniably red; beneath the veil of existence,
amidst the tumult of conflict—can you hear the whispers of
those desperately clinging to life, do their floors cry in
red too?