And she asked:

Why don’t we talk as much, is it –
Because we don't love as long,

Trying to eat my heart out - so fast,
And now it's just another piece of takeout

Tears trapped on your face
All turned into black makeup;
Thought we were just trying to make up –
Or was it all made up?

                     ******* hate break ups!

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
“you ought to open up more,” which opens
his worth to being diminished.

We only cry when the world is asleep, painting
smiles on our faces to render our outer walls
somewhat pleasing to your gaze.  

We fight private wars, striving to shield those
we love from the fallout – yet the scars we bear
are somehow unsightly in your view.

We’ll conform to your contradictions, offering
our utmost to project an image of strength for
the women, while our brothers are the only ones  
who truly understand our weaknesses.  

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
and it is only his fellow men who can truly
witness their tears.

...Alas;
life is the word in itself
we live long, knowing not everything will last

...Alas;
the ringing sirens of heaven's bells
to only hear redemption after a hell of a life
I've spent my best hours on one hell of a night
one hell of a high; to rise above all of my trials

And surely to an unsure
to pity a fool; leaving love for the fools
Alas by chance, love is exactly that
so too is life—we live life by chance
And only by chance are we to express this
gift/grief of life; all in letting out a sigh.

                                        ...Alas

A tear
is but a drop in the ocean.

As pain
is only for a moment.

The shape of your love’s image
Makes one imagine,

The many brushstrokes –

Painting out such a masterpiece
like you, Love.

Envious to myself to be called out as your
baby, despite how much she nurses me-
all the night she prays for my blessings; while
during my day I act out as one not considering
how blessed I am to have her… her clothing prepared
to robe me with the covering of much respect

Her sacrifices are unsung; reaping all for me to sow
—and by the bruises on her heart, it has to show
as young as she was, she reflected a mother's love
put all together in our pretend house

we were unashamed under a tree’s fruit to ripen-
perhaps I missed how to her, this was our very first
date- but please forgive me, for not seeing how my
childhood friend didn’t take our childish love
games as just another game
                     I thought it was just a game of house

To many I've met,
say my skin colour doesn't match my accent,
It isn't what you expect,
but I hold no apology for being so different.

I'm the Be in best,
that need be worn on my chest
The We in wear,
many fabrics of me. Feeling cut short like a vest.
The Us in usable,
a people the world will love to play,
The one who knows,
life can often feel like a one sided game.
Wait,
here's the fun part of my name.

They read it,
thinking this nation isn't my home
They tell me we're in this together,
but I grew up fighting battles on my own.
I've been told I act too white,
and black when it suites me.
Truth is, I'm caught on both sides.

I'm not so good at dance,
risk embarrassment of taking a chance.
Betterthat than being stuck in stance.
They wonder why I'm so mad,
you made fun of me my whole life,
This is the second stage after being so sad.

I've been told I'm not man enough,
too weak for my good
Wanting to show everyone love.

They ask why I don't make a price
for being so nice
My response, "that isn't my life".
I smile so bright,
in a world so deep in dark
I take all my pain, and put it into poetic art.

They say I'm too reserved,
when I speak truth; I strike a nerve.
So maybe I'm just picky with my words.
They tell me "for a guy you look too pretty",
often deemed as "too cute"
Going "aaww" in sympathy,
"you don't know how to use your looks you fool".

I can't be the one to break girl's hearts,
cause mine will break even more.
Can't be the one to leave them scars,
for my own will be the most sore.

I self identify,
this being the exact reason why.
This is who I am,
a portrait of my own man.
This is just for you to understand,
this is exactly who I am.
If you don't like it, cry me a river
because I don't give a ****.

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for a purpose; so I maybe
know where to go,
Searching for a best high; when
life is keeping me low,
Searching for the lows; when my highs
get out of control.

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for a reason; to justify the answer,
Searching for my joy; to cure all my
depression's cancer,
Searching for my feet; to pretend that I'm
a perfect dancer.

Searching for a lot of things...

Searching for trouble; as innocent
as I am,
Searching for ***;  just to pretend I'm a
man.

But the search hurts, like words in
a script of a painful verse.

Life has rehearsed.

With the cameras always rolling,
the pains are always emerging,
Everything is so controlling,
and I might not know where I'm going.

All I know-
I'm always searching.

I commit to you a kiss;
not by the whisp of death,
Lurking in every shadow,
for as she is the thief of time,
soon to steal my last breath.

Wait on patiently for yourself;
upon the expectations for love,
Dearest son;
why dream up mountains you'll never climb,
For if you desire a love of perfect heart;
You forget quickly the wickedness of all your faults.

I speak to you as young;
a calf behind the legged way of walking life's journey,
Knowing pure childish games,
and the dirtiest teenage fun.

Soon you'll learn;
you are the goodness you keep,
The identity of your father's words,
and the rewards you earn.

Keep all closely to hand;
for I'm not long for this Earth.

The Kiss of Death beckons upon me...

Can you not hear
the murmurs of your skin tone –

Oh darling, your decimal smile,
is a testament to the value you own

Your kiss is an ode, your soul
a ballad; and your body is a poem.

How could a man articulate
your essence, if not through his words –

For these mere words fall short,
even for ones whose pride stands tall

A love letter, I find myself enveloping,
so unwilling to let go; wishing I could
have you as my girl.

The sand dances ashes in the ambers
of their world, as you place deeply in the
ocean only by a toe

Towing the line of all your ancestors before
the land is rich of love, but it's spirit
quite so poor

Your eyes where like an open door—
swinging in your presence coming back and forth
For who are they to say: you don't matter in this world?

Oh, please tell me why I still care for the side of you that always
lets me down – my mind becomes your fence, picking at all of my
thoughts – each one a slat in a picket fence to surround your own
insecurities.

Tell me what lights are coming on, to keeping on pretending that
love still turns you on; have you truly spent the nights restlessly
trying to fall asleep in a **** pose, draped in nothing but a pyjama
thong?

You shed your clothes more readily than your skins, that could
unveil the core of your true self –  “this time, I am changing,” you
proclaim, yet what truly changes if you harbour such shame for
the loose parts of yourself, tell me what’s the point of looking for
change, if you don't want to fully change?

Would you let the wind pass through you from behind – you blew
out your back! Chasing after your body that looks so instrumental;
it plays that performance in my mind, of what we could do later– and
I guess for us, that’s instrumental. As my skin are these labours; on
the peak of the twelve days I had displayed all my love for you. I was
your Hercules! Falling into your silver shinning eyes, that weighs the
atomic number of love – darling, around you I feel closest to the sun –
I was your Mercury.

There were those murky waters; of questioning when it was best to
tell you I had fallen in love – I didn't want to seem too deep at the
very start; but even in the shallowest of conversations, the depth
of their length, was close enough to make me drown.

But would we both know the taste of love, the more we speak of it,
running the word off our tongues, escaping out of our mouth? I may
mouth you sometimes when you get on my nerves – I say some
things in vain, hoping to give those words their success. But even in
the pain of it all, you still remain the breath under my veins. Without
you, this version of me wouldn’t be the same.

“hey, let’s just try to start it all again”

I know we push each other's button, but together in love, we can
instead, push this reset button.

Going through our problems,
till we get to the other end.
Going round a situation,
only leads to going round in circles.

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

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

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

gaze through the depths of my eyes; do you perceive that these
thoughts are birthed from all that's televised – a smile that I carry,
merely just a show!

beyond the sight of the untrained eye lies unfulfilled desires,
for idleness thrives in the lap of plenty - resting my head on idle
thoughts!

dreams, once drove a heart; now they've driven right off the edge
of their thoughts. as the enigma of preserving a youthful body is
still a secret, slipping away eternally into the merciless grasp of
time.

                                        all pieces of myself eternally yearning
                                                               for just a little more time.

I can barely think,
feeling so nervous to be in love,
I can hardly blink,
don't want to lose sight of you my love
Sometimes I'm at the brink,
of trying to jump off the edge for love.
My feelings tend to sink,
so close to drowning in your love.
I might pour another drink,
of your wine lips- just another kiss my love.

Still can't help myself falling in love.

Lucifer Morningstar,
still twas he kicked out of heaven—a falling star
As did his eyes hunger for power,
upon wanting to wear God's crown; seated on his throne
he hoped to have sat while the creation of the world
It came to the fall, tumbling the mountain of His highness
to be like or greater than God—oh the defiance!

As fire burning in his eyes, it now burns to surround,
surrounding his realm of a flames life
And in his strife; he rubs his in the sparks of rubbing
his likeness ways, by a whisper in the ear
A vehicle of fear, driving it into your skin
temptations of the flesh—a temp tempt in critical moments
"Don't worry about it, you're just doing you," listen to
how he pulls away your focus.

Hell would never freeze; despite the coldest hearts
present in it's accompanying. "Come to me," says the
call of sin into it's pleasurable company
Immeasurable, are the sins we commit in a day,
as even in an innocent prayer—whispers of previous ill doing
comes to play. Satan's favourite game!

His hand isn't red; but grey as smoke swallowing the
world, adding ashes to your worth
Solely to count a price to offer up for your soul,
And if the shoe fits, it comes with staining on the sole.

My prayer is to the Lord—that we as his children
don't meet up to the fall. Its one hell of a trip
To the bottomless pit of sharp darkness, that cuts your lip
Despite of the world wanting you to feel like filth
don't fall into its guilt—guilt trip.

Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall,
fall, fall, fall, fall...
You will instead rise in the assurance of the Lord.

Home,
is where the good food is.

If life was as easy,
what would be our existence
If we've never been broken,
how'd we know to fix the pieces?
The Chosen know life is a long road,
but be brave to walk the distance.

rental cars – parked away ideals across the street; had a bite of the
sweetest dream, but must have chipped a few teeth. backwash waters;
just a taste of love – most of it stayed in the bottle, still I enjoyed that
little sip.

rental cars – parked a little too close to the darkness, under a
billboard sign that gave directions to the light. by day I’m all that the
world’s eyes believe of me; the genius of one’s destiny only revealed
by prayers late at night. but maybe I’m preying more than praying –
believing in all the wrong, hoping to come up with something right.

rental cars – sometimes I feel like I’m on this journey of life with so
many borrowed things, paid for dreams, passenger fears – sticky
gears, imbalanced wheels, a rusty engine, and an unfair lease
agreement, that I pray will expire long before the next few years.

Throughout the vast expanse of time, the answers to
life's mysteries are scattered within the arras of our personal histories.
Life itself resembles a game of chance, as we navigate through
the unknown, hoping to discover love and understanding along the way.

Among the myriad of factors that shape our lives,
religion stands as an incredibly powerful force.
It is the belief we invest in it that grants it such profound influence.
Religion has the capacity to guide and inspire us, but it can also,
at times, create divisions among us.

Death, — the inevitable end that awaits us all,
is a language that resonates with every soul. It serves as the great equalizer,
reminding us of our mortality and the fleeting nature of our existence.
In the face of death, all other differences seem trivial and insignificant.

Betrayal—, a painful reality that knows no boundaries,
can come from those closest to us - whether it be family or friends.
Strangely enough, it is often easier to forgive a stranger,
someone we may never encounter again. Perhaps it is because
the absence of familiarity makes it easier to let go of the hurt.

The selfish among us often cling tightly to their possessions,
unwilling to share their blessings with others. Ironically, it is often
those who claim to be religious who are the greatest deceivers.
They may recite the teachings, but their actions speak louder than
their words, revealing their true nature.

In this flawed world, where lies and deceit can burden
our conscience, it may seem challenging to find love and acceptance.
Yet, despite our imperfections, we strive to love one another
to the best of our abilities. And amidst it all, we find solace in
the embrace of our Lord, who offers us unconditional love and acceptance.

By the coldest depths of the sea -
soaring in my highs as a bird with no wings,
a cliff diver so afraid to jump; silent most of the time.

My greatest pride is in my eyes, for if I stare
at for you too long; we'll make it a worthwhile time
looks do ****; so staring at pretty face is suicide.

As life could be perfect, if you live without purpose
who would judge you if you hold no case to plea,
how complex wouldn't you be in this perplexity
For without purpose none are pressured to be -
seemingly so free, yet it's a freedom so cheap
But for the struggles in life, what purpose do
you have to shed your share of tears

Are you not free?

No, life isn't perfect, even as you make your way
to fulfil your purpose - but there's no great purchase
in doing nothing for yourself. Our struggle to live
a day as a pretty flower in an ugly world, is what
makes us a relatable bunch. Perhaps too sober in
facing troubles; momentary pleasures are so warm
while the tears afterwards are all so cold.

The moon keeps my secrets in a glass jar
In the silence taking over my hurt as it's scar.

Where the words of my lips fall prey to the silence, let their taste be my expression.
Like the rowdy kids of the block, doing more trouble and less learning their lesson.

I'd like to think of myself as so on many off days.

So call security for my heart's front gate. I feel the Devil peeping in.
What's he searching for at the corners of my love. I feel the evil sinking in.

A strange to say I've been here before but I'd hate to repeat myself.

A device to say like my phone's constant beeping at early hours,
Rewarding my heart for good deeds but men don't do pretty flowers

In the wakeness of new dawn, I still wish to be fast asleep
And perhaps I've strayed from the flock like the poor lost sheep.

For Love as my only defense across the broken wall,
Hitting rock bottom before I made the fall.

At a corner of regret and hopes,  I'm stuck at crossroads
Figuring the tune of the song with lost chords.

La di di da to a same old song.
Who really knows the words that well to be singing along.

Why is love so real,
only when it really hurts.
Especially now,
when she's your real first?

Is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere pinch of
love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up. My heart
dances like a brush upon the canvas of my flushed cheeks; I yearn not
to rush into this enchanting feeling, yet I find myself swept away in
this exhilarating feeling’s rush.

Like a lush forest adorned with vibrant canopies, I sense a love that is
both elusive and captivating—so wild is the sensation you evoke, as I
strive to quench my eyes thirst, for one more glimpse of you.

My emotions are splattered across the canvas, each stroke a testament
to the artist's longing; your aim must have been true, for this feels
nothing short of a masterpiece. I draw nearer to you, like that very
pencil, etching thoughts in my mind, desperate to articulate the
depths of my affections.

Tell me, is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere
pinch of love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up.
I quite enjoy being in love.

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

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

In the summer of 15;
I fell in love before 16.

Sweet as it was, we both felt stuck in an
everyday lover's dream.
High school sweethearts, spending our time
kissing in every free period. No thought of
taking things slow. In the three months it became
so serious. I was young, she was older; she had
the richness of my heart, and I felt poorer.
My bae, I used to call her. Back in the world's
crazy phase, the good old days. When boo, was
part of the common pet names.

I'd save the small change of tuck; to try my luck,
of buying things to keep her heart. We never started
off with hugs, but loved kissing inside an empty class.
Love letters I always wrote for her, were too many.
Filled with my confessions, ***** intentions,
and their best mentions.

My first inspiration to pen out poetry.

The summer of 15,
filled with the songs about loyalty.
I openly told her all my secrets, wishes, and all. I had
fallen in love, but never did fall.

I saved up to buy her a birthday present. A silver watch,
perfumes, lover letters, and a necklace.
The first Valentine I got a rose, and was truly
lost for words. Her name said in vein, sent chills
in all my nerves.

But I was dating her, and all of her friends,
buying out my heart for her,
to be all her friend's shares and spends

In the summer of 16,
we broke up on Valentine's day. Her
eye was caught by another, of higher richness to me.
I was told I should feel guilty.
"I did it because, you did it first to me!"
All I could muster was a long "really"

But she'd meet karma, and along with teenage drama.
The one that wooed her heart, did woo three others.
I went on to lose her number, in classes barely
speaking to each other. Having peers, insult me for
potential years, just added to the hidden marks
of last night's tears.

In the summer of 17,
my idea of love had changed.
I wasn't feeling the same about the event's of love
coming my way.

So now you know why I hate Valentine's day.

I value the lips to a modest dream
The fresh lipstick – outlining one’s imagination
In soft brush strokes; as the dreams of my child
Are quite distant nowadays, still silhouettes to a recent age
The metaphysical footprints of walking in faith, the path
It’s… so narrow on the trail of yellow grass; the sun is on
My back, like a long-legged shadow in this urban darkness

Questions bring up less of their answers- my life a riddled
Experience on a dusty path, where manure litters the street,
Pretending the smell is all so vague- but those **** flies!

I am alone, patrolling the ideas of one’s calling, beneath a
Crescent moon – from youthful screams, too loud to hear
The purpose to all my chaotic dreams: perhaps now,
I’m finally awake in the world, to see what it all means?

do you ever feel sad when the world spins
head spinning every time you day dream
thinking you're just a dream,
and when they wake up,
you'll finally see
what's real

                                   or is it just me?

I add music to my thoughts, just to keep them from growing
darker – my cheeks, feel like lead – weighed down by the burden
of unshed tears; as my ears strain to bear the weight of my silent
anguish. At times, my screams clash like thunder, echoing through
the tempest of my doubts, a relentless storm that looms overhead.
Each flicker of hope I grasp is met by lurking shadows, eager to
shroud my path in darkness—insecurities descend like a nightfall,
one among countless others.

The darkness acts as a hairline, as it recedes beneath a vengeful star,
I cling to the flicker of positivity that still resides within me, yet rage
simmers when my existence goes unnoticed. The Heavens bleed
crimson as I search for solace in my dreams, and where the blood
spills, it crashes against the earth with a deafening roar. My thoughts
drift through a luminous haze, yet I remain a harbinger of chaos,
spiralling through destruction—yearning, a restless spirit, my body
evaporating, and ceasing to exist.

In this turmoil, I am drawn into a surreal realm, where the confines
of my mind transform into a grand stage—twisting and contorting,
twisting itself in these performing gymnastic routines. It is a perpetual
struggle, a delicate dance of cognition, as I pray, I do not tear the
fragile threads of my sanity.

Yet, amidst this chaos, my music rises as a refuge, the pen transforming into my conductor's wand, weaving together the symphony of poetic notes that dance upon the page – I am a poet.

You witnessed the envy in your own eyes
as you gazed upon those priceless evergreens,
their lush greenery a sight to behold.
You couldn't help but yearn for their beauty,
a jealous lip bite betraying your desire to have
such splendor tucked and packed
like treasures in a boxer short.

As your legs tremble with resolve,
drenched in the intensity of the moment,
You bravely shoulder the weight of all
those taunts and challenges hurled like sharp
horns towards your chest.
Just like a bullhorn painfully piercing through
excited flesh, the sensation resonates within you,
stirring a tumult of conflicting emotions.

Your eyes, wide and searching, dart towards
the fleeting images playing out in your mind,
where the memory of being placed ever so delicately
on the bed surfaces.

Initially, his touch held a sense of
innocence reminiscent of cradling an infant,
but that purity is swiftly overtaken by a primal,
almost sinister desire that extinguishes it in a single,
searing breath.

His primal groans start chasing at your ears,
resonating with a deep and primal intensity that
seems to echo through the confines of your room,
reverberating against the walls and
enveloping you in a raw, untamed energy.

The tight moans of his fleshly presence fill the air,
creating a palpable tension that seems to draw
you closer to him, as if his very essence is intertwined
with yours in that moment.

His inviting eyes, like hot fires, burn with a
fierce intensity that seems to sear into your very soul,
their gaze captivating every inch of
your skin with a magnetic pull.

So beautiful were his eyes, reflecting a love that
enveloped you in a warm embrace, his affectionate
gaze mirroring the depth of his feelings for you.

Oh, how long you had waited for this moment,
your heart swelling with a mix of anticipation and
desire as you finally found yourself in his loving embrace.

Our eyes, resemble still marble statues—both melancholic and
beautiful; they reflect the aspirations of birds yearning for an idyllic
sanctuary among the trees. The essence of our humanity aches for
wholeness, a desire to be a complete poem, even as the poet grapples
with solitude in their musings.

Burdened by their own dream's illusion, they don the mask of
the present, to linger in this moment, haunted by the shadows of
yesteryears and anxious about a future that remains unwritten to
our eyes. Thus, our eyes remain ensnared, confined to the now,
perceiving only what is before us, while the shadows of our history continue to linger in the background.

We may claim to act as deities, yet we are merely incomplete gods.
Forever yearning for what we cannot grasp.

I am not the man for a moment;-
more so trying to be a writer, and questioning
whether I actually still enjoy being a poet.

I am… an interlude, just another episode
in between two random pages- open to seeing
the anomaly of the next chapter, or more or less
staying blissfully content on the things of old.

Refusing to give up, but at the moment,
willing enough to give up the pen.
Sigh… I think the poet is finally dead.

I am not impressed
I'm just depressed, I am but a mess
wondering what it is next, all the guns
out in the world—equals death

Divide and conquer
we are here to only **** ourselves
daily—a selfish death

Swimming in your depths
and thought ties around your neck
life chokes everyday—a slow death

Should be happy that I made it
but not made of success
A lot time left to just to second
guess—a career's death

Spitting on all my dreams
mouthful of ill talk sickening in my chest
never at my best—imagination's death

Harsh words are blazing fires
it stinks; ash on your breath
still alive at 23 screaming yes
despite missteps—walks of death

Death, death, death, all I've known is death

a heart dares itself to be in charge – heavy as lead
a mind so lost in depths of the mundane, man’s greatest
and heaviest sigh is knowing tomorrow is, “Monday”

the perennial and annihilating thirst of this flesh;
funny how the power of creation is another man’s
addiction – one who multiplies life, the other just makes
an addition to their means of only finding, “friction”

some days I pray for angels to bear the weight on
my shoulders, the demons sit on top of my head –
all-knowing silence; the darkness smiles at your
shame, but who really knows what to look for in
the dark?

         …I only pray you see yourself in a better light

Holes in my old socks, be so quick to compare to my heart.
Money I kept hide in the socks, lost my loose change. No wait let me restart.

Holes in my socks, be so quick to compare to my heart,
Life been too hard, tell me what's new. We all puzzle pieces trying to fit the part.
And money comes and goes but its never clean like the silk keeping my feet warm,
And we all wake up having a bad day, feeling so torn.

Throw your conscious in the washing machine to try and clean it so it at least smells fresh.
Add my empty socks to take up some space, just don't mix it with an old Ladies dress.

And my brain is just spinning, spinning, spinning,
This game in life feels rigged. So I'm not really winning, winning, winning.

O baby, don't lose my socks in the laundry, they holding too many memories.
All the weird friends you hang with, you would make me hang with them too. These be my next frienemies.

Today was a beautiful day than yesterday
Everyday all just days of a living testimony
And all our troubles will pass me by because tomorrow is another day
Why look at all the things that may bring us down
When there is so much that is all a hope in us giving us a smile from that awful frown

I care for not of all the bad things that make my days to be
Only memories in my mind all passing by
Not holding me back because in my heart I am free
So let me live this life as my God made it to be
All my troubles will be just  passing by
A living testimony for all to see

Could I be living out a silly dream stuck in my head
I think not because I've been awake all my days to know it is not a dream .This to me is the butter to my bread

So my troubles are all passing by
I don't let them stay here for this isn't their place
And there is no need for my mind to ask itself why
Because I live my life as my God made it to be
Only he knows the way I should take but of course he created me.

he had voices in his head
all pushing him to the edge
they come to you live,
but are all wishing him dead

the silence is loud

bending pictures to fit into someone else’s frame –
their life… is it not so beautiful from the viewer’s eyes
in some profound way, they must think of me in the
same kind of way

our pictures are stained,

with shame, pain, loss, hardships, desires, envy, bitterness
but you don’t know this of me… you get to watch the picture
while I painted all its vivid features
I don’t know this of you… cos I watch your picture believing
its much more unique – but you and I are pieces that are

                    incomplete.

_

The legacy of humanity hangs precariously
Upon their own blinded whims of fortune –
While faith is seasoned by the labour invested,
In the banquet of faith’s supplication.

Yet instead of harmonious voices, their frictional
Howls intertwine as a dog chasing after cars–
Those parked must seem a feast to the naïve,
Whose journey is dictated by the drive of others –

So simple-minded, solely to blend in with the crowd,
As indeed, wealth wields power - it challenges
Every muscle and very sentiment.

I am in the depths of memory, where we place our full trust –
By the spreading branches, shaking off their dust
Past reflections of fury, all the moments coming to pass,
As the stain of my smile is this visage in each glass
Pale lips still whisper, as these eyes devoid of light –
Wondering about myself; if my will is still bright.

Lord, at a journey's close, where will my spirit dwell,
Will my memory become the tales that they’ll softly tell,
In twilight's after glow, what echoes will I hear,
Be it love and laughter shared throughout the years?

Where time stands still, and you feel truly whole;
Is this truly a familiar place for one's lost soul?
Dying a mirror to reflect on all the moments, never lost –
Forged memories, of all the paths we’ve once crossed.

Letting my nightingale heart serenade away the night,
A melody that lingers, pure and bright.
With every note, it mourns the dance of death,
Though heavy hearts may bear the weight of pain,
Its song will rise, a balm for every strain.

my heart – a means of transportation;
with loads of weight to carry, passenger love
interests coming in and out
                 “here’s your stop”

sometimes I want to put it in park
but without any of the sparks, my engine
will just turn into rust – can’t turn if off;
someone who can’t let love into their heart
                   “major turn off”

still here’s your turn off, right by the corner
of the tears in my eyes – the point of a journey
is enjoying the scenes of that journey, but it's
a whole lot better when you have someone on
                                           this ride

     right now, it's a lonely drive.

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

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

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

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

my girlfriend would wear baggy jeans – being my solitude, as a
faithful lover. it’s just the darkness she has in her genes. sometimes
I cut her fingernails, to stop her from biting them – she starts to bite
me instead. my sad stories are all reflected in her tears; she tried to
cut my hair, and cut right deep into my thoughts – I’m always
thinking out loud.

she sits on my lap, just to have a window seat; her hair is like a
forest, that the comb loses it’s teeth. still my fingers run through
the woods; dark as a night, where my eyes become her moon.

and she’s the wettest dream – a real sensual thing; being like a
water Queen. she knows I can't water down my words, or kiss her
less without our spit. “kiss me before we go” – even if we’re just
going to the corner store.

but that’s just the thing; I’m in the market for finding hope in
my dreams – for this person only exists in my dreams. sigh!

Oh bread crumbs;

The birds have eaten up my path
Their sky has swallowed up my past,
They love to quickly spit it all out

As I shared the deepest parts of myself
With people that held no trust, or love –
Now my past is all they speak about

Now that's foul.