The sound of love
how to explain: children in a playground
rhythmic play, heart skips a beat
screaming yay; nay to hopelessness of
breaking a heart again

Chase
chasing hands, gripping tag to touch
I've labelled myself a fool, only could
love sound so cliche as a fool in love

Love has been,

a peanut butter & jelly
love sandwich;

I went on to spread,

my heart & emotions
one side,
my mind & thoughts
on the other side;

And of course,

I was the one caught
in between it all.

Love is equal the letters of it being just Lust,

and it’s forbidding what it means to love you; and how it starts to
make me feel like a demon— love, you're my enduring possession.
All the parts of you, are where the memories of my touch reside,
inside! And I'm a knife of pride; cutting at my throat, every time I
have to swallow that disguise of an insecure man. We both find
security by the taste of our love; along with this key to your heart—
though I act as your prisoner, with no escape plan.

Knowing angels that fall in love; just windup falling out of heaven—
this atmosphere of what it takes to find the resolve to kiss you, fills
me with so much pressure. I don't want to love you just for pleasure, I
don't want to flip a coin of love to get too ahead of myself; calling you
my only treasure.

See when pride marries an extraordinary beauty, it all sits on a throne
you dare not to own — the evil that could be found in this love/lust, is
an evil that would even unsettle the Devil. And I'm not content on
missing out a spot in Heaven.

| The weird, wonderful and I
   lost in a wash of dreams—or was it
    just my tears? I fell in love in your glaring eyes
  Omission, and my hiatus from personal friends
    bad omens about bad luck
  You were just a chum I'd hate to meet,
   with all of my charm and ice cream bucks
    a lick of paint white to coat our insecurities

I'll admit all the ones I love all just bully me-never picked
on by jealousy, but just the people who love to test me
I never had the time to state the plans; but I would
mark my territory in all your memories land
Honest; I'd light the passion we both shared again
if I worked more on my pyrokinesis powers
My heart stays warm over you, I just pray you don't end
up bullying me too

| I swear it doesn't feel like my first time
   practicing with myself probably last night
  But I'm going to be shy; wrapping it tight to the fit
   still without a ****** for my heart—I'm going
     to be love sick. Our sheets are going to be ******
  And I still hope by that time we both are too

We could have a good time, and not feel so pressured cos
we're both so shy. I can't always be this romantic guy
Let's both stay connected; as long as we don't change
our heart's codes to the WiFi
Just a little private time after pillow talk in this chat room
bury my past lovers in a present's future tomb

...let's shoot for love, and fall for each other like shooting stars

Treading upon the fragile shards of time;
moments cascade into oblivion, as the echoes
of my bones resonate with the agony of existence.
I seldom boast of my worth, yet my lips dared to speak
with courage. I sought my place among the stars, wandering
the glassy avenues where the imprint of your steps lingers
upon the meticulously laid path.

My mind, burdened by the weight of stony tears,
contemplates the thoughtless utterances that birthed
yet another futile verse. At times, I find myself gasping beneath
the suffocating pillow of my own uncertainties, surviving on
the fragile threads of hope, faith, and fleeting joy that last but
a week; still, I feel like an intruder in my own sanctuary.

Dreams drown in the merciless shadows;
the dawn's light offers them a glimmer of hope – a sanctuary
for the spirit among the awakened. I drift in a half-sleep,
daydreaming amidst a throng of fellow dreamers, our youthful
skins too tender to fade, a heart yearning to be filled with cherished
memories.

These sins bind humanity in shackles,
desperately seeking an escape from the labyrinth of their minds.
Oh, is existence truly madness? Yet, in spite of the suffering,
we pray to live another day. And so this fragment of life is
my grace, a testament to the fact that I have yet to meet the grave.

Brain explosion, pop like a balloon bloated up by the heat of a long summer,
None violent tendencies with such ****** hands, can I still call myself a non harmer?
Cuts and bruises beneath the skin of my feet, for walking long days on short miles.
Copies of programs, settings and ideas stored up in a brain in a number of files.

Explode.

A dead man would tell no lies yet keep a thousand secrets.
A new hope would be born in a small corner but built up of a thousand pieces.

Explode.

Day's of old times amongst these young people of these simular days.
Stacking up all that is the past in bales of hay.
Today is a Tuesday and tomorrow shall be another new day,
And the days before that came before moved on really fast and not always here to stay.

Explode.

The house in my brain has expanded by an explosion of the love and rage.
Could this be a new chapter in this story,  a turn over of a new page?
I  used to hang around with people with square faces while we were playing circle games.
I hung with new strangers with old family names.

Explode.

Smoke clears the air while the air is still bleeding.
Not too sure of where I'm going yet  I'm still believing.
Today was once my yesterday but I'm touching on tomorrow.
I have too much love in my mind, would any of you like to borrow.

Explode, now  my mind is  blown to many former pieces, come breathe in this brand new,
Now looking up to a Heaven, they know what is I ment next to do.

The empty space in my head tries to dream again
When faith starts to be my friend again
Oh, I’m not the same – a careless friend

The empty space in my heart tries to love again
When the feeling of love can be felt again
Oh, I’m not the same – a heartless mate

The empty space in my hand tries to feel again
When I lost a touch with myself again
Oh, I’m not the same – a hopeless mess

These empty stars will find me once again –
As my body rests on these foreign lands
I love to sleep on this Island bed.

Sleep always feels owed; one’s life
cannot be fully owned –
As we look for this complete rest, do you
rest your weariness on those you trust;

For even as sleep is the cousin of death;
would you still deny yourself true rest?

And do you deny the comfort of advice
from a true friend –
Or do you sleep on their words, under
the covers of your pride?

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?

Imposed by a scent of the back chatter,
behind the air of the hair tucked by your ear
once a soul that was merely an imposter
The intense pleasure continues on- waking up
to the sound of dawn; under the thinnest of clouds
thin as butter- as the sunlight spreads across
The edge of their world; as like two legs spread apart
with a promise of a night filled with wet love
Two lips are meeting in the yellow shivers, beneath
the huge gems of eyes, that hold out a jewelled pleasure

The two resting upon a bed made out of barley;
filled in intoxicating lines of brand-new sheets-
The smell of regret only shows as the rise of after cigarettes
The towers of greying tired eyes; numb under the tomb’s
excrete- the cold breathes of kissing with a cold heart,
lifts the fur of a lion’s haunches

***** buckled by the belt wrapped around one’s desire
at another attempt- it’s no stranger, then the grave on
the tongue of a perfectly dead conversation
And about then, he wonders how could he go back to
the past, once where they were just casual friends…

__

Genuine friends are much rarer than the fingers on
one hand — as only a handful can be counted upon.
They could be as numerous as the stars scattered
across a moonlit expanse, yet only a select few truly
cast their glow upon our lives.

This story felt pointless, it's so obsolete,
Some pages were missing at the corners, it was just so incomplete.
I smile for a moment till I lose myself,
Been counting foreign dollars, to add a little more worth to my wealth.

They told me all wishes only came from an old lamp,
They told me all dream worths were all wet and so damp.

Darling I felt broke, I never had richness to own.
Just poor me a shot now, I'll go drink all alone.
Light up a dull pipe, with tobacco  to **** the empty atmosphere.
Blow up some puff clouds, try to blow all my problems till they all disappear.

Live young to finally at the end of time. **** how I'll get so old.
Cough out one last breath on this earth, I paid my problems to be sold

my love hate relationship with chocolate –
cause I really love that it tastes so good,
but hate that there’s never enough, or the
need for me to be sharing it. and to such
a treat, we are slaves; when asked what I
need the most between sugar and life –
I need both.

as I endure the whispers of a late snack –
telling chocolate to meet me at midnight;
even when you tell me too much of it is
unhealthy, please let me love the pleasure,
and let me live with the possibility of having
a few less teeth.

it’s my favourite treat, that if you bought it
for me; I’d do a favour for you in a moment’s
heartbeat – as my heart beats for such a
chocolate feast; I can’t help this chocolate heat.

why is the voice of all
my disappointments;
louder than the cheers of all
my success;
and why I do I have to constantly
search for happiness,
yet easily be found depressed?

Life is circular, even for those untouched by the realms
of faith or spirituality— every moment secular. Let us exalt
the fervour of true commitment, warn the youth against the
allure of materialism — my attempts of such were a mere tip
of advice, too blunt for those who didn’t own sharpeners.

I see of the stillness and shadows, that leaves drift silently,
nameless in the breeze; they grow increasingly embarrassed as
they succumb to decay. Yet, from the **** talk of human chatter,
the refuse of their speech can still be turned into the fertile ground
from which life may sprout. Even as the curtains descend on the
grand performance, the essence of existence continues to unfold
in the shadows, a narrative the world may never truly grasp.

Close your eyes and let your heart sketch the tableau—fold your
arms to spare the world further anguish; as the youth, armed with
lessons from their screens, race onward. They'll drive forever, though
forever is not a human art — lovers whisper, “I’ll love you forever,”
yet the cracks remain of one’s broken heart.

Let us pay tribute to the hour’s accord; strike a chord like a pact—
though not one forged in Lucifer’s handshake, bartering your soul
for a fleeting piece of existence in this world. Raise your sword,
sun-kissed and gleaming—this pen that can colour the world in
vibrant hues, a dream so vivid, yet never forget the wildness of
this realm; humanity resembles a chaotic zoo.

I still crave the flavour of your skin, though it brings me great pain,  
As the flames of desire flicker and sway, we’ll endeavour to endure,  
Clinging tightly beneath the blazing sun, in summer's fierce allure,  
Together, trying to brave the tempests, in love's unyielding pursuit.  

Dinner awaits us at eight – do not tarry; dreams lie upon your plate,  
Nourished by my affection, a sip of your soft skin grazes my lips;  
Each touch of yours leaves me lost, grappling with how to respond –  
Your wisdom eclipses my own, a realm I can scarcely comprehend.  
No man has truly kissed every maiden under the sun, yet the world  
Shrinks for those who cross paths with the echoes of their past flames.  
Relative justice; I strive to connect, yet potential lovers have slipped  
Through my fingers, leaving me a solitary figure, comforted by a hand.  

And this fills me with grief, a tempest of shame; distanced by anguish,  
Haunted by choices that replay like relentless echoes in my mind.  
I dread living solely for another's affection, yet I fear even more  
The withering of my own love, fading into the abyss of neglect.

Her: All men are nothing but dogs!

Him: Yes, indeed… but have you ever pondered the breed of each man? Some are fiercely loyal, others stand as protectors, a few are brash and aggressive, while some are merely oversized infants. You get the stubborn ones, the overly playful bunch, or grumpy ones. And then, there are those wretched few who tarnish our reputation, who just love to **** all over on your pristine carpet.

All men are indeed dogs, just depends on the one you got.

If Truth & Love are an object; I’m objective to that statement;
For the girl of my dreams — I’m maybe lucid dreaming,
Or just another hopeless insomniac; a hopeless romantic!

Dreamt up love stories – mostly are their unhappy endings;
Falling in love, while quietly hoping my feelings aren’t,
The only ones to catch me; it’s all going to be so tragic!

Falling too hard now — having no means to get up;
Having no pieces of a heart left, to cope with the feeling,
Of breaking up; knowing I’ll start to act so dramatic!

These are the insecurities of being in love;
It's so rough; the one I once loved became so traumatic!

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.

Sticks and stones to break your bones
Stick your nose in being too nosey,
and you may end up with a ****** nose

Tell me what is it like to close my eyes
against the brilliance of your smile,
Yet I still feel it’s warmth on my skin?
Like a breath held in full anticipation,
I can’t wait to take you in, before letting
you out; just to find my natural peace.

Those intense stares, sending shivers
down my spine, walking round the corners
of uncertainty within me – you remind me
Of a picture of glass stairs, that leads straight
to your heart; yet each step must be taken with
the utmost caution– you are delicately beautiful.

Each dawn, I find myself quietly haunted
by the memory of your tender caress,
The remnants of yesterday’s air infused
with your essence, drifting into the promise
Of tomorrow – I wonder at which moment you
will unveil your love for me, as one might
delicately pluck the petals of a flower.

“She loves me, she loves me not…”
I am still unravelling that enigma.

Truly for truly, did they not often feel
like everyone’s personal convenience.
So convenient for people to know them, — just to be
what’s in store, for them all to buy into their dreams.

How convenient; suiting people’s purposes so well;
well enough, as a worn-out suit; to suit those only in
a matter of addressing their personal battles, grievances,
qualms and historical hurts.

It must be so frustrating, to see the reflection of such pain
in these eyes; painted red from every tear we all had cried.
A mask in disguise; a disgust in the discussion of how
their given something, is looked later on as purely NOTHING.

Truly for truly, it must be worth the hurt,
for us to repeatedly be the better person,
around those who only give you and I the worst.
People are truly the worst; and so too
must be loved the most.

SKINS made of wires;
as I ponder the essence of existence
amidst a symphony of aired out thoughts –
a diet of wind chimes echoing in my mind.

Ideas resonate within me,
drifting throughout the atmosphere;
sunbathing selfies, even when fragments
of my heart are encased in frost.
Tears, fierce as hurricane winds;
my aspirations gathering the courage
to ascend like a bird test driving its
newfound wings.

These wire-like skins signify my quest
to intertwine with the current of an
electrifying love – the Almighty above
knows that we all begin to fall in love
when we feel that initial spark.

That love spark!

Take me as a definition: a surface-level heart that drowns in
deep thought, quietly pondering love, quietly grieving loss.
Loss not just for someone; a loss for most words. Because
when you’ve been dealing with a lot, you stop explaining
and start enduring.

Take me, for example: yesterday I had a conversation with
myself, but it sounded like I was addressing the ugly stuff,
the versions of me I don’t post about. Getting a little older,
I now feel the subtraction of duration settling in my bones.
It’s not pain exactly. It’s more like time knocking without
waiting for permission.

Multiply that by multiple misfires, all the times I believed,
in my head, that I’d finally found the one. Now, I’m left
divided. Not between people, but between the stories I told
myself; the truths I keep avoiding. Insanely rich with poor
results — "wait, that doesn’t add up." As that’s the math of
memory: it never balances the way love promises it will.

Still I need a leg up, not just to raise the hopes of this tired
heart, but just to step out of my despairs. Because lately,
I’ve been third-wheeling the very idea of love; a tagalong
to a party I used to host. And when it comes to falling for
someone with a previously broken heart, you learn quick:
it doesn’t come with a spare.

I’ve realized love either helps you make strong memories
or leaves you with the memory of a sus stain. You can’t
always tell which until it’s already on you, and by then
you’re already trying to scrub out that which you hoped
to sustain.

The Arithmetic of Almost-Love.

Pictures of my present— but none of them smile back.
Just me, talking to the man in the mirror,
    his eyes tired,
          his silence loud.
He stands in the frame, wrapped in skins made of fear—
To stand tall beneath the titles they gave him;
layered, worn,
  worn down.

To call it strength when you pretend to be more than you are.
But no one asks what it costs to keep holding up the
image they’ve
        painted of you.
I want to stop performing, but giving up feels like giving in
to everything they already believe about me, there's never an
account for the fallen man—
        only fingers pointed,
  as they count him out like a statistic.

I think about a demise so often it no longer shocks me.
It just waits—patiently— like something I’ve already
   shaken hands with,
    gripped by time pressing on me.
Sometimes I feel like I’m boiling alive, my chest
cracking open with a salty crunch, like a crab
   in a sealed ***—
    no escape, just steam and pressure.

A slow, bitter truth: no one’s turning the heat down.
And all I can say is—
   “Crap.”
     Not funny. Not light.
Just the word that stumbles out when your soul folds
in on itself and even pain doesn’t know
how to explain itself anymore.

Holy or holey,
fired up or just a cloud of smoke?
A cigarette or lamp; which light represents
the light of your heart?

Action of words or just words on display,
practice what you preach, reap what you sow.
Do both in the actions of your word;
do justice to each apart.

Blowing in the wind or lead the pack ahead of it,
needle in a haystack, or a compass needle?
Teach the teachers to be teachers of teachers;
lead the followers into tomorrow's leaders.

Oppressed or blessed,
crowd pleaser or the brave out of the rest?
The freedom of chains to freely foster the shackled;
those thought to feel alone.

Rich or richness,
do you chase money or qualities of deep cares?
Fortune isn't based on possession, or deep pockets;
the worth of people should be your care.

Urban or rural,
high class, low or moderate; tears taste the same.
We all cry, bleed, and die without our wealth.

We all have choices to make.

Because theses dreams open the door; I have a firmly closed mind,
shut against the idea of leaving them behind. I’ve seen some desperately trying to walk their own path of destiny – to find that every path circles back to where you began.

Empathy strips the heart bare, for mercy to allow us to feel the pain of
others. In truth, we could all share the same pain, even those we
consider foes; especially them – for they too reflect a fragment of our
own struggles, but only in the currency of hatred; much like paying
a fraction of rent. Evil is built by the very castles we showcase in the
realm of the Devil’s kingdom.

While knowing what it feels like to be healed, it’s first by admitting
your own afflictions— darkness only breeds darkness, just as light
nurtures light; dignity is through the journey of self-discovery. "
Know your worth," the tale unfolds, and thus, the lives we lead shape
the pivotal choice: do we persist in our quest to uplift others, or do we
seek solace in our own suffering, turning a blind eye to the anguish
that binds us all?

Loll in a realm of no regards, shuffle the game of life like
a deck of cards — playing into the quest to uncover who
you really are. Each life begins with a question:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Will I be a nurturing mother? A father who can provide
for their all,” each life begins with a question – especially now,
as we ponder this curious phenomenon called life; is it still
worth it, at all. Cloaked in whispers of our cherished dreams,
the most fragile among us are those who beam brightly, even
with kinked teeth.

The gentle craving for a richer life is as tender as the insides
of our teeth — revealing everything we risk on the overflowing
platter of those we disdain; initially, it was a pleasure to meet.
Yet, I was lost in my role in this world at first – bestowed a name
at birth, still grappling with its significance in a titled world –
entitled!

Don’t we pretend that’s what we deserve even from man’s great
fall, who inherited their sin galore. I question it all. Don’t we
all act as if we deserve it all, even after humanity’s great fall,
which bestowed us a legacy of sin?

                                I question it all.

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.

Misery demands a body; heartbreak offers up a heart as a
sacrifice— each coffin yearns for a cherished soul to inhabit, while
debt grins at those ensnared by their own habits, and corporations
thrive on the cravings of the addicts. Time adorns you with the
weight of years, branding you as “old fashioned,” we reach out to the
device of compassion via empathy —witnessing another's tears, we
absorb their grief…

To glimpse another's scars ignites our own anxieties, as we hastily
conceal our own cuts—solitary confinement paints a vivid portrait of
physical loneliness. A multitude of contacts on my phone can never
provide real physical contact. In genuine connection, some among
you only seek to uncover something valuable within us—they'll
transform you into Wi-Fi.

Thrusts of passion that follow our parting leave gaping holes in the
heart— a love that finds fulfilment in affliction; is this the tragic
affliction of love? It means nothing to love beauty, comfort, or success
—we all love things that are pleasing; but aren’t so pleased when
those very things abandon us.

Only the courageous dare to love the aged, the ill, the downtrodden;
the impoverished, the scorned, the grotesque; the unappealing, the
foolish, and the faltering— we all navigate the same turbulent waters,
yet we row at varying paces. Still, life can be astonishingly beautiful
at times – if you choose to see it.

I'm just a frame of reality,
painted by the harsh brush strokes of life,

Black and white;
the grey areas are just the many things
I don't know- or try to paint over with just my words

                                         I'm just a poem!

don’t hug me for too long, just to suffocate my heart; then
look at me surprised when I tell you, “I think I’m in love.

don’t point me out so quickly as your man – I don’t
want to disappoint you.

don’t look into my eyes for the value of love; I’m also
still confirming the price.

don’t bother yourself giving me a cold shoulder, as a child
I enjoyed chewing on ice.

don’t force me to show you my love, my presence around
you will make sure it’s more than enough.

but…

do tell me constantly, “I love you” –
those three very words, I haven’t heard them enough.

My soul is tortured;
taught sure of many men's misfortune.
Black gods of the minds
who portrayed them,
And at times;
their faith given a Judas kiss that betrayed them.

In every awe of today;
tis the wonder of a tomorrow.
As in the outcomes shock;
is a lose of power.

To then live on,
at times is a game of chance.
All will watch every eggshell step,
but are forced into Death's little dance.

Life is but what looking glass
you view it as,
But it all cracks in time;
losing it's colour like winter's grass.

Whether to land on your feet,
or bend on your knees;
Only you of your heart,
knows your life's needs.

As to be; a righteous figure, but to always
be burned by the world? Or the vilest breed,
in successful pits, but burning in Hell?
I guess we're all going to burn in each side of choice
in the end. You live by the sword, to die with
it—you live with the shield, to only defend.
You are the sly player, or played by the game.
They either call great of your name, or scold you in a
greatly shame. You are the writing on the writing of
the wall, or the wall to fall of rite.
You are the ruler of the dark, or the blind display
ornament sitting in a light.
You are the anthology of misery after success, or an
unabridgement of joy before loss. The mistreated employee,
or heartless boss. —Life is unfair—good intentions are rare.
And as to be; a righteous figure, but to always be burned
by the world? Or the vilest breed, in successful pits, but
burning in Hell? We all burn!

Quite evident, broken hearts tend
not to love again.
Loves in the air,
question is, will you breathe it in again?
Evident in those past experiences,
we hope this time it will be real to the very end.

Tis with a broken heart,
you fear so much to love.
But don't leave it to chance,
those not willing to find love, how do you
know it's time to give up?
The pain of such, is quite deep.
But as much as it hurts, out there is your missing piece.

It's all but a moment of hurt,
which feels endless, especially if
they were your first.
But you don't find the sparks of love without a few times of getting burnt.

To all the broken hearts in the world,
out there in this lonesome earth is
someone you deserve.

Don't be afraid to, SEARCH!

Take the time—don’t just spend it— to watch your grind,
These dreams are brewed, steeped behind these caffeine eyes.
Still, as the sunrise scripts its golden lines, my gaze still delays
Having to put on a daily mask; trapped in yesterday’s disguise.
All of these borrowed hours lace my breath, thinned and worn,
All these seconds spent on second-guessing myself; I’m torn—
Barely paying attention to obvious life lessons due in reflection;
Skipping those lessons, now I pay with life's collection.

As for facing my many regrets, it proves facing the glass—
But not all mirrors can clearly cut clean through the past.
Truths are warped, wrapped for the present, for who peer—
Peering in, fragile as much, cracked, and smeared with fear.
We search within ourselves, as all seekers must willingly do,
Searching for a love clear as glass — one that is sharp, and true.
As peach blossoms fall, and small stones roll, know: that through
The times of picking yourself up, some dust gets stuck on you.

The world isn’t so clear, especially if man’s clarity is uninvolved;
Profiting from all our scars – given titles hanging over ourselves
So many times, that prophets need to remind us of who we are
Profits, or prophets, but it all depends on who’s worth you trust.

In these realms where your gaze lingers, they lie still,
like moss upon ancient seats—what minds dare to welcome
the defeat of a heart, or a soul that invents sweetness?

As her gown unfurls, caressed by the winds of passion,
oh, the trance of a lover newly discovered! Their skins meld
into one, basking in the bliss of a honeymoon beneath the
tender glow of their first moons after their wedding night.

Does time not twist and turn, restless only for those
who toss and turn each night- restless; stranded on the wrong
side of rest? Yet, a new day must grace our faces with its luscious
cherry lips, refusing to relent in casting a foolish brightness
upon our kind, igniting our eyes with its relentless glow.

Oh, would you not yearn to be the lover of the sun; to reflect
its anguish through a pure, innocent light? Your form shrouded
by the gown of clouds, oh sweet beloved—what joy it is to behold
you as you truly are, unadorned this night!

Right here, in between Heaven and Hell

right here, is the world – and some dream of owning the world, but
it already owns parts of your mind. And when someone asked me
when I wanted to die, I saw the hurt right in their eyes when I said,
"right now, would be fine."  Though it's been a while, since I’ve
thought about suicide – but even with all the maturity, some days
that glass of wine, doesn't feel so fine. The glass looks half empty;
probably because we first have to whine. Could life be like a girl, with
a big chest; do you still know how to say it with your chest? Calling
a ***** a *****; maybe I just need a love to find– digging it out my
heart for someone, just to call them mine.

But love isn't gold as much; it’s silver nowadays – where you come
second after the bad boy who first broke their heart. And that’s still if
it’s to your own best of luck; if they hadn’t gone through a bunch–
wanting your love now, only when you’re out of love. Or is it meant
to be out of luck – four letters to that word, “Love?” Where the match
you find, is like a fresh match striking the box – it has to go through a
few sparks! Maybe the complimenting four letter word is, “Loss;”
gaining the worth of something now, after the few times you had it
for a loss.

But I don’t know what I want, I’m just dealing with a lot!

What kind of person would I be, to love you
even when I don't love all the parts of me...

Would I give you a sense of certainty
even when we don't look so certain to be?

It would be criminal to love me!

Perceive, triest understand love;
      As a child, seeing many try;
As a young adult, I made my attempt
      Following in man's knowledge.

      Spoken, was their love;
Yet with a tongue rolled under itself
      Seen, some have claimed;
But without center of an apple's eye.

      Some do hid to mind;
But quickly listen to heart's feeling
      As only a few;
Hold truth, facing love's grip trap.

      One by one we fall,
Into the deepest parts of love
      For a large and long,
Number of us at a time fell in love.

      A nose dead cold;
Running it through snow
      At the highest of emotions,
But no being can subdue its drug.

      For love is many,
Beautiful, tragic, joyous, painful
      Maddening, sentimental, wicked
Ignorant, wholesome, challenging.

      But what then is love,
If not perceived as all understood?

Sounds & pictures,
for the records to show
—today we're going to war

Grenade hearts; with all their
pent up emotions ready to explode
The sounds of guns in orchestra
of a thousand applauds
Ashes have made grey the floor;
as the after smoke chokes the globe

Parachutes blanket the sky,
black navy teal,—the day becomes night
Darkness roams behind a gun,
and with it's might, dissipates a man's sight
Blinded by foreshadowing, what follows
through, is it's omen painted black of blight

Pools of blood, shallow to a charging foot
marching armies depart blades of grass
from it's root

Children who sing songs with a gun
dancing unarmed under the sun
Thinking it's just a toy for fun;
what has this world become, but the result
of being the victim in front of the gun

                          ...we're killing our earth
Means we alone are just killing ourselves

Cotton candy;
of my sweetest dreams,
I taste whenever I fall asleep.

So splendid to be alive;
even in the sour moments,
of this treat of life.

All the shapes and lines;
taught the birds and bees,
the nestling of love,
and nectar of love's
pretty flower.

Life is sweet,
just a bite could tickle
anyone's teeth.

Find your peace;
and a piece of life,
to stick on your lips.


                       This sweet life.

I guess...

I used to wish that I could die young;
but of late it's just been outdone,
As life is no fun. Gambling it all out with
no funds.

But what if I died young,
or whatever people considered young?

How tragic would be,
since that's been the reoccurring theme?
From burying adults and teens. These week
we're burying kids.

I guess...

I don't have any real tears; but just the eyes
of so many questions.
"If we're worth so much, why can't I cry
when those who die were so precious,"
my heart asks only in it's lonely confessions.

Would you hate me if I sigh,
when you tell me a loved one died?
Would you expect me to cry,
when I say, "oh, another death idly passing by,"
And would you expect me to have the words,
just for me to say, "oh, never mind."

I guess...

You'll probably think I'm a terrible guy.
But I'm sorry. I've just lost so much,
I don't think I've got the time to cry.
You can dig into my chest to find emotions,
but I wouldn't say they're all mine.

But why do I rhyme about death,
because the end words help me not focus
on somebody's last dying breath.

Yes,
that's not a good way to cope with death,
but I find it best. Than to be searching for
feelings that will overwhelm my chest.
But maybe I'm just a mess?

I guess...

Would you teach me how to love a little –
even for the little bit of the time we actually have,
right before you have to let me go…

Even if we end all things being mean to each other
could we share one final kiss, as if the spark of
our love still flickers; to know what love means –

Grant me a love that can lift these tears; pulling the
daggers out from my heart, just to etch your
memory on my skin – even when we’re no longer
connected, these tight knots in my chest suffocate me!