How funny is life, when I try to help all people,
but get accused of being called too nice. Acting a little mean,
then they say I don't care about human life.
I guess I'm supposed to be a bitter sweet spice?

I'm so useless, for people to use less for their appeals,
and often priceless; at a price less of being any real.
Life is just a biscuit, but unfortunately not everyone
has the cream. But here's a dream, lurking in a nightmare,
an omen in the eyes of the ungodly—the identity of a nobody,
and the somebody only with the right amount of money.

They tell me I'll be great; I only need to be a little patient,
I must of misheard them, I guess the meant "paid less."
I've gained a lot of lessons, to lessen my chances of not gaining
a few blessings. But explain to me why the teachings are so depressing?
A serpent in the sheets, are the scales of lovers nowadays; you pay for recognition, and ironically the obliviousness are getting paid. We all know that devils name, but plead cases as if hell is going to change.

Success is such a mountain, and failure an easy path.
Dreams are like a fountain, but the taste of reality gives it a laugh. You'll always be your past, searching for a future. And the present
in itself, is trying to avoid being the biggest loser.
Trying to be hopeful, in a life being  promiscuous—it's all
just a *** full.

You try to live for the moment; it's momentarily
as a distant picture losing focus. Life is an untitled moment.

welcome to a bad religion
peers in pews of being a Sunday Christian
quoting common scripture;
commonly known as Bible bashing criticism
in an imperfect world criticizing you
for not being this perfect Christian

wishing Godspeed to those who rush
to that umbrella answer; "you don't pray enough"
living in the reigns of worship being entertainment for a heart
some blocking their ears from being cut by words
by a sermon so blunt

but how do you build strong character on soft words
and how could you test their foundation, without some force
as after you pray for patience; the devil loves to test
those desiring words, by a day feeling like the worst
still you forgot Jesus had spoken about woes

...doesn't it seem as far too see; modern Pharisees
we who speak about God, but do not love God
we who preach lively about God, but in with a dead heart
we who sacred a temple, but just because of their objects
we who teach a law, but not practising in turn those words
we who appear clean in public eyes, but so ***** in secret
we who act righteous, but hold onto a shaking hand with unrighteous
we who defend a reason not to ****, but ****** another in ill speak

...it's only a bad religion,
to us being such a bad representative

The nemesis, genesis – as I’m naming the voices that echo
within me, the moment I drew my first breath. They love
to play presentence, they speak tainted truths in the limits
of my psyche; giving me their word before my sentencing.

They believe in foretelling my fate in my mind’s prison –
casting judgment with every utterance; can I compete
with these thoughts, will I finish their sentences?

Often, I find myself so imprisoned in my own mind –
yet the irony lies in the fact that the door stands open,
as we permit our thoughts to dominate with their own
rule, and goals of leaving us so, so broken.

My mind is a place I roam around with caution!

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!

if I went onto smelling everyone's intentions, wouldn't I have a nose
bleed?' yet even the intentions of love can lead me into an injury –
buckled while smitten, with shaking in excitement of two bruised
knees

and perhaps it is love, that you...

let me run my fingers through your thoughts; curls of your dreams
tangled in my fingers. truly I'm at a loss for words – our tethering
feelings, connected to your heart; we are one pulse

we are stars who shine out their love for each other, though we're
sometimes far apart – we are a spark to a flame blaring echoes of love.
and does the world look at us, as two fallen stars who’ve fallen
in love? here in our silence,
                       as I humbly wait for your response.

Yeah... I’ll be the reflection of one’s depression – to hotspot their
emotions, for the ones that lack real expression. I am a weapon by
the impression of my pen; I demand love and attention – so ****
possessive; these words are my greatest possession.

My mind… my mind is just a book, and I feel so overbooked.
And the dreams in my eyes are overlooked, while I dream about
my death knowing it’s never too good. But we feel so misunderstood –
hoping not to leave pieces of ourselves. Life dares to cut me down
like a tree, and sometimes I wish it would.

I’m two doors swinging in the milestones of a lonely road. I threw
my rocks at my reflections – their irregular metre, is such an ugly
ode. Still if I reflect other's depression; I’ll transport it around the
globe, and carry their load.

I am their depression to be showed. Yeah, we're depressed, but I
doubt a lot of you would really know!

_

I’ve slipped into a realm of love, ensnared by
yet another crush— no wet floor signs in sight!
Overthinking, deep thinking; I am adrift in an
ocean of thoughts— no life jackets in sight!
I’ve been a jug of emotions, constantly pouring
out my heart— yet these days, I offer only a cup.

These eyes, are crafted from paper, with all these
drawn-out plans— crinkled, and crushed!
Cast aside like a forsaken heart, unguarded by the
walls I used to bring up— please, don’t bring up my
reluctance to divulge too much— not much to say!

Just pinch me to the starkness of reality; I have
been tickled by the allure of dreams too much.

Funny how it’s hard to explain the feeling of LOVE –
But easier explaining the loneliness; we don’t miss
As much, until we’re missing that familiar touch
Its not about the crush, it’s that rush – that hopeful
Romantics picture of them one day finding LOVE.

Where some are heart led, an ***** of compound LOVE–
In love sickness, we could be a lead compound, hoping
For the promise to treat such a disease; searching for LOVE
Is always easy said then done, and when we've gone
Through our hardships we say, “I’m so done with LOVE!”

But LOVE is never done with you, give it another round,
And you’ll start smiling that you’ve found the One
LOVE is a marathon of going round, and round, until
You can run this race of life with someone you truly,

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE - and their LOVE you want!

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

bites are much harsher than their barks – to those who
haven’t swallowed their pride. to bite on other people’s
ideas and dreams; their ideals prove an ideal meal –                              
                           their wealth, fame, influence, status


surviving on someone else, feeding until your
teeth are boneless - but when it comes to greed,
one finds a way to feed such a need –  
                         zombies with false teeth.

The frequency of a kiss, is the rate
Of us both having a matching heartbeat
Rising vibrations; as my eyes start to feel
Baked; staring too long at the heat of your face

Catching smoke, in the fire of your lips,
Smokers count the puffs out of their vape;
Tears turn into vapour; vapours slowly
Become the ashes, slowly turning into waste

Maybe we're just wasting time, as we love
To just be sitting quietly, in this comfy place
Still, this feeling here, will always feel so great.
And lately I've been staying up way too late —
But did I at least tell you that I love you; if not
I'm so, so sorry, I know now, I was a bit too late!

Cos I don't really party that much; always
Taking my time to adjust to any new touch —

Cos you gave me a touch of a new Love.

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.

Tumbling walls whispering tears —
the sound of fallen walls in the rain,
closing remarks to the echoes of pain.

Tossed red dust's disappearing pieces —
still what we've built for ourselves -
are all these foundations to remain.

autumn tears...
  falling for you
    all over again

we’re just friends
 in the present tense
        making amends
     like cracks filled
          with silence

tears of yesterday
    still
      water my lawn
  i’ve been banking on a love
    that never matured
          just an emotion
            on loan

tell me—
  do you rest your hand
    under your chin
         like I did
             when you’re alone?

sharp edges
    on my mind
           but it feels
             pointless to forget you

to accept you
  is to accept
            not having you at all

the drink of your love
            I could never finish—
              you were
                too tall

too much
  too deep
     too far

you poured yourself
    out for me
  and I drank
    greedy

we kissed
  like language
    like memory

and I felt the shiver
        escape your pores

so why
    can’t I
          escape your love?

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.

I got to find a piece of mind; -a fine piece of mind.
/// How fun to be so young, so dumb, so young
to bury a piece of time in an unthinking dream.
Lost myself inside a piece of an idea- right now
I don’t even know where to begin.

Trying to step into the next best thing; hope I don’t
overstep, hope I’m not overdressed – dying to suit
in, for everyone I’m trying to impress.

Press me out for my words; hoping I don’t cause
controversy, to be another story in the press.
Sometimes I find myself another kind of path,
—God, I hope that doesn’t mean that I digress.

Praying as a mess; message me a beginner’s guide
to confessing all of sin- feeling misplaced like a pencil
for a million words; drawing out words for a heavy
prayer to begin.

I’m trying to find that piece of mind
-a piece of mine; digging inside of my chest.

Extending what little time I have left; giving it a
good stretch— a stretcher. Living in my own skin as
an inconsiderate guest- looking for comforting words
when I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin,
when I feel so depressed. And would the gates of
heaven still remain open, if I wrote it an open letter?

I’m trying to find a piece of a never-ending mind,
but I’m forgetful so many times- so never mind.

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.

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.

I feel like the most succulent pair of juicy ****,
with an overwhelming number of individuals
yearning to **** out so much from me.

As my days all feel so hard from the very
start of the day, it overwhelms me with a sense
of struggle and echoes the stiffness of a freshly
awakened morning wood that jolts me
to face the uphill battle.

Feeling a false protection in my eyes,
like a veil of distortion hiding the truth from me,
a sight of a broken ******, serving as a jarring
reminder of the potential consequences of careless actions.
And like it, I tend to snap, my emotions becoming
tense like an over-stretched rubber band, and my
inner self breaks and leaks, pouring out fragments
of vulnerability and raw emotions.

While feeling a little undesirable, a question of opinion
arises as to how some women may perceive
or react to a man's *******, questioning whether
it is a quirk that might be appreciated or
a source of discomfort and judgement.

As some people live their entire life kissing ***
and constantly seeking validation from others,
I find myself in a different predicament.
Instead of indulging in people-pleasing, I am tasked
with navigating the intricate dynamics of being
buried deep within the recesses of people's lives.

It often feels like I am serving as a constant
pillar of support, attempting to hold the weight
of their emotional baggage and countless demands.
In essence, I have become like a sturdy glass
*******,—fragile; tightly wedged into the figurative
structure of their existence.

              I could say for the moment, my life feels a bit ******!

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.

Fill the room temperature of my lungs with your kiss's breath –
room temperature wine; compared to your lipstick, and a fine silken
complimented red dress. My compliments to the night, two bodies
twinned into each other, close to the hip’s side. We started off a feast
of sides; you took a piece of my heart – served on a platter. And by
your worth, you must cry diamond tears that cut your face; I tasted
all of your scars.

In the dark, we kiss in the warmth of our love, that it grows a spark –
the elephant in the room; how could I ever forget what you always
meant to me! You split my lips; opening myself to you as I told you
the deeper parts of my story – we are at the same level of building
this close connection, waiting on this storey.

You murdered my soul; killing parts of my time just to spend it all
on you – piercing me into silence from my core; the cause of you
smothering me in the heat of love. Nay, I dropped onto my feet
galloping after your love, crying after it in a whinnying neigh.

I’m a horse in love.

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 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...

A larger friendship circle: the terror of making yourself new friends,
looms larger when it feels you’re just making yourself new problems.
It’s haunting to hear others revel in tales of passion, people
boasting about making love, but never mentions on making up.

Ah, the daily charade of donning a flawless smile – the reluctant
application of makeup. And here’s the most piercing question in the
air heavy: “When was the last time you felt a gentle touch?”

The deafening silence that responds back, “Does the touch of
sadness still count?”

Fear not, dear child – you have blossomed into adulthood, you’re all
grown up, and have grown enough to know how to count. Count on
knowing things WILL one day work out. Stop yourself from counting
yourself out…

                                  A personal mantra I whisper to myself.

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 told them I was tired of being local, and they took me as a joker
But the punchline of that is I'm the only one with focus
You try to vouch for peers, but some people turn into vultures
I meant to say voucher, that you receipt after a purchase
As some people purchase purpose; ******* in the end coitus
Still it was a moment you had enjoyed that introitus

Some do feel small inside; their inferior interiors
Not so big as it appears. Just masking hopes with years of fears
Spill a bottle of fine wine on me, and my lesser many me's
Fine dine around a table of my Lord and my enemies
Spit fire of the scolded tongue, but dire in response of having fun
Over the moon joy with a heated anger under the sun
Not all reach a ****** of their fun—still waiting for it to come

In the third person of the third stanza line
They didn't know me as a first person describing I
I'm that guy routing for himself in the ways to walk by
But the GPS was off to the location, and I have no WiFi

In the cause of this morning rhyme, it seemed fun to write
Mixing a wordplay in every line—I've got a childish mind
That child inside, wants to live freely but how in this adult life
Where being yourself is a crime; so you're a person of omission
As they won't see you for as you are, if you don't follow they vision
I guess I'm supposed to be chasing women, and calling them *******
Lined out naked perfectly on some exotic beaches
Placed on the scales of fame, I'm must be swimming with the fishes

The only time they'd say I left my communicative ways of being local
And a yes to having their focus; get rich and buy yourself a lotus
Smoke some flowers, while deflowering flower's with a magnum opus
As that's the art of the world's composer, I try to keep my composure
Breathes in I'm just most certainly tired of being so local
Perhaps I'll die in the crowd to be considered folklore
But I remain local

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 ****.

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.

A tear
is but a drop in the ocean.

As pain
is only for a moment.

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

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?

_

To pit me against these holes of a mind —
a spiralling pit of contemplation; the value of words
Proclaiming to this ruin of yourself —  
calling her mine; this intellect is a field of mines.

And I must warn you,
should the mind veer to the left,
while the heart strays to the right,
It heralds nothing but your own demise.

...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

Maybe I’m a wind-up toy robot, blindly walking down this path,
maybe I’m a pullback toy car, moving forward by taking a few
steps back. Maybe I’m a box of random Lego pieces, building up
a life, without an instruction manual, maybe I’m just a firecracker,
exploding with less passion – so I sometimes add fuel.

Maybe I’m the one trapped in the castle; quietly hoping the world
doesn’t see a man battling his own dragons, as a damsel, maybe I
don’t know how to fight for myself, cos I was shown that fighting
as a believer isn’t a good example.

Maybe I’m looking for love, just because everyone seems to be  
falling in love, maybe I’m trying to fit my hand in everything,
to protect myself from failure – wearing all the title gloves.

Maybe, maybe, maybe – but all the maybes aren’t always the
possibilities we want. So maybe I should instead be more definite
on all the needs I want.

Ah lover,
as the sun hides it’s face behind a mountain,
the moon never rests in the day; keeping the sun company –
Your company is the warmth of covering my face in the valley
of your *****; the slow beats of your heart, rest my ear at night.

Ah lover,
upon your image is this brush against the canvas,
as the artist is swept by your smile, longing to paint out
The edges of its curve – where you inner joy is warm as the
nest filled with eggs, that are protected by their mother bird.

Ah lover,
I’ve been nestled by your comforting words to no end
you are the very creative moment of inspiration to come;
but what you do isn’t a play, but you could script a good scene –
As life is art; it’s an art to love, painted to remain, ah lover, my pen.

Home,
is where the good food is.

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 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.

Would you still want a touch of a garment to Heaven, even if
it kills you? Ten thousand steps away from Heaven – I could be
on my nine hundred and ninety nineth step; but the question is
would I get in without an invitation?

Would you still fall asleep, even if you wound up resting right
next to death – given a limit to your air, would you start to count
your breaths? In the end, I hope my eyes pray whenever they blink,
and my heart silently repents for their lips "good" reputation.

I hear the eery songs of sirens; my own voices in my head – that
are acting like background singers and the Devil's ****** advice.
Do I feel alive doing the things that risk my own life; mixing
desires with passion – a bit of too much passion in my own desires.
Twelve speed racing to smile, but sometimes I despise being so
nice.

Sometimes I'm a world built on lies; sometimes I lie on top of those
years long gone – the grass that's greener on the other side, I just
want to enjoy the scent of that freshly cut lawn.

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.

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.

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.

Our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners of
thrift shops, all drawn to these forsaken treasures that others
have overlooked. We take turns giving upon these forgotten
items a renewed affection, a fresh perspective on their worth.

For we are all broken at times, displayed for sale in the hopes
of rediscovering our inherent value, yearning to feel complete
once again. Our hearts linger in the temporal marketplace
of time, where faded dreams gather dust, and past loves
accumulate the remnants of emotions once so vibrant.

Each of our sorrows lies like a heap of tattered garments,
heavy with the weight of our experiences. We observe as
the masses pick us, some to elevate our spirits, while others
seek to let us down.

I find solace among other hidden treasures, awaiting the
discerning gaze that can recognize my true worth; indeed,
our lives resemble relics nestled within the dusty corners
of thrift shops.

Whistle your thoughts into my ear –
inside the shadow of your fine fire;
it burns me close to almost dying

When two lips kiss in a perfect song
a rhythmic crescendo – to build the
feeling of love so pure, and never felt

While you melt my tears like ice drops,
that waters a flower in a garden of pristine
let’s wait upon our dreams; until the place
they become so real…

When we’re out by the sea,
as far as we can see!

I’m just the dreamer, lost in the static of the world—
a perfect schemer trying to carve a shape from shadows,
trying to make something of my own in a place that feels
prewritten. But who really knows what it means to lose a piece
of your ******* soul—

not metaphor, not poetry— but that quiet, splintering
ache when belief begins to bleed.

And that’s the cruelest part: when the dreaming continues,
but the dreaming itself feels so ******* lonely.
When every idea echoes in an empty room, and you realize
the silence is louder than your hope.

Still— you dream. Not because it’s easy. Not because it
makes real sense. But because what else is left when the
world stops listening, and you still believe? A piece of
that dream!