Him: I’ll love you forever!

Her: That seems a bit cliché…

Him: Well… forever will never die, yet we all must face the end someday. However, if I can cradle my love in the embrace of a forever, and perhaps we cross paths in another life, I would relish the chance to fall in love all over again.

Peace,
won't be the quick option
without chaos at first
Like a storm,
there comes a silent calm in the end.

You only know peace
when you've known it's chaos.

Consider this:

to your past, your present,  
or your future self –  
each one perceives their own
reality as their present moment.

you have gained more wisdom
beyond your past self; you will
always feel just a day away from
encountering your future self –  

so cherish the essence of
your present self, for to it,
this moment is their present
moment.

| a remedy to life
   swallow sunsets- be a little bright
inside. Shine in the night; knight guard
  the day, don't forget to pray.

  treat life sweetly; a lollipop- sometimes
   it *****. A crazy chocolate, you're acting
    a little nuts.

  be ashamed of letting yourself feel
   ashamed, deal with shame to not turn red
when they mention your name.

| life is a few sips of water; no need to rush
    to it's bottom. Take your time
   be patient in patience impatience
  what can't be controlled,— let go
let go at times to gain back control by tomorrow.

   don't spill the remedy, don't drunkenly drink
     till empty. Just sip this remedy at a ready
              .....it's untitled remedy

__

In the vast abyss of emptiness, as nothingness
reigns supreme, there lies a flicker of value,
a glimmer of hope.

Within our power to decide what treasures
we shall pour into the hole of our hearts,
the means to mend the fractures of
our souls – to be whole.

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

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

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

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

I'm top heavy; my thoughts are resting at the brim – no cap! Often
my lips leak their thoughts at the brim; and I’m a cup with so
much to spit. I'm words on a spit – burning away time, in these fires
of life. Always the unannounced guests, coming to visit your home;
to make it feel like a show, making sure everything is in order – the
house is live. Also, as you live with a drive, those around you hope
you’re a responsible driver, to arrive with you alive.

I'm the tip of a scent towards destiny – hoping the path where my
soul goes, my heart also knows; I shoot my shot with aims to shoot
goals. I hold the script of a child's life, and my younger self looks at
me, to play all of those roles.

But when the model falls, and rolls over on their stage, do you still
look at them as your role model. At times I know why my self relates
so well to a bottle – all of those emotions a man tries to keep bottled.
While life feeds you time; a man still finds it a bit hard, for that piece
of pride he has to swallow.

These days feel like too many moments of regrets, questioning what
to do next – like the morning after ***. The two sit up, deciding who
will go and buy the morning after; *** can be like sleeping with
your regrets – it's an uncomfortable bed, but the one that you made.
There's no shame in admitting your mess; just clean it up with your
responsibility, before looking to hire a maid.

That's enough overthinking for today.

Whisper the depths of the night— as angelic wrath burns away
at my soul, consuming me in a tempest of alienation, a spectre
unseen; - out of sight; I've lost my mind to my sanity that slips
through my fingers. Where, I ponder, if the appearance of a
grotesque smile will find its place in this so to claim, “beautiful
world?” I remain oblivious to the value of my treasures; until
the very essence of what I cherished fades into oblivion.

Direct my heart toward the doorway; what purpose lies in this
revelation — exposed to the harsh truth of humanity's rawness,
akin to the crude oil extracted to nourish our existence, fuelling
this artificial journey we call life.

The intellect of this age is only but artificial; what is cherished in
these times is only but superficial, fracturing the essence of love
we ought to share. For what is called to be love divided among
us, swiftly reveals the stark truth that all are not treated equal.
Casting shadows on the bonds that should unite us.

We are divided by this so-called love.

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.

A taste of life:
green mangoes dipped in
vinegar and salt
None distilled moments
rising worries on top your head- a malt
You keep blaming yourself;
worried and pressed strain on cheeks
Squeezing in a sting of pain
as the first and long taste of something sweet

Pools of spit
flowing unrest in the society
of oppressed people
How not to speak in a place
that has you swallow a needle
The lethal poison of dying tastefully
******* bullets—oh what a steel
They robbed your opinion, with their
own stronger opinion over yours
It's always the problem of a bigger
world; you can never speak against a first
world country. Clench your jaws, and grab
a gun— we're about to fight their wars

The taste of blood
you taste out of a ****** nose
We're torn in our hearts, torn in
our clothes—killing the look of wearing
bullet holes
Gold digging in pockets by the mines
of minors—still a bunch of hoes
Growing up in the dark gardens made of
weeds. You've crowned yourself in shame,
but call yourself king and queen

The taste of failure in the world
the taste of expired goods in a first bite
An approach to running into conclusions,
delusions of subtle uneasiness, of seeing a
roach in a supermarket pie

It's like wanting to die, but not having the
means to afford a less painful suicide
So you keep pushing on in this distasteful
life —dying inside. It all tastes so vile!

Why won't my tongue go numb
to the displease of not tasting success
Failure feels like a chilli cough stuck
in your chest. Depends on how well
you can cope with being depressed

You'll acquire all the tastes you
like, but also know so well the tastes
so vile of life. All acquired tastes

Hey Mr Potter, it's your son Mr Artist.
Moulding structures of a liquids fill.
Your son moulds words into a tears spill.
From the clay of what story we've shaped of the day.
You and I are the same.

In the depth of the night
in the dead silent- thinking about suicide as a pass time
Wondering if I was a killer in my past life,
a passing life, passing interests in unfamiliar colours
In amongst the ideals of some men, not so ideal for others
close mindsets, but ideas all distant cousins
In an irony cliche— all the racism one could give
words seeming much darker on criticizing a dark skin

Throwing a scissors in the sea
cutting my blues, and slicing a sharp mind's eye
But I'm still a little blind in my doubts for a future to see
Fortunes match the brave; misery paved in the ways
of yesterday's mistakes. Not as concrete to proudly say
I belong to the streets
Simply cos of a veranda setting; I'm sort of in between,
in between crying in reality, and being lost in dreams
in between tucking hope, or untidy faithfulness of a loose belt
I smelt the wettness of her eyes, a shattered mirror of pain I felt
ice in her knees; she buckled sometimes in love
A girl who told me her story- un glory, the unholy of feeding
a desire, quicken by how many times the flesh will starve

A little boy in the corner forced to be a man
cornered by unrealistic rules to a hustle and sketchy plans
"I don't know what I'm doing," he says to those who don't
understand. "You're not a man if not blown by a woman's
gagging words, to say you've got a fan," so said the always
abused man

Cycle of events
the wheel of misfortunes, and a tired cliche
But who actually listens anyway- we all like to
pretend we're okay. Just moving on with our days,
mundane experiences; Monday blues everyday slowly
becoming serious. Series of events, another episode
in the seasonal depression, sleeping restless, in the
oppressiveness, and my saddened aggressiveness.

Feeling as less —don't you realize we're
all a little sad. Life that has made you feeble;
we're all sometimes this sad people
Sad people, sad people, sad people

I'm a thought riding in the
back of your mind.
It must be a taxi cab.
Left my impression on you like
a fading image. A tattoo on your hand.

First impressions, are the ones  
with the most weight.
It all becomes a series of steps upon that scale.
I just hope the first time wasn't a mistake.

skies are black—heavy;
a grey smile, fields of yesterday's tears
cries of drought and doubt of progression
not to mention we rely on nature for resources
but are unresourceful to treat our Mother back
in kind

she's dying, dying, dying
ice glaciers melting, forest trees drying
human nature is to show love, compassion and
respect to whom is their mother

show love, compassion and respect to whom is
your Mother earth

Self representation to make fake expression,
Built up together to make facade impression .

Surely is this what our world is built up to be.
We all many different compartments of this one body,  still failing in our functionality. Failure to live up to be.
Facade in the fact we are different faces dependent on each and every day.
And who really cares about the True me and Image. This is all we can say.

Hidden behind these fake ugly faces we hide behind thinking they're all so pretty.
Surely if every beings eyes were truly open, we would see our very lies and feel much pity.

But really it's pity for your own self,
Living in the lies of your own wealth.
Following the morals of a code that as has lost it's numbers.
Doubting ourselves, living each day as newcomers.
Treatment of others as a being of foreign brand,
Would I help you my dear brother. Not really, don't feel like lending you a helping hand.

Surely can we not change this facade and see the bigger picture.
Not labeled by the world's standards of who's poorer and richer.

"It's not much,
but it's the heart I gave to you with my love"

As the chandelier hanging in my chest,
is a decorative display of bravery
And I hope none of my fears swing on it,
making everything fall down to the ground

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.

Urgency, urgently
his lungs filled with surgery
Ashes of the past, dust till dawn
a cigarette of time burns memories on a tongue

Six pills on the bedside,
six day preparations to feel alive
—secretly wanting to die
He tied himself with his everyday necktie
that suffocating work tie; as he hates his life
he wants to die, but can only dye his hair
to decorate all his despair

The 645 alarm echoes the day's hardships
he's a mind full of everybody's problems
Always longing, and wondering if his
life became as a cult following;
Blowing consequences of a fan for insecurity
usually when you secure yourself in a tone of
crool; they'd love to give you cruelty

..I tell you,

this isn't a random man's story
it's of how life loves to bully me

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!

__

Mmmh… a new, swollen blister blooms upon my eye,
a testament to my silent suffering. My mind lingers in the shadows,
a flickering flame that refuses to extinguish, yet devoid of dreams.
Each tear I’ve shed is trapped within an ancient jar, sinking into
the depths of a vast ocean, yearning for the tide that might one
day carry them away.

Will my dreams rise again, soaring like a fleeting spark,
threatening to pierce my very soul—or perhaps the dreams
of those who dared not believe?

Mmmh… my heart beats in rhythm with the relentless
march of time; the ticking of clocks, their gears grinding slowly—
half-alive, biding their moment until the final hour strikes.
My imagination relentlessly pursues a dream, even as they
dissolve into the void of oblivion.

My chest has hollowed, teetering on the brink of collapse
under the weight of my self-imposed despair. For every bridge
I’ve traversed or set ablaze, I feel the presence of a solitary bridge,
echoing with loneliness. Yet, one might surrender hope—
if only…

It's morning,
I wake to a windy Sunday.
A cool temperature on a sunny day.
The Sun is out,
and I wake my eyes to arise to today.

My feet touch the cold floor,
a strike of chill tickles a nerve.
Mother tells me it's my turn to bath,
I take my time, washing every part.
Wishing I could wash my soul,
cleanse my heart.
Lord knows I'm a sinner,
aren't we all?
To all these sins, I'm no beginner,
aren't we all?

Took a walk to grab a lift to church,
my own car was down.
Can't afford to pay for it with my own worth.
Why, why, why,
do things seem to not go my way?
I try, try, try,
to keep a smile upon my face.

Riding in the back seat,
riding with all the potholes
Every dip the tyre finds,
is a tiny hole inside my soul.
Today I feel a little worthless,
God, tell me my purpose!
I yell to you in my heart,
tell me do you hear this.

I'm living on the surface,
living flat on this green Earth
Getting devoured by locusts,
or really just the serpents.
Lying in tall grass, where the dirt is.

Find my way to the church entrance,
open doors, like the Heavens.
I know there's worth there,
a whole lot of treasures.
But my chest burns in the pressure,
Living a life battling depression.
I started this fight without a weapon.

Found my seat,
amongst all others, those living
I know we all needing some forgiving,
often our hearts are shut while they're  preaching.

I got a headache now,
head a pounding drum, playing loud.
Try to block out every sound,
people greet me, don't notice them all around.

I wasn't out drinking,
so I'm probably over thinking.
About the previous week, out there sinning.
I should do better,
not as perfect, even as a Christian.
I'm just in this building listening out for wisdom.

How will this story end,
the ending hasn't come to came.
Find it's end, my own reverence,
at the end rid my shame.

The end of this Sunday tale,
to face weeks with some better strength.

Like the tip of a pen-
So be the tip of your tongue.
It's words either bring joy, love; encouragement; passion or wisdom;
Or
only becomes scribbles on paper that adds nothing of value to one's life.

What then does your pen speak of you?

This will start off as a less than serious write; but by its end,
it will come all right.

Bullet penetrating stares —observing everything just to leave the
world with another bullet hole. A tongue like a dagger slicing
through every word of speech; those in charge desperately trying to
keep control. You caught me off guard without my bulletproof vest-
my chest, covers over my heart with a ****** to protect my love.

I settled my debts in the rear of a fleeting romance – a partner I
needed to catch like a taxi on the street; though our paths rarely
matched – I had to read the steps to her heart as if it were a well
detailed and laid out map.

I walked by, bidding goodbye countless times – but I never truly
grasped this kind of love, I never had my hand in it; yet I played my
role by waving you hie. However, I must have misinterpreted what
you saw in me, mistaking it for a feeling that soared a bit too high.
Yet, it wouldn’t keep us grounded, we could be birds for the night;
unless you have a touch of fear when it comes to heights.

Just co-pilot for this flight – I’ll soar above your challenges, offering
guidance with my perspective’s oversight. Savour the flavour of love,
but don’t indulge too soon; you wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite
for the main course – save yourself an overbite. Misaligned; life may
start off a bit askew, but ultimately, we all seek that perfect match, to
find the right fit of being in love, with our Mr. or Mrs. Right.

In aforetime,

a beautiful day,
in the fall, where do tree leaves,
come alive in their spring,

all children out in the bent to play,
in a world of cunning-handed colours,
our toes well in the sun,
hanging off a tyre swing.

God painted us a dream,

the brush of eaves aloof,
as leaves blow in winds. Even after the rain,
we joyously rush out to play,
inside the assuage cracks of mud,

stained feet and a mother's complaints,
as was their display of love;
hearing them call brood to their bath.

God painted us a dream,

on the open wings,
spread open for us to feel free,
I can't help my remembrance of
such a wonderful day,

without a reason to hold onto money,
being okay in life's once okay.

The picture has now turned grey.

I'm looking for myself in an empty beer bottle. Why can't I see you.
Knock, knock,  do you exist at the bottom of this bitter drink. Do you.
I pour you out into this glass till you bubbled up the top,
More a less of a fizzing to be exact to the point and this strange Bar's plot.

Once in a time older than me, you used be the thing that killed the pain for just a short while,
Till the next morning came and that buzz was gone and I had to face another trial.
Hit the bottom of the bottle, spin it around. Truth or dare.
If the hangover was the being standing by the corner, 2 o'clock I'll meet you there.
Hands on the wheel to swerve on the speedy highway,
Try not to touch your quick death if you drinking too much like there's no other arrival of another day.

Drink it once, feels so nice.
Drink it twice, about to pay that costly price.
Third time I'm probably long too gone,
It was just a couple drinks with a few kicks. I never thought it do me more harm.

Knock, knock,  you still on this earth or we lost your mind to this empty bottle.
If you could hear your own voice, tell you it to put heavy foot on your brakes and not pump more gas in the drink.  That full throttle.

What little of you, bound by sacred oaths — we find two
spirits, familiar with the gales that lift us toward our
aspirations.

Do we not yearn for shared laughter, as the key for
equal peace?

This laughing note to our mutual harmony?

A melody of joy that ought to resonate, yet is drowned out
by the cacophony of man's war cries, throwing us off our
intended pitch.

Where have the noble minstrels gone, strumming a melody
to caress our beat souls—to exquisite listeners?

While the architects of unjust conflicts gaze down upon the
turmoil, their hearts untouched, as everything we cherish
slips away into the chasm.

I wish this sooner on my life, to have been taught
how to talk to girls...
how to deal with things out of my control...
how to be successful with the right morals...
how to put all my pain in all of my poems...
how to appreciate my highs amongst the lows...
how to make decisions with fact, and not a suppose
how to be tickled by the beauty of life, in between my toes...

I just wish someone taught me all of these things long before

I know death calls me so many times, like I owe it too many favours
But I won’t answer that call – until much, much later
And they might rush you to live your life; but child
Don’t you know Death waits for you, with great patience?

And all these girls on my feed with curves, all start to feel
So shapeless!
Love nowadays is so baseless – when you place your faith
On beauty; do you know that one day it will all betray you?

But when we drift, do our tears dry under the sun of
Our daydreams –
In place of all our streams; your teeth could still sink in my skin
But even those that had a bite of love; are still searching for their
Own piece.

I miss the sleep of our daydreams when we had the few times
To dream, and not going to look for love in sheets –
When love was paved on the streets; not these things
That belong to THE STREETS!
Where we could be dancing in the waves of the sea;
Surfing all of your best ideas, when kids dared to dream
Never too afraid to swim, when we had each other to pick
Us up, whenever we start to sink.
                                                when we were kids.

The recklessness of a fresh romance- I've discovered my heart,
yet my mind slips away at times. It’s drifting like whispers
in the air- to such feelings always so deep; a delve into
my heart's desires. But a mind wandering sporadically,
lost in this enigma of passion.

Head over heels for you- I’ve been swept off my feet,
without a grounding force of reason. These are the
auditions of an excitement that comes with nurturing
a budding relationship.

                          Exciting much?

From little handed, we shall seek increase,
Still with the multifold of riches we make,
Our heart's poverty shan't be at peace.

A, the solitary sentinel of the word alone –
A life that offers no change, even as I plead for a loan
A fractured rib from a heart weighed down, tell me what
bone can one pick against someone with a broken bone?

A day spent in the shadow of greener pastures, yet the rain
forgot to grace the grass a fugitive in the realm of love,
A criminal to the crime of love, steal a heart- still as one
adhering to the broken law.

A soul ensnared by the oppressive weight of their destitution – a
tempest of debts swirling in a perfect storm; lost in a cyclone
A, stands as the inaugural letter, forever the first to embrace
the chill of being alone.

Destined; your eyes are painted out as the map of life; as no night
convinces my tomorrow to look away from the destination you
inspire me to take- your love is a buried treasure, and my words
mark it with an X;- not as the many exes I once treasured in the
promise of a forever after [it was more of a pipe dream]

As it goes on, this art of falling in love; I’m only now getting
a grip of the bigger picture;- it’s larger and larger, swelling up
my eyes, to as always be blinded by love- the lovebug’s bite,
so smitten, but squished by childish designs; us as children
imagining our perfect kind of lives, when we used to play house
Packed away hopes in an imaginary bag; let a night open that
suitcase- to imagine ourselves living together until our ages
are much visible in our own hands

Those firm and beautiful kisses, get ruined over many soft decades;
as the trace of my fingertips, feels like cheap clay on your skin-
My warm regarded touch, fills your cheeks in chill of morning breeze
When you fail to see your reflection, once from the shyness of
your lashes eyes opening;- where you can only hear someone else’s
voice reading through the Song of Songs. Our time together, is all
destined to be gone- so let’s enjoy what we have now, for how
long it comes

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?

Teeth in a lace; tying up my smiles towards pleasurable faces –
I’m a bit tied for time, to be walking in someone else’s shoes.
While staring in the mirror, it feels like a person I had known
before. Waking up from a dream to the first breath after Sleep;
the cousin of Death

My tears have stained my bed, while I know all my resting fears –
and for the love you can afford, pay attention to a love mate you
meet; for we love spending more time buying into their dreams.
As I know the woman of my dreams isn’t the one I’ll find so
easily in all my sweetest dreams.

I stay awake most days, piecing together the most sensitive parts
of me – love me partly, but don’t invite me to love you more than
God – for Hell births the longest party, burning away all of those
lost souls.

As I assemble the fragments of my being; now whole—I embraced
solitude; in coupled fears. We coexist within the longing and craving
of love. We're so afraid of the possibility of never discovering it, yet
even more terrified of losing it all in a fleeting moment – we do long
to walk in other people’s shoes, of those who’ve figured how to tie
the knot; united in matrimony.

funeral tears
black curtains over eyes
darkness consumes the lonely night
under the lunar eclipse of a lunatic
the craze of loneliness, despair,
unpleasant dreams—fears of an uncalled
bloodline bleeding the pain of lost love
fixating eyes, on the sights to starve
flashing desires; and a blink of time
time is short, as are these words

...in all, I'll always be this tragic poem

I find myself so puzzled, in a web of my own emotions; pieces of
your skin pierces at my tears. Until those tears dry over, I remain
unchanged, still the same man – clutching at those pieces of you in
my hand. The haunting whispers of your voice blowing in my mind;
though I'm not a fan. But love can't be so coincidental, it has its cons
of density; a weighty significance— no matter, you still matter to me!
Still, when you spoke of making this love last, I pray you didn't say
it with lust.

And to fall in love is to tread softly; so let me down easy for the sake
of this soft heart. Even if I possessed the key to your heart, I would
still ask for your permission to let me in — to accept me as I am;
knowing we both sin. As your very breath, is inherited in a kiss
underneath my lungs; killing me slowly, a slow demise orchestrated
by the symphony of your love. Being the piece of oxygen trapped in
your glove —would you hold onto the memory of us, just for a little
long?

Circling my devotion around your name like a wedding ring; ruling
over my thoughts, my mind has crowned you Queen. And on this
battlefield of love; I'm fighting just to prove my love – processing
my words like processed foods; desperately hoping to nourish your
soul with every word.

It seems as though I've known you before; where in these past lives
we had lived — it feels like I've grown out of my old ways; and it
feels like you were that very seed. And if I'm to settle down, I need to
settle my old regrets. And if I'm to write out all of my wrongs, give
me some time to repent. And perhaps we'll be perfect lovers, if we
learn to love each other like friends. Yet, despite our efforts to be so
perfect for each other; we'll still remain imperfect in the end.

                                                           ­                       Beautifully flawed.

Do you look where you Fall
When you fall in Love –
To miss someone is Such a shame
A bold claim; by the Extensions of
Words showing their action – what is
The extent of Love?

The obsession of a lover is a Disease
Love sickness, Smitten cheeks, knees in
The weak, but by the End of a week, my
Taste for love, has become me Devouring
Your image.

To that extent, my Love is just
Passions of the flesh; flesh falls short to Death
Words fall short to Language barriers –
Body language has Shaky bones
        But still, we all seem to fall.

Leaving texts on unread,
the mistake of replying in your head,
those silly little comments I tend to ignore,
Wasting myself; with my eyes on the phone.

'Why don't you come out tonight,'
they'll ask you when you're broke.
I scrapped a couple dollars last month,
just to find myself drinking all alone at home.

The inner introvert in me.

Thinks it's a waste,
to drink all night with shots to the face.

The outer extrovert in me.

Wouldn't want to seem antisocial,
but would probably order a coke though.

Just to dilute as a heavy chaser,
chasing the nights; while racing away
from yesterday's problems.
We've all got them?

Right?

Or is it just me; sitting on the floor in my
room at night,
Questioning things about life.
Trying to keep focus in the chaos,
telling myself, 'humbleness is being quiet.'

I'm really shy.

To anything knew,
I instinctively know I won't like,
balancing the worries of life,
With the constant reminders of finding myself
a wife.

I'm not that old.

Only to those who point it out,
who've done more at my age,
'I was a year away from marriage,'
           someone once said.

'Well good for them,' you've learnt
your difference; but still expect our lives
to be the same.

But I guess for this night,
I'm the introvert doing in my head,
up late; writing poems on my bed,
Hoping one of them becomes a trend.

But just for tonight,
I'm battling the thoughts in my head.

Again!

this isn’t the best place to rest my thoughts –
but I’ve always loved chasing my dreams;
a part of me got addicted to sleeping pills
still, I might be a bird, soaring to newer heights,
but I flew too close to the sun – I almost died

tell me the story of an albino crow; if it
dies, will it go into the light, pale as it’s skin

but I don't see where I’m going; I'm just hoping
that I’m not alone – trying to seal up my heart
in place, though my eyes have seen a sea of tears;
both so black as seals

tell me, who sees any brighter day,
when you’re so afraid of the sun?

Could be our last to touch,
at the speed of love
I don't plan myself to rush.
The only one to beat,
the sound of ear to your heart.

Could be our last to love,
it won't be enough.
Kiss me straight after we hug,
the feeling drains whenever you're gone.

Love often can ****.

If I could write out my pain,
it would be in loud words.
A sad song of anthem,
a Verse and a Poetic Prose.

Shattered shields; these many lowered defences;
Over the plains of a threshold over my doom
In person I’m broken down, in spirit I am laughing,
Speaking, singing; losing most of the space in time,
And the pieces of my body and mind; tasting the
Spectacular taste of defeat, in a sepulchre of a void

To my past, I am a ghost haunting it in memories –
Screaming at my younger self; but no sound is heard
Holding onto old flames of love; there lies my handful
Eating at my skin, ripping and tearing, until ash is my hold

I was born from mud, in this world made of dust –
The tears of heaven wet my dry skin into being;
The heat of the sun gave the warmth of love, and lust
Here, under this moss I placed my thumb to crush my flower
I was born a love poem with no real idea on how to love,
So, I sit quietly and wait, waiting for another loss in love
To have been in love, to find love again, is to understand
Your heart’s love; maybe there’s too much love in it
To fully understand it all at once; all too strong to hold!

Wayfare angel,
Yonder the North Star shining beyond
A divine herald sent from the heavens above.

Oh, this night, a wondrous night unfolds,
A child is born from a pure and holy womb,
In a humble manger, the Saviour lies,
To all ye shepherds and wise men gathered here,
Follow this radiant star, and behold the light of the world.

Arise, ye who dwell in the realm of the living,
Come forth to witness this miraculous dawn,
For a child is born, the Christ,
The Lord of lords; oh, sweet infant,
Your birth and sacrifice hold profound meaning for our world.
Let us worship Him who has come to save us—
Christ, the Lord of lords.

****** to True love.
My understanding of it isn't the highest of most from above.

But I know a bit. Just say it were enough.
With the baby steps I'm taking wishing to pass the crawling phases for the ground feels TOO ruff.

This is my first time, I'm just so scared of the pain to come.
Scared of falling too deep that I can't get back up to add it up all by a sum.

Commitment and loyalty is all I ask for,
When we bound TOGETHER by the flex and ring.
Bleeding our very love through my pores.

Just scared when that will come to be.
Could it be too soon or late. When the days of I have become of days of WE.

I'm just the ****** to true Love.

_

My skins are woven in verses; this lyrical matter
I may not blend in everywhere; but it doesn’t matter
Don’t anticipate a fragrance of always being blessed,
I’m not exactly a gift from the skies, or a heaven sent.
  
Even if I’m used, don’t brand me as useless,
just use me less. And if I appear distant from love,
don’t label me heartless, I’m just choosing to use
my heart less…

Constructing barriers along the streets of life
even though I doubt foundations as concrete,
Coming in to complete a sheet of my worth -
still finding the chords; I seem so incomplete.

What are my labels:
lost, confused, hopeless, & odd
But correctly said, "these labels aren't all
I'll be - still I be, yond a star, a beauty nestled
within the clouds, to know I must always look,

Beyond!

Standing as objects in the mirror – do you still objectify the lessons
of your past, reflected in the rear-view? Words are unnecessary now;
your scars have been reopened – haunting illusions.

Resurrected from the place where you once buried your dreams –
down to earth, yes, yet stripped bare by the relentless erosion of
existence. We rise to the thunderous stillness, questioning our very existence, yet finding no answers in man—responding to the chaos
around us, colliding like two wayward planets in this small world.
One day, we shall encounter familiar strangers, yet it will feel
peculiar to label any of them as friends.

In certain moments, I feel as though I am crossing myself out beneath
the weight of the cross, feeling an emptiness within— "survivor's
guilt"?

No… that guilt placed upon me has been paid already, not by my own
cost – yet for the cost of something more profound. And I willingly
surrender myself to a purpose that transcended death, then to endure
a life filled with trivialities, only to feel nothing until the very end.

                         That profound purpose is… my faith.

We appear to love as captives, shackled by the relentless whispers
of our hearts. The places we seek solace may very well be our final
resting spots; our beds could transform into our tombs. We exist
only as long as He allows, wrapped in blessings and gifts, while
you continue to frolic in this world, surrendering yourself to
become its plaything.

And still, you laugh—gasping for air, straying down a treacherous
path, while within, you weep silently; suffocating as you struggle
for breath… a twisted obsession of despaired wet dreams.

Tell me, in our yearning for mercy, why does it elude us –
for the mercy we long for, why doesn’t our own exist?

To worship life, sadly means  learning how to laugh at your
worth. You present yourself as a lump of sugar, yet your
thoughts are like a lump of coal, consuming you as you stare
into the glow of your phone…

                                        Ah, I pen these lines for my own reflection.

Play with the words,
a game of lips and speech.
Given it's direct,
it could be a movie scene.
But given it's more of an act,
I'll just play into it,
Roll under it carelessly rather than to overact.

I'm just bored with my words
aboard that ship,
Thinking me being extra firm
keeps me crisp.
But maybe I'm too much of an air head
as I lay on my time eating a potato chip.
Though if I jumped out of my ship,
I could go for a little dip.

But I guess when you swim too long,
you're soon to sink.
Swimming too long becomes a drain,
Like when I fall over myself,
when I take life as a trip.
But I do wonder if I'm
heading in the right direction.
But excuse for me changing the very topic,
I just hope to drift from it, always on floatation.

Still I'm thinking way too unstable
while trying to have a little fun.
But pardon my horseplay, my mind
isn't to stable.
But I'll just go figure the destination,
pay for that cargo of my thoughts by a waybill.

"You lack a vision for your life,"
"You are drowning in your own ambitions,"
"Do you genuinely believe you will succeed?"
"I cannot see you going that far in this journey,"

"Is this truly your purpose?"

Careful of your words, for I may cast you
As an antagonist in one of my countless stories,
Being a narrative, the WHOLE world shall see –
For I am a Writer!