Our dreams should inspire us to do better.

Loaded gun; with the glares of girls shooting
their shot. X marks the spot of where she aimed for
my heart.

It hurts to love, it hurt me plenty in the fall,
I was in the air; floating, waiting for what they say
it means to be in love.

Slowtown, right around the corner of the rush
of my feelings. A crush is a rock you carry on the strength
of wishful thinking, and desire.

Overcrowded in the room of sickly ones,
wickedly sickened by a love sickness. Love sticks to the air,
Untamed by the consequences it must carry.

Yet you only see what you what, but still a love
sick fool is the reason for it being so blind.

Do you still as a youth glance at a potential lover,
or does maturity see a future?

Dancing in their shadows
The past, the future are both dark mirages
As the present is the light of day;
You see clearly and enjoy that moment
Our pasts are forgotten, the futures unknown,
All we have is now, all we have is just a moment

                                       ...More or less

Anchored down by love. As my heart may drown.
My heart a vessel, best to be careful now.
Been on this ship before, of another failed relationship.

| 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

Must I tell you, I’ve got a Bag for a mind –
Just to unpack all of my Thoughts: thinking Back
On old plans I had for Myself, I had My thinking
Cap in Reverse

I swallowed a whole lot of Colours to fill
My imagination's belly, from dreaming in Black
And white – now I have a Picture full
By this laughing Spread, I can’t help and smile
While looking at the Ugly things that are
Secretly Beautiful

All my tears are navy Blue; depression in a
Collapsing sea – depending on your own Impression,
What you witness in glee, isn’t what the other will see

A Simpleton must annoy the Complex thinker,
But what if the Easier option for them, makes life
Simple then,

                                                  Is life that simple?

Beneath the weight of the moon, won't we
resemble all these shattered constellations

And finding a good place to feel sad; is my
reflection melting out of your eyes– a scene
of when tears cascade down your cheeks,
when I always seem so far away

As the echoes of all bygone aspirations fade
into the hue of cosmic dust; my voice fails in
calling out your name – as every fallen star
falls out of its spark, betrayed by the dark

In Time, and Again… is where we rediscover
the essence of falling in love again.

hiding behind the tears in your eyes,
crying while you sleep; ten thousand
wet dreams

swimming pools for eyes,
drowning in those regrets. baptized by time
catching up on your love for cigarettes

chimneys for lungs, and a smoker's paradise
where all wear black atire
always wanting to con science of your conscience,—
never too concise, to tell the next person
of next person you like

and waiting so patiently for someone
to make you their wife
all with the pretend make-up to make up for your
appearance that makes them think twice

                  "I hope you find true love this second time"

You are the blossom flourishing within the confines of my heart's
garden – my unwavering anchor amidst the tempest of turmoil;
a guiding light that directs my gaze toward the distant end of this
dark passage.

I am but a letter resting at your final resting place, bearing secrets
that will guide you to paradise – I murmur your name with every
tear that falls for you in the place of my dreams; in the whispers
of the wind, the gentle caress of rain, and even in the desolation
of the moments we are separated.

Beloved, you are my heart's desire.

In the realm of my chamber, where the walls stand tall and proud, a crack resides, a testament to the passage of time. Each morn I awaken to its presence, my gaze instinctively drawn to its jagged lines, as if it holds a secret waiting to be unraveled. Curiosity blooms in my chest, like an ephemeral flower, its petals seeking to understand the start and end of this enigmatic fracture. Yet, despite my relentless pondering, its origin remains shrouded in ambiguity, evading the grasp of my eager mind.

Venturing beyond the boundaries of my chamber, I traverse the intricate labyrinth of rooms that exist in this grand tapestry of my abode. And lo and behold, that very crack that has captivated my attention seems to follow me, lurking in the hidden corners and unassuming intersections. Its presence, though subtle, is undeniable, an unspoken confidant whispering ancient stories and untold secrets. Returning to the sanctuary of my own haven, I find the crack more defined than ever, etched into the walls like a mark of permanence. Unyielding, unchanging, it stands as a constant reminder of its presence within the depths of my consciousness.

Oh, how I've longed to mend it, to bridge the gaping divide and restore harmony to the once-seamless surface. I've tirelessly searched for the perfect mortar and the right tools, but alas, it persists, taunting me like a mischievous specter, forever out of reach. This crack, with its resilient nature, seems to possess a life of its own, defying all attempts at erasure. It has become a fixture of my sight, a permanent resident in my waking hours and a steadfast companion throughout the moments between dusk and dawn.

But, dear listener, let me share with you a truth that lies dormant within the depths of my soul, hidden beneath the dusty layers of reality. This crack, you see, is not what it appears to be. It exists not in the physical walls that surround me, but within the intangible realm of dreams. It is a fracture of thoughts, a crevice in my mind that transcends the confines of the tangible world. This crack, oh, how much it speaks of the human experience, the complexities and contradictions that shape our very essence. It is the crack that embodies the intangibility of our emotions, the fractures that define our individual journeys.

So, as I gaze upon this crack, ever-present and unwavering, I find solace in its inexplicable existence.

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.

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.

Our fresh starts are merely ancient tales played out in new
roles… Drop me off at the edge of time— with the subtle
notes to the steps of love; alas, it's only a footnote. Bearing
heavy thoughts as the wearer of this crown— wear me
down; preoccupied with the relentless question of,
'where do we stand now?'

Torn in two; we are the wounds that stitched us together,
only to fall in love. I'm still scarred, only this time I chose to
bring it all on myself. Sympathized symphonies— where
all these falling tears don't fall from your eyes, but from
the heavens crying out at night.

Though time grows wise the longer it runs; why do I persist
on chasing time, as if there exists a finish line... In hopes that
loving you would grant me wisdom on how to love you better;
spending more time in this chase - or how the story goes.

The boy who chases after a wife, often neglects to transform
the title to HIS wife. Fresh starts that are merely ancient tales
played out in new roles. But who really owns up to their role
at all?

Shadows of formless flames –
silhouettes piercing my vision, through their gaze
of a relentless light. A horn of fire in my hand, I feel the
gusts of smoke-laden, blowing away my once air
filled lungs.

Tender lips brush against my heart,
awakening the remnants of darkness and chill; my spirit
resembles a mere lump of coal. I am the embodiment of love,
inspired by someone else’s dream. I toss a handful of coins
into life's faulty machine—yet another excuse to invest in
faulty dreams.

Battles yield no victors, when wars try to be won
by other wars; love cannot nourish itself if both souls
stand with open arms; one must yield; to surrender —
for even in doing nothing, lies a semblance of peace.

Individual actions act as a lifeline for those around us—
who never know how to love. The flames have scorched
my flesh, leaving blisters, woven into pain— nurse me
with the balm of patience, as every old man confronts
the inevitability of death. The question that haunts us all
is,

when?

In a previous dream
—envious of the confident figure
with the confidence I never had
The wise words of a stranger, that I
never got enough of from my dad
As if could be; we could be free in
all of our lost dreams

Angels with temporary wings
temporary importance
temporary imagination
temporary temperance
all only so temporary
—in these depressing dreams

Trees wither, as like the branches of your hair
Blonde moments of all the blonde jokes we used to share

                       Oh how I miss loving you so freely,
                       as the wind blowing in your hair

With love, we are made from love
To love,— we are once loved
Give love to receive love, be love to see love
And speak love to taste love

We are all love...

There's a story in my head, of a guy I'd like to call Joey. I don't know Joey that much, he's always been like a stranger. A stranger who happened to ask me to loan him a dollar. And somehow that meant we were now best friends,—and like all best friends, they start to invite you into every part of their life.

He invited me to his rehab sessions, those talks about his drug abuse. He invited me to his birthday party, a party of so few people. He invited me to get his haircut, which he desperately needed. He invited me to his first job interview, seeking moral support and encouragement.

As I reflected on everything that had transpired, I couldn't help but think, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He invited me to his celebration of working for a full year, knowing that he had struggled to maintain employment in the past. He invited me on his church searching journey, never pausing to inquire about my own beliefs or religious inclinations. He invited me to accompany him on his first date, although all I did was drop him off at the restaurant.

And still, I couldn't help but ponder, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He extended an invitation for me to join him in celebrating his first promotion after two years of hard work. He invited me to accompany him on his first business trip, assuming I would readily accept the idea of traveling with someone I barely knew. He even invited me to the hospital to bid farewell to his dying mother, whose battle with cancer had taken its toll. And of course, I was invited to attend her funeral, where I silently promised myself to remain strong and composed.

Amidst it all, I found myself repeating, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

He invited me over to share in his sorrow following the devastating break-up with the woman he loved, even though I couldn't fully empathize with his pain. He invited me back to his rehab sessions, sadly revealing that he had relapsed. He invited me to the hospital when a doctor called to inform me that he had attempted to take his own life. Upon his discharge, he invited me to his home, where I watched and supported him throughout his journey of recovery. And when he lost his job, he invited me out for drinks, though I wound up footing the bill.

Inevitably, I couldn't help but contemplate, "all of this because I loaned him a dollar."

Ultimately, he invited me to what would be his final event—his funeral. The demons that haunted him had ultimately taken hold, or so I was told. And there I stood, delivering his eulogy, my words resonating with genuine emotion and heartfelt sentiment.

I spoke of how I had unexpectedly become intertwined in this man's life—a relationship that began with two strangers. I recounted how I had been there for him in virtually every significant moment and milestone. And as a single tear escaped my eye, the overarching sentiment was clear: "I became a part of this stranger's life, all because I loaned him a dollar."

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.

Falling angels as a constant of falling rains

a hole in the sky, a chasm in my brain

anxiety, and delusional ways

waiting, waiting in an empty room's calling

whispers of darkness in the lightness of unrighteous

wickedly ill, sickening thoughts vomiting onto ink

it hurts to think, so the others go and think for me

I have DID-oh really; who then is in control

One holds the steering; is leading and sometimes brave

another's eyes on the road; positive and always looking forward

the other stares out of the window, prefers to be left alone

she otherwise sits in the centre keeping the peace, and loving

the other is the corny **** with jokes of cheese, not so serious

I've locked the beast in the truck- can't let that darkness out

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.

Fallen winds are scheming, as the biting cold was teething –
and in season, you could never forget the warmth of love,
when you’ve had that first feeling. But as your eyes start
to look like home, they gave me a welcome by the mat
at your door – where every kiss you, felt sunk deep
into your pores.

The result of a heart, is keeping score of how many times
it broke apart – criminals do fall in love, as they were
the ones who stole your heart. Warm in their innocence
as they court you with a smile; but when that love faces
a trial, don’t we start to judge our place in this love?

Your lips in their warmish water, now boils the joy out
of my smile – I’m a bit steamed when you bring your ex
around.

But I must have loved you as a vowel; even when
you became my X, I still love the pieces of U. And I
sometimes think about you more than I should; for
when we still love someone who doesn’t love you
back, don't we wonder sometimes Y?

I would die,
dinning on you
Running up the stairs to a reach,
as even after death- I'll still hold onto you

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.

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.

Social hang off
—hanging picture, capture
a moment forgot by morning's morrow
and the hopes of more time we'd hope
to borrow. A head hollow, is it not the
truth so hard to swallow, so is pride
an empty space inside, a pretty shadow's
smile

Surely you've searched yourself enough
to know the true self you need to find!

Tragedy never seems to run out;
a cat runs through traffic —
and unfortunately,
    it finally
        ran out of lives.

All that should be on your mind,
SHOULD BE ME!
But I'm really just kidding.
Really when you think of me,
you should feel FREE!

FREE to be who you are,
FREE to be as you were meant to be.
FREE to speak your mind,
darling let me hear what you think.
FREE to be loved fully,
my lover, to be freely loved by all of me.

The end of tongue ~
          a tip of wisdom
The end of pen ~
          a piece of which written
The end of middle ~
          a finger sign curse
The end of lips ~
          a favourable kiss lost for words
The end of time ~  
          a first breath of life, a first too death
The end of love ~
          a person seen object, feelings lost depth
The end of oceans ~
          a wave hello of new tides
The end of day ~
          a moment anew arises

      The end isn't always the end
          but just the beginning of another

What is a love turned into ashes –
Burnt by the flames of forgotten passions
Actions are so passive;
Our stories still left written out
In captions

My feelings for you are still massive,
Despite being inactive –
So when my lips spell out your name,
I start to fall in love, tasting that old
Bittersweet magic

And it’s truly so wicked, tragic
By feeling so fickle now –
But I happily accept all
That happened…

Airing out ***** laundry,
is in turn, walking on a thin line —  

The very line where those garments dangle;
but let a gentle breeze stir up, and suddenly,
That foul scent rushes back to you, and starts
to assault your nose,

Catching you off guard, and before
you know it!

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

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.

Moments of love feel almost medical—
but my patience for it is cold, clinical.
I never meant to overdose, just chasing
comfort in a heavy dose of someone new,
to help me cope.

I try to build a house from broken pieces—
too many to count. I am the empty echo
of a heart still full, but far too loud
to be heard.

Echo...
  Echoes
     fall between the silence of our words,
two awkward breaths apart—trying
to keep it innocent, just as friends,
while our primal skins just want to skip
to the part of just having ***.

It’s the risk of falling in love—
that makes us stumble near the edge.
It’s beautiful. It’s ******* stupid.
It hurts. It’s love.
Whether it finds you first, as the one
you need— or shows up last, as the one
you never really wanted.

if I swallowed a piece of fire to light up these lungs, and spoke life
into another’s life with the fire in these words; how wonderful would
that be? even now as I am – the echo of bones waiting to grow old;
feeling like the silence of an empty channel in a car radio – my heart
is often static when it rubs against another; in these electrifying
feelings of love

and much like a tyre running a track – sometimes I need to find a
place to rest, to try and reinflate myself. my lips have become a
clutch, of knowing when to shift conversations when they start to feel
a bit too awkward for me. and my means of a first impression, is one
to impress well enough for them to say, “that’s a man who I deserve,”
yet ironically, I can sing how beautiful I am, feeling so ugly inside –
and hoping I never lose myself to myself

still, look at me, I am unique – such words I must speak for a piece of
peace; knowing that I’m sometimes torn, yet I wear the attire of my
heart. being distant in the humming silence, praying for a mindful
heart, to remember what’s it beating for. for even in the less of myself,
I was created, to be more.

Running up the time; while running away
from all my crazy thoughts.
How much time would it take to get to heaven,
climbing up a clock tower? A lot!

And if I fall,
do I hit the ground, or will I soar?

As I swore not to waste anymore time,
but I broke that promise; wasting more time in
the above line. But fine!

I guess I'll be like time:
not a lot in the best moments.
Rushing myself with all of the time in the world;
but never to hold it. Or own it!

A thousand clock towers;
still feels like I never have enough time.

Crowd noise — silent tones said under my breath, as my faith’s
HP is beeping so loud, that I’ve learned to ignore it. I’m semi-
crawled, half-walking toward a maze of unknowns, given just
enough truth to fold and tuck inside the mind.

But I guess it’s the advice to mind your step… especially when
overstepping your reach, as the hand that lives in poverty often
feels cut short — and life itself is even shorter. You exercise
your right to live, but the final test is only passed at your passing.
And right now, I’m growing into my own powers, but even I can
get overpowered by my pride — refracted slightly; border-jumping
into lives I was never really invited into. An alien, indeed.

See me hovering like a UFO above heads that don’t know me, but
still see me appear in their atmosphere. And I don’t fully enjoy this
alienation… and sometimes I wish I could just land and be human —
and to actually feel grounded on this Earth, so that the atmosphere
of my prayers don’t feel so tight. As the atmosphere of a prayer feels tighter when the pain of your struggles, wraps its hands around
your ribs — a tightened breath, and even tighter belief.

When it gets so hard to say thanks when you’re hurting, harder
to say Amen when you're unsure if the line still connects. As the
mind feels so crowded — a room full of voices, echoing opinions,
guilt, hope, and noise. And sometimes I wonder if the silence in
between prayers, becomes the answer to help me feel better with
it all.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Took a bite out of you, and I chipped my tooth –
haven't seen the place of your heart; it feels a bit loose
Hung my fears of losing you, what words to say;
they’re stuck by my neck – you had me in a noose.

I’m just a cigarette burning at your lips when we kiss;
and I grew five months’ pregnant in my ears – when
you first said you love me; it sounded like great news…

Push my buttons – feels so long that my heart has spoken
to you; all the ocean's tears in my eyes; I hope you don’t
cry when you see me so blue?  

I’m so sorry…

it’s my own fault,
this is something I’m not so accustomed to, but I hope
you’ll always know – I still regret not telling you,
“darling I love you too”

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

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