My soul feels too short for love –
but there’s a tall glass of it, I’m hoping
fills the thirst of my heart’s empty cup
But if there’s a map to someone’s thoughts
…here I am, navigating!

While the hills of their eyes are always
these dreams like mountaintops
Though rising to your peak is so scary –
where the bottom always looks you up,
And I know we’re all still searching for those
pieces of ourselves.

Even when sometimes there’s a mix of
doubt in my cup – it’s so hard to doubt the
fact that you sometimes really love to doubt
yourself… most days I have to empty myself,
to refill up on worth in this cup.

It’s funny how I let you carry all my baggage – give it a few pennies
for thought; that’s your allowance to call me a scumbag.

And I might just sip fine wine, with tears pouring, while she makes
a fine whine – but I don’t know which one she wears the best, when
our smiles start to feel stretched out, as a ***** line.

But I should fill my heart, even when I don’t feel love at all; and does
gravity welcome us with open arms, when we start to fall in love –
who will catch us when we fall? And I don’t guarantee as much, the
guarantee of brakes, to stop someone from having another broken
heart.

Yet there’s falling in love, and falling apart – to having an encounter
with love; while making a count of all the times you though it was
true love.

There’s an account to the heart; the interest of heart, the sum of love –
how would you count yourself to be loved, if you only love to count
yourself out? Make your love count!

—He builds the house
  She makes it home
   And both make it
    Home sweet home

Drifting away up in space, I'm far too gone,
Shotgun riding as the pilot in my rocket ship carrying me Along.

Or maybe I would prefer to ride the waters of the ocean,
Drift here, drift there, trying to capture every motion.

Sun kisser, Star gazer and moon keeper,
But sometimes a lonely tree in an open forest and night time seeker .
But you can hear me drifting in empty silence and noisy backgrounds,
Pleasing myself in a forest of lost dreams and teasing in empty sounds.
Drift a little more, couple seconds more,
Grab a couple snacks for the long trip from an empty dollar store .


Take a vacation in a town of nowhere,
Drift up and down, till I'm close to getting there.

Maye we could both meet each other at that place,
Rather find it as a strangers case,
But I'm not rushing the feeling, not really in a race.
So time can surely tell,
Am I drifting once again, don't know yet, but I'll just say to you, O'Well.

My world is one where shapes collide — I act as a square that
seeks solace, but it’s forced to abide, through life's tight rings, it
strains to pass. Yearning for freedom, a lonely chance to amass.
A longing to think beyond the lines it knows, for a simple shift
—the means to a spirit, that it actually grows.  

As the nights call me softly, while days linger long, in the midst
of their familiar chaos, I must muster my song. While the burden
of now presses heavy and tight; slumber escapes me, lost away
in the night.

I wade through the shadows, each moment isn’t always a gem,
in this fragile ballet, still I cherish them – boxed in my heart; in
this life of a square.

Show up after work;
with your lips still a ******-
  to my morning kiss.
Walking around the house naked,
  until on the bed,
and clutching your fists.
I never knew the taste of water;
only of your inner's taste
    stuck on my lips.

Run the bath water;
and those sweet bubbles I love.
The sensitive first lick;
    before the bite-
  might cause you to bark.
Tracing with your finger's previous
  territories; your nails once marked.
Not racing myself into you,
  but there's still the thrill of a rush.

Like sweet honey-
dripping down the comb,
that first drop on my tongue;
twists my insides like a door ****.

The taste of you...when you ***,
as I, go down town.

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 it is so
as the young—explore, create, mistakes
To those regards we learn in turn
early on, to carry with us for long

Daily old friend
like the newspaper prints,
We're making headlines
the stories of a previous generation
Imaginative,
each piece of us, a verse
Fact,
all that is cons and a Prose.

Inventive,
of design per our discovery
We've found to channel
the very skills birthed in us
To now control
those far hidden skills living remotely.

But that's if you're willing
to tell a vision.

Aspired,
to reach the many highs
Inspired,
by our heroes who've made it to their peak.
Hopefully we won't fall,
in season itself
But if we do, from our fall
let's grow again.
Find that step, and sprout out in the spring.

True heros story,  
knows many trials and tribulations
Legendary heros,
face legendary oppositions
Never a joyous read
in every chapter,  
But worth every page turn,
till you reach the conclusion.

The market crashed in my eyes – I can't afford buying a love that’s
blind. But maybe I’m a fool; and do fools in love, eventually wise
up without having to break apart? A mirage on my lips, making it an
illusion when I sometimes express how I really feel. Love’s decisions
so deep in your eyes; can be varying, but also along the lines of being
beautifully deceiving.

While waiting patiently under the moss; lacking the true roots to dig
deeper for the nourishment of love – oversaturated; growing in damp
habitats, and still trying to pretend being grass. To pretend love…
is it not a sin?

Some look for comfort in skin, other’s skin is the momentary comfort
to a nightly lover. When you hide yourself under their covers, do you
not know that we still see the shape of your shame – two bodies that
shake when they're in trouble.

I pray as a witness, that those who are in love, fully bare the weight
of love – the good, the bad, and hidden ugly. But more importantly,
that they bare the weight together; looking out for each other.

At sake; we are lost and distant from home
In after the smoke, the rising ash of turmoil
Who really wins on both sides of the war
Only the dead live to see victory
Victim to bloodshed—they no longer see it's misery
But leave their loved ones in misery

To watchmen; on luxurious high wall
Must they see of evils, but ignore them all
Who really wins on both sides of the war
A ruler to deem an enemy
But as of their people—forced to call neighbour enemy

There's a life of a show, not on the road
where you always know where to go
Crying rivers in your eyes, but you still
have to catch another day, of life's chaotic flow
Told to act right, but you don't know your role,
trying to fit in everyone's shoes; that stained yourself
and scuffed up your soul

Driven into destiny's twine, you try and try,
caught in the ties of a victorious lie
A glorious ugly sight, pinned into you mind,
as you stuck needles in your eyes
As I've seen a buttoning of a sea; fasten into a chest
and drifting away, as you took that dive- trying to survive

And in the night; the stars called me softly,
under a yellow moon, in my highs of emotions all so lofty
In a perfect silence I hear so loudly; choking in the mornings
rushing to me, as when you first drink is bitter cup of coffee
In the shadows of my alarm in these lucid dreams,
the ghosts of those incomplete stories, start to haunt me

Always so antsy; I just keep on searching for answers,
chasing circles inside a box, and counting on my chances
With all of my advances, I'll still slave away my time to
what I always must do- but never to call these despairs
my masters

I appreciate you for
your consistency
As you play a record
spinning in my head
Rewinding the memories I hate,
a constant repeat, and repeat...
A reminder of: so many poems
I wrote for girls

I honestly hate them all
wishing I could scrap them all
from scrapping together the courage
to write them all
To agree so well with disagreements
all those inner feelings
You seem to be more or less,
but I'm really molested by you
Touched by this heart-wrenching feeling
disgusted by it's hand
Discussing to myself as the comfort of
my own voice as an only friend

We are perfect foes you and I
novocaine; are we never again to
share such an unfeeling pain?

In a house of my brain
quieting whispers of wind
So loud to hear in it's open space;
might be paranoid, filling holes
to be whole in the voids

Some days I learn to avoid you
as you're a poverty of my personality
And it's so rich to know I can't
afford you

So at any given chance,
I try to ignore you

Could we, still taste the stains of tears on a collared shirt
–whereas you cried, while being embraced in their arms?
To every new lover, every smile is just a spark we both
seem so hopeful will last us long; never to burn out.

Still there isn’t a crash course to love – for when it comes
to falling in love; it feels so heavenly as if Heaven has
made your angel, that stole the last breath in your heart.

But what happens when they don’t smile as they did
before – when ten thousand sparks, is just pieces of dust?
It's the answer of whether it’s a lasting love, in what seems
to be a lasting time, of not feeling those sparks…

We’ve all known the feeling of too many passing loves.

Tending to the soft, hushed whispers of the night,
I find myself drawn to you, longing to see
the reflection of your loveliness in my eyes.
It's as if you have descended straight from the
heavenly corners above, your presence captivating
me and causing my heart to race.
Just as quickly as angels fall from the sky,
we are all falling deeply in love.

The words of strangers often get lodged between our teeth,
their shallow secrets adding a touch of intrigue
to the synchronized movement of our lips.
I am reminded of the moon casting its ethereal
dance upon the clear surface of the sea, creating
a serene and enchanting landscape.
As night falls, a blanket of desires covers everything
that once was, leaving only a sense of a longing be.

Yet, despite this overwhelming love,
I find myself unable to find the space to express
your name with the depth it deserves.
It's as if any attempt to do so merely adds to the
trenches and pits – the abandoned hopes and dreams –
of those who came before me.
Your gaze, burning with intensity, consumes
us like a ferocious firestorm.
I can't help but feel a sense of jealousy towards
even the bathroom mirror, as it alone gets to witness
the intimacy of ******* you.

Poems and hymns become a whispered language that
lingers upon your ear, reminiscent of a cat's rough lick,
eager for a taste of your tears.
It's a language that speaks to my desire to
understand what it truly means to be in love.

And yet, I'm left with only reminders of what
could have been, searching for answers within
the confines of that picture.
Perhaps, if I were to expand the frame to encompass
the potential of our future family, then maybe, just maybe,
it would be enough to paint our own reality.

Darling, if only you could spell out the words correctly,
I could dive into the depths of your mind and
unravel the thoughts that occupy your every waking moment.
But alas, I remain in the position of not fully
comprehending what it truly means to be in love.
A plea escapes my lips, as I humbly ask for your guidance –
please teach me the intricacies of love,
so that I may fully grasp its essence.

And in a dream;
I was just its distant memory
Far from the things I knew,
I had opened my eyes to see'
It wasn't a dream- I was just clueless
To my own reality, and lost in my own mind

.... Oh it was such a splendid daydream

Please,

don’t start to believe having a large circle of friends
is the closest thing to having a halo – not everyone
in your life is a holy person. But they love to dig up
something worthwhile out of you; leaving you only
as a holey person.

I like what I see, but if I approach you
please don't cause a scene,
I might not fair well if your glare is too mean,
so please be polite if you know what I mean

Let me start off by saying,
"I've got something in my pants to unlock
a bit of excitement, and drive you insane"
Just give me a second, because I'm a bit tipsy and I've
lost my car keys inside of my pockets, of these Levy jeans
And it's a bit taxing trying to be charming, and I can't
always afford that kind of levy,

My lungs at this point of time are quite heavy,
the brain, quite empty; so please excuse me if I think too ahead,
about me filling you up with your head instead
It took a lot of confidence for me to approach
you like this, and I skipped a couple of stairs
Your friends were giving me some intimidating stares,
and I'm just trying to be intimate with, and show you
some care, like nobody else cares

I hope you notice that I'm innovative, and trying
to be a love doctor, with my skills of patience
That line must make me sound so inventive,
and may cause your heart a bit of disorder, but I'm
good at making an intervention

I love how I'm speaking all of these bars
while we're chilling at the bar, but probably for you,
you're only hearing, "blah, blah, blah, blah and blah"

Interluding stolen kisses, as fleeting thoughts
traverse the corridors of time; often acting less
of our true selves in a desperate bid to win the
affection of those we hope to love - to be loved
But all bets are off, once the cards are laid bare
upon the table – as the choice to remain or depart
hinges on how long you are willing and able.

But if I'm falling, dreaming, waiting... in a caged
thought; plotting, scheming, believing that one's
love should also keep its word; can it truly hold
more weight than those three burdensome words?

And I hope they aren’t words more so said, less
expressed, or expressed in public, but having no
real private impression — just making up stories
for the press, as the headline reads you've been
pressing all my wrong buttons, I'm pressed.
"I love you," if that is your declaration, I guess –
as some loves are just for period of time; acting
as an interval. But also, the ones that are so hard
to forget. But I wouldn’t remember you as a lover,
but someone who was once a friend - just friends.

The golden mile warrior; speaks treasures on his silver tongue,
and bronze teeth. Like the echo of a gun, only after, the
the true event begins. As now the crowd is disturbed from it's  natural peace.

He's desperately trying to drown an ocean, as so pointless
as the inkless tip of his favourite pen. He faces the endless
journey to nowhere. With all the time in the world, to waste
it all again. The drops of tears, and blood in the ice of his parent's
cold words. "You'll never amount to anything," they've always said.

Where dreams lie, are those resting on them a thousand slumbers until the kiss of their charming. As the fear of waking up to soon, ironically is always so alarming. For if you kept on being called a nothing, all you'd dream of is being some what
of a something.

Something of a fool, somewhat of a tool to all their opinions.
Raised by the sun, for the brightest of all his ideas. But taught by
a moon for hiding them all in the dark. Well, reflective of one's limelight, the falling rock hoping to be a shooting star.

A fancier of an easy silent death. The fall into a maddening decent, and enjoying that ride right until the end.

A story of a million endings, but only a few he's willing to choose. Bending your back, bending all of the rules. As he'd try to fit in the crowd, in all of their shoes.

The people pleaser, of those who take for granted his help.
I remember him enjoying to cut himself. By the chance he lost the feeling to feel any hurt. As when you've been criticised by
an opinion's roast;  you get so used to being burnt.

I feel sorry for this warrior, but that would mean I feel sorry for myself.

The battles of which he faces, are those outside. But the war he'll always face, is that never ending war inside of himself.

The story of the Teenage warrior...

Teeth collide;
at touch of faces.
Strangers in a dream...
Surely I've kissed a few.

With wet eyes;
afraid of an ocean-
Drowning in sorrow,
washed away in thought.

I wipe away the past;
like dust in my eye.
I shan't cry,
as the past is only dry.

Only living now-
in present dreams I make;
and how they'll end.

I've been traveling for so long,
Swimming in the depths of the Ocean's sun
And I could kiss a thousand girls, but I could only love one
My lady,— has that bush fire, that makes it seem like
Her water's could be split apart with a Moses tongue.

She's got the snap of a buckle, just to support her Levi jeans
And I must have bitten the apple bottom a couple of times,
That she paid the full levy in her family genes.
Her kisses are like the blocks of ice in sweet lemonade,
And she may butler your thoughts, but trust me she's a self-made.

She's a dime on the quarter mile of my mind,
Running on it, with that chasing perfect smile
That makes you wish a moment could stay awhile,
So when I think of her, I can't help but have a stupid smile.

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

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

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

It seems;

Easy to say, "I love you"
But not to say why,

Easy to say, "I value you"
But not say for what,

Easy to say, "I'll always be there"
But not say for how long,

Easy to say, "I care for you,"
But somehow not care enough,

Easy to say so many of these things;
But still not easy to follow through.

All are a riddle,
how then is it solved?
The answer,
we all needed to be loved.

Let’s strum a song on the acoustic kiss of your lips,  
and I’ll feign mastery of every chord; yet when it comes
to the lyrics, I find myself adrift, missing most of the words.  
Let’s chance the spark of romance, with our hearts poised,  
eager to sway in a dance.  

As your tears start to hit the floor,
pouring your essence into my embrace—I feel love’s warmth  
seeping from your very pores. Yet, you remain unfazed,  
to not bat an eye- swinging at my heart with the allure
of our candid exchanges, swinging wide like church doors.  

From a bell that resonates above my thoughts, the sound
of your name echoes in my mind— a melody played with
the ease of a Sunday morning, harmonies wrapped in sacred notes.
We are the embodiment of the perfect love songs we’ve shared,
living each moment as Tomorrow’s notes.

Dearly said,
dearly at times you're unheard
Only listening to the voices in your head

The irony of life is always so,
feelings of no worth in the world, even after
you die;— you're no worth dead to them, at all

The irony of life is so,
you feel like a failure everyday, even after
you die;—they'd say you failed at life when you chose to go

You don't need a shoulder to cry on,
or someone to give one to reply on
But the shoulders of encouragement to carry on;
especially with the weight of the world on your shoulders
You're longing to conquer mountains, but there's just
this dark hill made of the night's boulders

What's your pick, choosing which side to
fall off of your peak. Which stroke to use,
when you're swimming in thoughts so deep
As you're written in invisible ink,
invincible to your own brink; at an edge close to overthink

...truly who is sadder,
the pen, poem or their poet?

Oh the kind regards, in regards
to how an audience applauds isn't a genuine hand to love

...they've read your poem,
but won't understand.

They don't know enough, even as you're boldly
showing; they'll only see as another random poem

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'll swallow my pride,
and choke on my heart,
Be losing my mind,
in all of it's lovely thoughts.

I'll do it all, because I'm in love.

The weight of the world,
keeps me down to earth.
And a painting of a girl,
is such a portrait of it's worth.

I'll do it all, because I'm in love.

Every moment is easily gone.
When so many things,
can go so wrong.

I'm writing to you,
with the words that I lost,
I'm speaking to you,
while biting on my tongue,
I'm thinking of you,
with so many thoughts.

Asking myself,

"what could even go wrong"

Burden myself carrying a weight,
cross my mind nailing a thought.
I'm not thinking so straight,
too busy getting myself caught.

I'll did it all, because I'm in love.

So sick of the sin,
the guilt and my shame.
Still stuck in that dream,
where I echoed your name.

I'll did it all, because I'm in love.

Every moment is easily gone.
When so many things,
can go so wrong.

I'm writing to you,
with the words that I lost,
I'm speaking to you,
while biting on my tongue,
I'm thinking of you,
with so many thoughts.

Asking myself,

"what could even go wrong"

I have a Tetris mind,
building up confidence to paint out words
-block by block
Hanging by the corners, a few nights with
an empty pen;
Current location: Writer's block

May fall in love,
but I'm too afraid to fall for you.
Even as a giver,
my biggest fear is me not providing for you.
My role as man a task,
in life, don't really have much time to relax.

Casually living,
perhaps is me easily sinning.
With all the cursing and pleading,
I hope in my season of love it will be springing.

Moments together, are whispers of poetry:
the blush of your smile, like blooms raising their
faces under bright the sun. That tender embrace,
lingers briefly on my lips, within the constraints
of it feeling like a haiku.

Their sweetness becomes fleeting memories; a struggle
to capture- not to keep thinking about it long after
I’m on a quest, fervently seeking sustenance in the form
of love and affection. Tears dripping, as a gardener’s rake,
trying to bring in evoking emotions, that resonate deeply
within my soul.

The covering of a tough persona, is now like jackets
that are discarded- through gloved hands, a palm still holds
onto the memory of your love. And no cold seeps out;
a spring in my step, that dance through my thoughts
Morning shivers soon vanish, once of a closed heart, as its
doors were slammed- jammed!

“Do you possibly have that
right key to have it unlocked”

GOD; is it even for me to exercise my love
Cos I'm not fit to love, running out of chances,
running red as the blood running out my nose
the sense of smell is gone, I can never smell
any of those good intentions.

And as I cover my face at such an odd hour,
I feel uneven by how I must cover up pain with \
another smile on my face
Still you can see what drips out,
the stains are always present and on my shirt.

I need a tissue to wipe my ****** nose,
and another to wipe the tears from crying about love.

The path of life, has endless battles following;
Feet are in a steady, but their steps can rattle,
In it being tribulations; let yourself seek & find;
Gain new revelations; and the truths you'll find.

To perhaps go searching through ocean's deep;
Sitting and waiting by the edge of life. To then,

                                 Take a leap
                                        ....
         ­                               ....
                         ­               ....

All spirits long to seek; further than it's flesh,
Deeply in those questions; without the answers,
Ending physical form, beginning spiritual quests.

Beneath your fingertips lies the earth of roses, their essence entwined
with sharp, thorny scratches upon your neck. Moist lips utter a
cascade of words, attempting to dilute the value of any moment; these
words, a subtle taste inspiring saliva that stirs the mouth, to spit a
piece of game, loudly amidst the intricate game of cards that mirrors
the tumultuous game of love.

Tears well in my eyes for those who are suicidal – cutting themselves,
even as life unfolds as a beautiful wound. We grow amidst the pain of
our parents, who pray silently that we are not handed over to their
burdens at birth. It is a legacy, passed down through generations,
where ancestors never dared to shatter the shackles of their
subjugation. This oppression, cloaked in passive aggression, who can
dream for their young, when they’re too busy living so restless? How
can one value God’s favour, when you always rivalling other people’s
blessings?

The notion of death becomes a familiar companion; in a world where
malevolence persists, the thought of extinguishing it all seems a swift
solution. Those pretty eyes, seemingly pure, can swiftly unveil the
truth that being innocent is a fragile façade that can be lost in a sec.
But wouldn’t you want to fall in love with someone who appears
heaven sent – perhaps they hail from the heavens, but their arrival is
more a descent. Even Lucifer must have carried a bit of Heaven’s
scent.

Everyone seems decent every time you greet them; meet them a couple
times and you mind tries to delete them… I’m thinking too much,
the mind is the evil of the heart, when the two don’t always get along.

A thousand acres of land, beautifully crying-
their grasses shimmering in the rains after dampness
Tails of shapely evergreens; plants undressed and robust
seed heads, beguiling death- buried in the means of finding self

Folios upon the wings of fowls;
as towels hang on the rails of the skies, as perfect white clouds
The dust of the sun, covers asbestos rooftops in a light brown;
darkness wears a frown, on the faces of people who patrol around
the nights, of doing their personal business without an innocent sound
Soulmates of stars crash into each other, each time they're falling in love-
in and out, is the hunger for any more time; both for the belly buttons
that go in and out

Kisses of dreams for bare bones: bending over to a bent red sky;
a sheepish lover to the shepherd’s delight- still a bit shy, from a child
My door opens to one’s suggestion; hangs a welcome sign on a string
…welcome to the house of my mind; please don’t stay awhile.

I’m seven steps away from Heaven, in a world where I’m a corner
away from the Devil – so if I give into these pressures, it means I'll
give myself into these earthly pleasures. But the world still gives
a toast to your efforts, as it calls you, "so toast," in your present.
As I've been around the mundane of numerous dead conversations,
decomposing in a grave. But only when there’s something on the
lines, does talk among fools hold a grave importance.

Still, bring me flowers as if it where my day, as I plan to be a letter
at the cemetery – with the wisdom I gained, to share. My whole life
would be these songs written as poems; trapped in my pen as a
snare; while the beating of heart’s passion plays on like a snare.

And there, where there are people who care for us; it's only in death
will we know those who were good at pretending their love for us.
And I’ll find those lovers, chained to each other like slaves – and I'll
give the sweetest dreams to the fearful bunch, whose beds act as their
trial runs to their graves.

Whereas we all live just to die someday, which will be one day –
yet we take this life day by day, making the most of them, like it
were your very last day; the day will eventually come. Still, what’s
to income for us, is what will become our action's outcome. Death
isn’t something you can run from, buy your way from, or delay any
longer for anyone – yet we must live life, remembering that His will
is always done.

Heavy engines, barely keep down my own weight.
Crooked eyes. What's a world if not being seen anywhere straight.

Fate a blanket covering my insecurities,
Twisted thoughts as the whole world is ******* with me.

Like fools gold it's nothing of worth,
When everything you try to do has nothing of your own labours of work.

Faith is time waiting on something to happen.
Finding a route to the solution without any of the mapping.

Love is game with complicated rules,
Doing loads of work, acting like complete tools.
Love sicken people looking only like fools.

Reality is an arrow to the chest,
A point of what is really happening in the world, leaving your soul distressed.

Like drinking on a drink stronger than chlorine,
Drunk men wishing to wipe the memory of life all away. Completely clean.

Heavy engines, trying to hold down the weight.
What is love without any of the fate.
What is looking at faith when everything seen is constantly not looking straight.

And what is reality without it not making a sharp point through your soul.

Black thoughts of a mind dying out like an old lump of coal.

A poet armed to the teeth
Bullets of words will bite underneath your skin
Street rappers threats of getting you clapped
I’m just looking for applauds, and a territory of map
Not famous for mixing my pieces with rap
Tipping hats off to those famous ones not being capped
But back to being simpler, Mr Mr do you have a reason for your demeanour

Life is not always glitter, but it does make it prettier
We’re all the beautiful creatures creeping around a world
But some would prefer—we walk around wearing fur
Life’s annoying like two babies screaming to be the loudest
And we have some weeds in our garden, disguised as pretty flowers

Life is a veld fire, in it’s aftermath
Black mass, black soil to spoil—consumed by burning passion's bath
We all have a familiar mask, the present person hiding away a past
All having a role to play, with a few long-running cast
You could live a season, and cancel out a few friends
Dealing with episodes of drama that seem not to end
We're making amends, mending hopes with bandages of faith
Always on the life journey of roads we wish we paved
Following in the steps of His life, truth, and being the way
All hoping to walk up heaven's staircase in the end

Clearing my throat, of a coughing exhaust
The fumes of voice, of this poet's words of thought
In this speech—a piece of arousing emotions
Let it rise to ear, that you hear it clear of the notions

Tis the Poet's speech, the Poet's speech.

In the ethereal expanse of our daydreams,
Pink and white skies intertwine,
Bound by a ribbon that unites our fingers
In an unbreakable embrace.

Time has etched its marks upon us,
The vibrant hues fading into muted tones.
Silver strands emerge, yielding to
The purity of white, yet the soft blush of
Pink lingers in the heavens above.

We remain tethered to our love, forever
Yearning for the ribbons we once cherished,
Now tucked away in the corners of our hearts.

Why cast your doubts upon the notion of love's end, when such a
demise is but a phantom? You wield the ruler of your own judgment,
hoping to measure such a thing. A tumultuous throng of souls
measures their worth against the scale of love— what they can offer,
what they might receive in return; I question whether this is love at
all, or merely a transaction cloaked in loaned affections.

But is it anyone’s business to judge a love — true, unconditional love?
Why do the intricate conditions of our hearts render us inadequate in
the face of the love we can bestow? To quantify love is to diminish its
essence, and to tarnish something of immeasurable worth. And the
conclusion of love is merely a reflection of our own reluctance to
embrace it anew. In a world rife with animosity, there remains a
sanctuary of love, ready to fill even the most overflowing of voids.

                                               There’s no measure to love.

In the depths of darkness, I find myself
at odds with the elusive shadows.
It is as if the skeletons hidden in my
closet have found their voice, singing haunting
melodies that reverberate through my being.
With each note, my fears are shaken off,
like leaves falling from a tree in the autumn breeze.

But there is something more sinister
lurking in the corners of my existence.
Death, with her cold fingers, creeps closer,
threatening to steal away the precious moments of my life.
Time, once a constant companion, now seems irrelevant,
a mere observer as I navigate the treacherous path
between angels and demons. Heaven and Hell.

The omens that surround me are like oracles,
weaving a tapestry of the future.
Each thread is sewn with the stitches of a final laugh,
a mocking reminder of the inevitable encounter with death.
Exhaustion weighs heavily upon me, a result
of restless nights and endless toil.

I find myself trapped in a state of utter fatigue,
a working zombie in a world that demands
my every waking moment.
Juggling tasks becomes a Herculean feat,
as my mind struggles to function amidst the chaos.
Sanity slips through my fingers like sand,
and yet I cling to the pen, a lifeline in these unearthly hours.

In this battle against the shadows, I am weary but determined.
I will not let the darkness consume me.
I will continue to fight, to push through the exhaustion,
and to find solace in the written word.

For even in the darkest of nights,
there is a glimmer of hope,
a spark that refuses to be extinguished.

Unmask your own façade – that veil of one’s significance over
meanings to a meaningless question. We are just consumers in
this monotony of existence, a mere statistic for our emotions
being manufactured for the world’s grand theatre of parading,
one’s weakness.

And are we not taught how to measure worth by the measure
of things you acquire? We surrender to this illusion of perfect
love peddled on glowing screens; waiting on the glow of feelings,
to expect out hearts to glow by fire.

And I find control in this world an illusion; the tighter you hold
onto what you believe is yours, the more it slips through your
fingers – lest it be your own self-control; to tame your flesh that
leaks sin out of its pores. As time is an investment, but a currency
that only death can claim fully, when all our hours dwindle. Love
and hate are two sides of the same coin; as our capacity to love
fiercely, is matched only by our readiness to quickly hate when
the masses rally – though love is the stronger force to leave one
eager, or so fickle.

Life is simply everything and yet, paradoxically, nothing – as
nothing endures eternally, resting in the world. Life is sculpted
by the hand of a Creator, who calls his creations home as their
bones grows cold, and skins old.

Tis a poem on life.

inkless
hopeless,
towing a straight line
in a numbness of not knowing what to write
inspiration—like chasing a dream
though it's reality is me resting on a Writer's block street

no peace
no peace
no peace!

on knowing days before
I could write with such ease