"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

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

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.

Darling, you are the trail of salty cheeks and all the sin that reeks.
You cried after your very first kiss—the kind that tasted like lies,
the kind that convinced you it might last. But lust? Lust is just
deceit in disguise— a beautiful trick of the mouth. You tried to
overstep the world, but stubbed your toe against life’s edge,
pushing harder than you were ever meant to move. And still,
no matter how many nightmares rip through your sleep, the
bed stays soft. And indifferent.

You wrapped all your dreams in an old cloth, thinking maybe
passion—true passion—could burn hotter than any of them. Your
love is precious, nearly pure. But the purest intent rarely carries
you far. It only cuts deeper. And the purest scars are always the
ones left by trying to love right— and too hard.

The days vanish too quickly beneath passion’s flame. The lame
try to stand tall. The insomniac finds the courage to dream again.
And I— I wear my faith like a badge, only to have it thrown back
in my face.

Still, we do what we must. We put on that brave face. We face
the morning. We press on. Because that’s what love leaves behind—
something unfinished, something heavy, something we wear like
the skin on our face.

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

Summarised tone of speech – let me imagine
the heat of your touch like a fine cigarette;
Your picture in my mind is such a drag.

Open ears to your deceptive voice, callous lines
of ******* in your words; so pure in white lies.
To my tough skin, your deceptive voice will
touch me – not in softness, but piercing into my
Conscience; knowing that even the prettiest looking
flowers aren’t the bunch of friends to hangout with.

Liars have the sweetest smiles, the sourest kisses
after the impression of their love wears off –
Like chewing gum, sweet at the start, until that
taste of nothing chews you up.

From the liar's mouth is the war with themselves,
battling with which lie they’ll use this day.
Telling you that they care so much for you -
liars are the sweetest.

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.

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.

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!

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

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?

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.

The atmosphere surrounding us after our first kiss, felt so heavy —
Her energy is thick, her smile is as smooth as the finest silk,
The desire of her eyes burns me, peering deeply into my eyes.

I'm blind in love...

Yet, I still hope to see our future together —
I hoped as much, but that hope has become a past pleasure;
I still treasure those dear moments we shared: it was fun to smile,
A joy to love, and a dream being lost in that enchanting fantasy,
Of hoping patiently, someone could be your potential future wife.

I'm no longer blind in love...

For she helped me find a piece of myself, reshaping the rhythm —
Of my heart, to remind me that I never once lost its spark,
Oh, the joy of having loved, the sorrow of having lost;
But the greatest gain, was holding onto the feeling of love itself.

Thank you, for it was you who opened my eyes!

But don’t you try to wipe your tears with your dry skin –
Wearing the look of sorrow; your eyes standing mannequin
Could we be like a white lotus; holding the waters of life
Waiting to come out from the womb of the world?

My bones are a pacing cold, under the warmth of the sun
The city runs dark; watching tired dogs chasing after cars
I’m counting all of my scars; pulling weeds from my yard –
I spat a seed into the ground, waiting on a feast to grow

Where I was a Rose…with

Spores of thorns, to push away those who hurt me before
Placing most of our dreams high above – we own the skies
We owe the world none of our tears, but it loves to see us cry
And at times it feels better, just being silent most of the time
To watch all that happens, to learn, and then advise …

But I too, must learn to take up my own advice.

Messages are read, all their ticks are blue –
an "I love you," comes double-ticked…
maybe it’s not you.

Love’s built for two, their reasons too –
a fake kind of love still tries to play true…
maybe it wasn’t you.

No, I won’t cry, still stuck up without glue –
a sympathetic protagonist, antagonised by
their own heart, and yes… this much is true:

Perhaps I was never meant
to fall in love with you.

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 ****.

Mountains high,
dreams once resting on the peaks.
Too fast asleep,
in this wake of chaotic peace.
How much so,
must I love to contradict?

Winds blow together,
tickling underneath my feet
Brushed away in thought,
deep enough to sweep.
Taking a risk,
to stand by the edge.
If I fall before hitting the ground,
will I somehow be dead?

Where do I even stand?

By the ledge of a mountain,
I'm soon too drop.
The high tensions that built this rock,
are all the things I've lost.

A Lover, a friend, reasons,
many things closet to my heart
But down as I am,
I need to stay strong

Before I even drop.

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”

It feels so great that We met –
Even despite we’ve come now to
Meet in a place of found Regret;
Today is the day that you finally left

That scent you left, is your Skin’s
Bloom of morning Flowers – where
We rest, is a Place you left a piece
Of your Rose

My heart still Stops at every Roadblock
Where our love was a crime of Two stolen
Hearts – in a place of liking, became a Crush
In place of a crush became that first Rush
In place of that first rush was the word Love
And in place of love, is regrettably Loss –

You are long-gone, Long-distance relationships –
Do they really work; when you’re Gone to study
Abroad, and I’m just a Local still looking for
A decent paying job.
            
Love with the right person BUT the wrong time.

My girlfriend turned to me, her eyes searching for clarity.
“When we first crossed paths, we were nothing but good friends.
Do we still share that bond, that genuine care for one another as true
friends do?”

With conviction, I replied,
             “Absolutely, yes.”

She paused, her expression shifting as she continued,
“Then perhaps it’s best we remain just friends. Even without the
romance, I could never bear to lose the precious connection we
forged at the beginning.

                                                                AS FRIENDS.”

Tucked away smile;
biting cheek, and a little cheeky gaze

"we can still be friends"
he bravely chose to say

Benefitting mostly from your company,
just to have somebody, but not a someone
just to have something, but from it nothing...

.

Impromptu,
Finding many answers in few scriptures.
"Do as you told", by a world's control.
"Don't stray from the crowd", I were told. "Stay on target if you wish to reach a goal".

Blood pressure is rising. Where to.
Breaking through scales, passed the limits. Hoping for some Love to come through.

Liars lie in between the sheets.  It's a roose.
An already lost game with people who refuse to lose.

It's abuse.

Perusing through channels of regret with a glitchy remote,
Stuck on old memories I'd hate to stay by as a resort.

Motion pictures, showing  scenes of my life I'd  hate to lose.
I'd  hate my next steps to lead me to a life led by the *****.

Why though, be populating unpopulated areas of all hate, less Love.
While the last time feels like the first I once fell in love.

Still the many questions of what may be TRUE Love, rather than us teens smash  and pass.
I'd long for the real, that would last.  Alas.

Impromptu. Make up these words as they randomly come.
Life is not always a game but still finding ways to have fun.

Each time that I look in your eyes,
A part of me quietly dies.

But I'd give even more,
For the love I adore—
You're my heart in a perfect disguise.

In a brief squeeze, my chest wheezed—
there goes my heart, falling out of itself,
into another rhyme, into another line.
Queue me up for feeling less than myself,
lost in being so lost.

Letting go of old grievances just to make
room for new ones today.
“I’m not okay”—
but I won’t say it, because you MAYBE
won’t think of me the same.

Sometimes I’m determined, other times,
indulgent. I look like I’ve got it together,
but beneath the surface,
I’m exhausted—
completely out of order.
Struggling. Sweating.
But short on words to explain what’s wrong.

I’d be seen as too much for speaking my
pain aloud— but pain is always louder
when it’s silent.

So I speak now for those who are just like
I am.
We are We:
navigating identity crises in these
stretched-out teen years of our twenties.
We are plenty— and still enough to
surround each other in love that counts,
instead of letting life count us down
or count us out. We will rise. Together.

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

****** 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.

The horses aren't any stable,
as with good wood;-
but he ran out of trojans

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.

A party of my mind,
plugged in.
Closed curtains, echoes inside,
in my room private dancing.
For the past ten,
minutes I've been lip syncing
Once again
my gritty voice attempts at singing.

Is the door shut,
still up in these late hours.
Don't intend to cause my parents a fuss.
Singing in the dark,
dancing with my many shadows
These four walls of house
are a crowd. Surfing on music in a wave.
Don't know when I'll go to bed,
the sleep lately hasn't been my friend.

Plugged in,
volume up, bleeding my ears.
Deep playlist causes a flood of tears.

But as I'm listening,
something becomes a turn off
Music I hear isn't as loud.
Playing inside of one ear,
the other side without a sound.
Another pair of earphones,
no longer work.
Can't listen to music in private,
now, that's the worst.

Without my music,
left to listen to my thoughts
Problem is they have me thinking I'm alone.

From the ***** where a child is fed – the essence of their identity
woven by what a father has said; I carry the faith of my mother,
often shadowed by my father's scepticism. I find myself gazing into
the reflective gaze of a taxi driver, contemplating the tapestry of my
past—insecurities gnawing at my resolve as clasped hands rest in the
back seat. I catch fleeting glimpses of my youthful, innocent laughter
—frozen in time, a testament to pure love captured in a photograph;
a reminder of the paths we trod in pursuit of our dreams.

My creator had named me a rare and radiant pearl, a pearl growing
in the oyster womb of a mother — His love mirrored in that precious
gem as I navigate a crowded life, where strangers step on your toes.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of the world is not meant to rest—
where attempts to quench my thirst yield only the bitterness of ash.
Yet, the fire of my aspirations flickers brightly in my gaze—do I dare
to pursue love with courage?

Indeed, that spark ignites into a flame, and that flame transforms
into an all-consuming love— His love, an all-consuming love.

                                                        ­I am loved.

I couldn’t even afford our first kiss;
in a rented car — it happened quick,
a cheap love on borrowed time,
but we drove it anyway.

Our hands on the wheel felt like
promises, turning too sharp, we
were never licensed to keep it at all.
The engine of us coughed with hope,
the brakes already weak, but still,
we sped down that one-way road.

                    Speeding too fast.

Every glance—green light.
Every laugh— a corner I couldn’t steer.
Too single; really a turn we didn’t signal.
Love in motion— but emotions unstable,
trying to stay alive.

And when your breath touched mine,
it wasn’t just a kiss— it was the impact,
the sound of an airbag failing, two crashing
hearts colliding into the wall of something
neither of us could truly own.

The irony is: it was the kind of wreck you
never want to walk away from

My biggest fear:

Is someone knowing all of my biggest fears,
just to use them all against me.

She’s sweeter than a grapevine – she only whines around flavours
of great wine. Her body is feminine divine; you could title her
as a song – still too hard to define. Would I deny, the place she
lingers, in the thoughts of an artist’s ***** mind?

But maybe I’m just too down to earth – less than down bad, but
searching deep to hold your flower at a hand’s worth. Right next
to me, the heat of your body gives out such warmth. And in place
of new words, ones I never shared with old girls – your sweet
honey lips make mine appear as bees, that have you swarmed.

Alley hearts; we're two pieces of love on such a narrow path. I should
narrow it down; the many times I seen your tears running down your
cheeks, as if life was running you a bath. But I have you by the hand,
to walk into the future, with the past’s lessons and where love began.

The journey begins right here!

I went looking for someone to blame for all the cracks
in my name, for the mess I made — but that mirror
didn’t tell a lie. The culprit wore my face.
I don’t want your love. I don’t want your shame.
Still, somehow, you found me — tongue bitter with
the taste of your mistakes; pressed against my teeth
like communion for the broken.

Tears rose — blooming smoke, clouds of falling flowers.
A storm of soft destruction, raining petals made of regret —
but it never rained just mine. It rained yours too.

Yet you learn to grow from the things that once cut
you down. Even the sharpest wounds can become
something softer when you let them go.
Edges trimmed; old roots shed — and still, I rise.
So now, when you see me, don’t mistake me for my
damage. I am not the bruise. I am not the blade.
I am far better than the sum of my mistakes.

Bent butterfly wings, a tepid moment;- waiting, craving,
as the yearning burns for the poet who lit a joint.
Burning so brightly was a passion, it burnt all night—
as like a taste of words, so forgotten in the lips of those
that I had kissed long before.

Still, it’s as dead as the scent of old gravestones- in
the blood of their veins, that feels like the suicidal
resting in pain. For I had buried my heart in a place,
-since life points out moments of feeling worthless,
my pen becomes pointless; - This poet is like a loner,
writing only for himself, like warmish water- that you
can only bare for a moment. Alas, I don’t deserve to be
called a poet; for right now that poet feels so hopeless.

               I can’t soar any higher; my wings are bent.

Count the years, last I had a girlfriend –
not the same count since I last kissed a girl
but I could name the bunch I kissed (not a lot)
no grand numbers to express a body count;
though I’VE met a lot of people, but still haven’t
been around. Cried a little more this year, then what
I plan to begin with every year – tasted a drop of lust,
swallowed every piece of a tear (cut my tongue)
acted worse than my young- ****** up (a lot)

Thought of suicide more times than the reasons I had to
**** myself- did a bit of exercise for about a month
not for my health; my stomach was sticking out.
Fed myself a taste of lips, lost my tongue in the sound
of their hiss, got to hold onto someone’s hips- still never
found the appeal of calling a girl your ***** (isn’t that
an ick)

Been called out by those whose ears could never hear
a ring; tried to delete my Google when I though the search
for love was over- now I laugh instead, while using Bing.

I’ve had my full of this year, don’t expect me to be hopeful
for the next, I’ll just take it all as it is. Even if I don’t have all
that it takes, I hope I never lose what it takes to give…
my heart.

Gas chambers,
Puffing on a breath of exhale.
Heavy lungs made of black acres.
Ashy gases surely want to do me the betrayal.

Pulling ******* a heavy gas,
High time smokers annoy me the most.
Puffing hard, pulling strong and then pass.

Burning a couple papers
Cigarette's ashy body holds no hope nor does me any favors.

Inhale a little more,
Lungs feel heavy, enough to carry the weight of the world.
A blanket of black smoke easily covers my deepest core.

Lit cigarette,
Smoke it well to fill these lungs with regret.

Except, I'm not the smoker in this story.
Heavy lungs of cigarette's air feels highly predatory.

Heavy lungs, Heavy lungs, it's a heavy heart.
Left myself from buying at the corner mart.
Just to walk out of the store to at least feel smart.

May I be lost for time,
but not lost for you
Lost for words
but not lost for loving you.

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.

A life ignites, only to extinguish in time’s relentless grasp – just
as a year dawns, yet fades away without so much as a whisper.
Here I stand, teetering on the precipice of the new, bidding
adieu to the past, resting upon this pedestal of moments;
I yearn to voice my thoughts, yet hesitate to preach.

It is all too simple for one to recount the trials of a year, to boast
of triumphs over adversity. But what if, for some, the conclusion
merely serves as the bitter prelude to yet another distressed chapter?

In the grand of our existence, there are moments of sweetness,
fleeting as a confection – yet the bitterness we endure clings to
our lips, overshadowing the once delightful flavours.
This year has been a grand banquet, glorious yet marred by
unwelcome intruders: fury, regret, despair, heartbreak, betrayal,
pain, sorrow, and loss – a feast both lacklustre and so dreadful.

Yet, amidst the fury, there lies the soothing balm of silence to
soothe a troubled heart. Where regret lingers, it serves as a
poignant reminder of paths best left pathless. From the depths
of despair, a vivid portrait emerges, crafted from the ink of my
struggles. In the wake of heartbreak, I find solace in the truth that
even the most hardened souls harbour a tender echo of softness.

Betrayal has bestowed upon me the fortitude to extend trust,
albeit with an alert heart. In the face of pain, my spirit bears
wounds yet remains resolute, ready to rise beyond the scars.
Where sadness dwells, cherished memories dance through
my tears, illuminating the darkness. And in the shadow of loss,
I glean wisdom from the echoes of what I once cherished.

All these revelations I have gathered upon this pedestal of time.

I'm happy
burning fiery joy in a chest
Light hearted; ready for the day
"bring on the pain," we only grow through hurt
Human nature is a rose;— sometimes sharp words
of our heart's thorns.

Growing pains through the sores,
"I love the hurt," to feel my worth
a jewel indeed, jubilant as any could believe
Filled with glee, and like a tree blowing carelessly
in the wind —I feel free, and so happy to be free

As the sun rising; feeling on top of the world
kissing summer for her pretty girl
My smiles are bright; outside, outside, out side
out sigh— sigh, here comes the night



...setting day,
I'm upset, "I don't know why"
my heavy eyes, without a load of reason to cry

starring at a wall,
the curtains creeping cracks, excessively
kicked to the side, now it's kicking in; my OCD

everybody hates me,
..I hate myself, corrections to say I underrate myself
overrate my existence,— feel like a disappointment of a Christian



Ugh, growl, and a bark
my mind is stuck, angry and frustrated
What the duck! Flying words, and saying
a few foul words. I'm ******, but *******
by the wrong tree. Tried to mark my territory
warning myself in the shouting silent voices,
     "they should fear my bite over the unheard bark"

Nobody is listening, only the fiery demons poking
the fireplace of my anger. Life is an unbalance to find balance
No-one explained the rules, no-one gave me the chances or
explained the answers. I'm being tested; ****** are
testosterone filled. Ugh, clicking my fingers, clenching
jaw and fists. To many outward thoughts, might not breath in.
                   "about to explode in this imploding anger poking"

Eyes rolled back; cocking back my words
About to shoot down heaven with some harsh speak
A prayers afterwards, without feeling any peace
I'm pisssed, I'm ******, I'm ******; please don't try a
piece of me. Piece me together as a parton of war,
physics of battle, guns and aiming to blow
            "so **** angry, but not enough words"


But wait, I'll be happy by the morning.

All the stars are falling down.
Make a wish —
maybe we’ll fall in love
before they hit the ground.
And if it fails, I guess we’re
just crashing down.

                                     To shot my shot, and try to be
                                     your shooting star —
                                     aimed so high,
                                     but I was falling too fast
                                     at the sight of your brown eyes,
                                     soft as cosmic dust.

I’m the dusk, you’re the sun —
and if we make love
to make a son,
will that light save us,
or are we still just crashing down?

                            Until then - hold me in the silence
                            between the boom and the burn —
                            where gravity forgets us,
                            and stars don’t return.

And if we’re meant to fall,
then let it be together —
two sparks in the dark,
pretending we’re forever.

                          Even if we burn out
                          before the dawn,
                          at least we lit the sky while
                          we were on.

Darkest places I know,
the corner end of my soul
Depression, anxiety and fears
is all I even known.
Amongst all peers,
the loudest kid in the silence of being alone.
Guess I was on my own,
with these negative feelings I own.

It's a dark place
that shadows have another.
Growing up, not shown
how to fight my demons by my father.
Seemed foolish for loving everybody,
giving all I had and I am.
Tell me is that why I feel like Mr Nobody?

There's a dark place,
much darker than the empty nights
Beyond death or feeling alive,
not even safer to be inside.

Your greatest enemy,
is all the thoughts on your mind.
I've only seen the brim of light
as the shadow left behind.
Friends,
are people I feel don't know me,
they must ignore me.
Those who overlook me,
but I know it's really just me.
For all the problems I have,
I tend not to see.

All the dark places I've made
the foreshadows forming out my brain.
Never one to be plain,
but also the one who wasn't the same.
Out of the bunch,
the dark kid with a light heart.

Just like art,
by the tormented artist's craft.
I seem to be raised in the dark,
the dark is really just my past.

I never truly experienced daddy issues,
Even when there were moments when his
Unconventional parenting, gave a hint of
Issue on how he periodically raised us.

Yet, he never did it for any press;
Or aimed for our childhood
To become fodder for magazine covers.
Covered with the words we could remember
From church services, not engaging in the
Practice of parenting, JUST
For public service.

He poured everything he had
Into raising us, drawing from
All he had at hand, from what
Was handed to him- to make him
A man. And for our own youngsters,
We will take the most
Important lessons to raise
Better men.

And,

As is the assumption for more to follow,
To compliment myself with a comma,

And?

Who expects more of me in the larger world?
Perhaps as it's addition to their cause?

And!

I exclaim to those demanding me of more!
Aren't I enough! As enough as the very word!

And...

I'll omit my contribution of...
Why even finish the sentence if all parts of myself aren't...

And:

I then quote: They want more of who we are,
but as just a word demanding more.
                                                         :End quote.


And,
be it more of me,
and that possibility,
I'll go on to find it on my own.

My love for you is a mile
a journey
a long road
an odyssey
an adventure
but I'm yet to find
the footing
the first step
of telling you
"I like you"

I loved you, you loved me – as our hearts danced in unison;
and when we broke up, I broke a piece of myself forever tethered to
you – where I languished in the seat of butterflies caught in the nets
of my being; now, each passing day, I find myself sinking deeper into
the embrace of that couch.

I thought as much, yet no essence of our love could ever truly be
lost – even in the absence of what we once shared, the echoes of our
past fill me with a bittersweet pride. For you rekindled within me the
essence of love, the warmth of trust, the joy of spontaneous laughter,
the blush ignited by a mere text – not merely crafting imaginary
verses, but living the poetry woven into every word exchanged.

I thought as much, like a relentless storm, yet I have emerged
stronger than the facade I wore in my youth. And for that, I owe you
a debt of gratitude, for you have nurtured a part of me that has a
reason to grow up.

            It never was break up, I just had to grow up!

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.

I’ve lost the art of praying for love;
Instead, I’m constantly praying for cause
Cause what’s the point of a lover’s love,
Without it coming alongside a real cause?

Cause you may say you love me
Professing your love with all your heart –
But in return; you go, and break my heart
Being the cause to my unstable mental state,
Being less of a state – more of a mental break.

So, please, apply your brakes, before you
Lay your heart bare before me – dreading
The thought of chronicling you as one of
My many, many mistakes; as your pretend
Love, served as that very cause.