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

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"

At level best; degress, it's a little more stress
Swallowed my words into an opinionated self digest
Throwing out my heart, throwing pride off my chest
I'm about to throw up—ugh I'm so depressed

My usual visual suicide; thoughts about dying young
I could never afford the cost, from the tears of my mom
And the fears of my dad thinking he never did enough
Searching deep in my insides, for the guts to commit
to that first cut. My fingers ticking from anxiety;
at random times of a pendulum clock
Swinging, and swinging, in deep thoughts swimming
And I wasn't that holy type; not as much as my mom
—unless you consider the holes in my socks
Social degenerate; a little too generous: careless giving
Seasoned professional of a winter heart, with a homely
fire place of love

But let me check my mental state,
Territory of all my made up states,
Stating an expression of his face; or so he said
So many questions on my mental state:

How is your mental state,
             "oh not so great"

Thinking about suicide today,
 "yeah; it's basically everyday"

Do you trust yourself around a knife,
  "a sharp pen makes me think twice"

Did their joking words hurt you again,
    "always; especially my close friends"

Is it all green emeralds, or a pink diamond life,
         "just the envy, and blushing over suicide"

Had you cut yourself at least once before,
"close I got, was scraping myself with a
                                bathroom stone"

Yeah that's not right...

But the words cut me to explain this pain,
I have a ****** tongue; stuck at just another fullstop
Round the corner of a fool's stop; perhaps on the run
Heading nowhere, from places I never knew I'd come
—to these terms of agreement; writing realistically
of feeling fearless. Might of misjudged my feelings

Drinking over until the night is over,
Alcohol bravery to say things I can never say being sober
At home going all out with friends; woke up naked in my bed
Couldn't remember a thing, still it feels good to pretend.
Prayed a hot sweat; couldn't asked for forgiveness out of breath
Not as good as having ***—I wouldn't know how, trying to explain
those kind of past events. Still it feels good to pretend

Lord don't save me from myself,
Save those around me, from dealing with another
version of myself. My secret multiple personality traits
                                  ...Jesus; forgive my mental state

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.

Soulless bound
Caught in the world yet still lost and found.

Lord almighty tells me not to envy
Yet still other people's high fortunes leaves my heart down and heavy.

Soulless bound.
Caught in a world of trouble.
Of a long need amongst my cries of pleas.
Tripping on missteps to fall and tumble.

With my people inside singing
I was young outside probably dreaming,
While the world was scheming
As we to find a social healing.

O'lord  that idea was so misleading.

Soudless bound
Where good trouble lies.
Amongst all the disgust I taste in the air brought forth from the thousands of flies.

In the cold corners of my heart
With the many fallen pieces from each falling apart.

Who says my creative torture couldn't be a work of art.

And my days feel longer and longer
But my own strength to make it through grows less stronger and stronger.

Upside down smiles to bare a frowner.

Where my good trouble lies I wish to be there to rest.
Say I be depressed

I know it's my fault
But hear me trying to find a way out.

Say it be
That's it's all a dream not of me.

But we,
So **** blind to see.

Smiling so bright but only on small ounces of glee.

So I ask, where good trouble lies pull me there a little closer.

Do I feel that down, probably yes but really I don't know Sir.

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.

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

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

All the intricate variables swirl within me, acting as a cause to
overstep my thinking, as you race through my mind. Of course, love
is blind, as it wears a blindfold to those glaring red flags you love to
turn a blind eye to. To break on through, even as you hold the brakes
on your personal drive — trust that on this journey, you will
ultimately discover your moment of breakthrough.

And when that drive turns a shade of blue, your own sadness leaves
you feeling less than colourful. As I've likely tasted my full share of
the Blues; where my existence hinges on where the wind last blew.
As the growth of the next tree relies on how far the wind carries its
seeds— so how far have I scattered my own fruit?

Even when there's a smile in your laugh; it can feel complementary,
akin to sitcoms with a good laugh track. Yet, I often lose track of how
many times I fake laugh. Seeming normal to people, is such a chore to
have; always having to tidy up my act. Yet I navigate through these
mundane conversations, laughing my way through normal
conversations. Please insert a fake laugh.

But behind the laughs, I'm really just weird.

"Why do you cry so much?" I asked her gently, my curiosity piqued as she lay there on the bed. She turned to me, a gentle smile on her lips, and replied, "because I'm truly an empathetic soul, feeling the weight of the world's emotions in my core."

I listened intently, but there were still lingering questions in my mind. So, I probed further, wanting to understand the depths of her emotions. "Why do you shed tears when you are overwhelmed with joy?" I inquired. With a serene expression, she explained, "My heart swells with such immense happiness that it spills over, causing tears to flow like a river. It's my body's way of expressing the overwhelming beauty of the moment."

As her words resonated with me, I couldn't help but feel a newfound appreciation for her sensitivity. "And what about when anger consumes you?" I asked gently, eager to understand her experience. She paused for a moment, her eyes reflecting a simmering storm within. "When anger engulfs me, it's as if a fire blazes within my chest, scorching everything in its path. The tears help extinguish that flame, soothing my tumultuous soul and bringing me back to a place of calm."

Her response struck a chord within me, and I marveled at the poetic way she described her emotional journey. "It's fascinating how your tears act as a calming balm," I murmured, my mind filled with thoughts of her enigmatic nature.

With a soft smile, she continued to share her insights. "When hunger gnaws at my stomach, it becomes an ache so palpable that my eyes can't help but join in the chorus of longing. They cry out for sustenance, signaling a need that can only be satiated with nourishment," she explained, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Together, we laughed, finding solace in the simplicity of her answer. The sound of our laughter filled the room, fleeting moments of joy mingling with the tears of amusement.

The atmosphere shifted, and I hesitantly broached a more somber topic. "And what about when sickness befalls you?" I asked, a hint of concern lacing my voice. She nodded, her face reflecting the vulnerability hidden behind her gaze. "When illness ravages my body, my tears become a conduit for pain. They carry the burden of my suffering, silently echoing the anguish that resides within."

I felt a pang in my heart as I listened to her words, aware of the hardships she had endured. Yet, she remained resilient, finding solace in the tears that provided release and solace.

As the discussion deepened, I turned to her, my voice filled with tenderness. "Tell me, why do you cry when sadness envelops your being?" She sighed, her breath mingling with a heavy silence that hung in the air. "Crying when I'm sad is an intricate dance of release and healing. It's as if tears cleanse the wounds of my heart, allowing me to find solace amidst the chaotic storm of emotions."

Her words resonated deeply within my soul, and I realized that tears were not just a manifestation of weakness but a testament to her strength and resilience.

With trepidation, I finally asked the question that weighed heavily on my heart. "Why do tears grace your cheeks when we make love?" Her eyes met mine, filled with a depth of desire and longing. "In those intimate moments, our souls intertwine, becoming one entity. The sheer intensity of our connection overwhelms me, bringing tears as a testament to the magnitude of our love and passion."

Her words touched me deeply, reminding me of the profound connection we shared. The room shimmered with a sense of enchantment, and tears of joy welled in my eyes, mirroring the depth of our love.

Finally, as she lay there in the hospital bed, her grip on my hand tightening, I mustered the strength to ask the final question, my voice trembling. "Why do you cry now, my love?" Her tear-stained face turned towards me, and a mixture of emotions flickered across her eyes. "I cry now for the bittersweet beauty of life, for the joy of reuniting with my creator, and for the heart-wrenching pain of leaving you behind, my dearest husband," she confessed, her voice quivering with raw emotions.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with my own, as we held onto that fleeting moment, cherishing the love and memories we had created together. And in that poignant exchange, we knew that our tears would forever bind us, even across the realms, as a testament to the depth of our connection.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

The darkness falls into my eyes like crushing
thunder and lightning, engulfing my soul
and leaving me in a state of despair.

It wraps its suffocating tendrils around my thoughts,
penetrating every inch of my being.
In the quiet of the night, when daylight fades,
depression takes hold, enveloping me in its relentless grip.

With each passing day, I find myself lost in a labyrinth of unanswered longing questions, each one a testament
to the depths of my internal struggle.

Yet, amidst the chaos, one question resounds
louder than the rest, resonating deep within me:
      when does it all end?

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.

Oh, is the sweet and delicate embrace; such a tight
and warm hug, but it had smashed my bouquet of flowers.
I picked you out of the bunch; I wandered down a forest trail
brushing with death- a kiss by her lips. And around me, was the
sight of your experienced skins; carpeted with yellow leaves, blessed
by the caressing sun. The cool of your eyes- is a walk by the lagoon,
your warm bud of tears falls into my eyes, and swell it up, to bloom.
The Sun rules over our lives, that Moon quietly covers our pain with
those nights of laughter; the canopy of our dreams, quietly fall away
as like the leaves. My tongue bares roots, and my words do try to promise
flowers- with every saturated thought, shaped out as petals opened wide.
The first time I saw it, I was entirely unaware of what waited below my lows.

To— step out of myself, was the place our story had begun. And to this,
each tree I see around me, reminds me of you- the first tree I as a child,
were brave enough to climb.

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

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.

A pistol tucked inside my heart—
memories of old dreams echo like bullet
wounds. Freedom comes, quietly, when
I finally let myself be known to myself.

Lips are like public transport;
they carry heavy loads:
sometimes love, sometimes doubt.

But the private lifts? Those are the words
we whisper to ourselves when we’re trying
to lift ourselves up, above our own doubts.

What loads are you carrying? Will your
transport make...or break someone?

Because belief in your own worth is such
a heavy load. And no— it’s not something
you should carry alone.

The weight of any load feels lighter when
the ones you love—and who love you back—
don’t just stand beside you; they help you
carry what you were never meant to bear alone.

Some days my bones feel fractured,
Even where all the bells resonate;
The ravenous bite that indulged
Too deeply – polished by its outlines.

Having faced the forces of nature;
Maybe the element of surprise,
Is not being so surprised at all,
At the relentless cycle of challenges
That perpetually emerge.

Ultimately, we are all merely
Trying to survive.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Tearing up in the most peculiar of ways,
I’m merely another chapter, unfolding with each
new page for every dawn—my narrative, born from
an unexpected prologue, leaves me pondering the
conclusion.

It should be an inclusive story,
but it's often so exclusive to the author’s constant habits
of being a reclusive – my eyes could narrate ten thousand
muses; yet the art of writing these days, has become so
elusive.

I was once a pen, transformed into the very letters
that compose each sentence, and crafting a narrative.
And with every sunrise, I pen another page in this
Book of I.

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...

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.

Thus, I have come to understand the worth of inadequacy –
my accuracy that targets the essence of your heart, is obscured
by my vision, ensnared by your eyes. You elevate my lows to
astonishing heights, tormenting me with your kisses, for we
never get to kiss twice.

It’s always one of those quick goodbyes; "I’ll see you in another
life," as if you’re untroubled by the thought of a reason to die.
Yet, won’t we all meet our end eventually? Some days, I wish
for a gentle passing for my weary soul.

And your eyes – don’t they seem to possess an awareness of
their own reflection? Your beauty is a weapon, silencing my
tongue, rendering me unable to articulate in words. Paralyzed;
I am numb in place; I can't look away from your eyes.

So numb in love...

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.

I’m in a drought for time— yet flooded with ideas.
as the sun rises with the dust, and by dusk, all hope
feels spent, or quietly scattered.

I know destiny calls— even without a map, signal
or a location marked. "Yeah, I don’t know what
I’m doing," I often confess, in quotation marks—
still walking toward the shape of who I’m meant
to become.

Pushing through bruises and bitter slights—real joy
flickers, but most smiles still feel perfectly rehearsed.
To stay above the arrows, but never ahead of myself—
sharp enough, still, to pierce through the soft fabric
of my many, many daily doubts. And I’m learning:
sometimes the cage has no door— but only the illusion
of one, built from fear.

There’s always a world just outside of it— waiting.
We’re all just finding ourselves day by day.
And life? It’s one day after another— until, finally,
you recognize the person you've been becoming
all along.

The Mind Olympics – thoughts going round
and round my once-stable mental state –
Where I transitioned from a season of declaring,
“I can cope with anything,” to now saying,
"I need anything to help me cope."

I am like a pristine canvas, pure and white;
yet, the moment a single black spot appears,
the harmony is shattered.

As the vibrant colours in my eyes fade away,
I find myself painted with the stain of hollow
anguish – empty victories fill my grasp, yet they
only amplify the weight of my own suffering.

Mental health is no laughing matter;
yet, in a cruel twist of irony, I find myself chuckling
at the absurdity of believing I am the sole bearer
of such heavy thoughts. All I yearn for, is someone
to truly listen to the whispers of my heart.

Can we please talk?

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

Jesus eyes made of explosives,
blood on the flag, banners
cascading man's ill motives
A sickening world,
I should speak another prayer,
i just don't have enough of the words.

My self will, is selfish as the kids
hiding candy in their ***** pockets
Life isn't really sweet;
costless living is costly for others,
when you're no longer living at all
Getting all of our kicks from playing games
with the girls. Hoping they play ball,
play with my *****, and maybe catch a score.
Call her by her for a night,
later on, we won't call you at all.

And you should cry yourself a river,
wet up your eyes, so you can barely see
Still don't misstep your feet,
as anyone can slip into their depression
And I'll draw out all of your negative emotions,
as it becomes the picture, as you drew out your weapon.

                               It's a hard world we live in.

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.

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.

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"

What if I bite my tongue,
and don't actually bleed.
Rather forgetting how to breathe,
thinking shady thoughts under a tree,
I might leave.

And if I'm on that very trip,
what's the destination.
Is it lower than before,
right underneath my depression.
I have a lot of love to show,
but I'm too passive aggressive.

While falling away,
wondering when I might hit the ground.
Screaming inside my head,
but the empty silence is way too loud.
How I wound up like this,
is dependent on what falls under a cloud.

Storms of emotions,
overcast my many personalities.
As stranger to so many but
definitely feeling like one to these families.

And I like to rhyme my words,
trying to connect dots.
Aiming at my target audience,
shooting these many shots.
Maybe I just want my dark thinking
in everyone's thoughts.

Not to cast a shadow over you,
but a dark reflection of cause.
So give yourself a hand,
you all deserve an applause.
You've read into my dark thoughts,
of a bleeding pen as it draws.

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.

In the tender years of my youth, at the age of sixteen, my prayers
soared high, burdened by doubts and fears, I yearned to remain
unseen - I recall the torrents of tears that cascaded when I was
merely ten, for it was in those fleeting moments that I unearthed
my strength within.  

I envisioned a future self, brimming with wisdom by twenty-one,  
a life meticulously charted, a race already won; I dreamt vividly of
a wedding by the age of twenty-three - as a spectacle to impress my
brothers, who loomed like giants to me.  

Once, the shadows were a terror from which I would swiftly flee,  
now they serve as a sanctuary where I sometimes crave to be free.  
I once believed friendship was a vast, bustling expanse, yet I find
solace in the few friendships, where I can truly take a chance.  

And my life remains still unfinished, unfinished as this poem…

The petals of the flowers have turned to dust,
leaving behind a bitter taste of ash that burns in my heart.
The words that once flowed freely from my tongue
now feel like coffins, trapping my thoughts and emotions inside.
It seems foolish to even speak about death
when it feels like it's already consuming me.

As I lay awake in the darkness of yet another sleepless night,
I realize that my callousness towards others
is nothing but a defense mechanism.
But in the end, I know that I'll just be a stranger
to them by tomorrow's rest.