some would pen words—
few pen poetic sceneries,
in the less of lines; are things
profoundly interesting.

A gun for hands;
bullets for fingers:

Words in lead,
violence in my pen;

And in the end;
the paper is dead.

A pen in the right hands,
is a dangerous weapon.

Let a pen run dry from it's creative ink,
maybe take more time to create your words before you say them,
put a lot of thought into what you have to say &
try first to think.
That's honestly got to be my loudest silent prayer.

Only time I'm running out of luck is when I'm running out of reasons to ever live,
thousand reasons not to wake up to this beautiful  life we all live.
And a couple more to throw everything away, before I'm ever open to receive.

That's got to be a point at the end of the tip,
at a mountain peak bleeding out on those below me and pouring out knowledge onto these small kids with my ink.

I see black things much blacker in the dark,
and it's not a pretty site but still a reason why black is art and who we all are.

And my pen is a paintbrush to a poet painting out his every word,
Probably blinding out your eye, so take a better listen or haven't you heard.

I'm only here to spell out the info of True,
So don't misread me for spelling it out to you.
If you can't take the truth then it wasn't meant for you.

That's what the relationship between a pen and a poet had to sink into your head,
so he best wipe his fingers now, cause his fingers have bled.

Penny for a thought, penny for the waves of emotions to buy a new boat.

Down goes another relationship, another relationship going down,
once was a dime, a vessel better known for it's time.
But all aboard the ship, another relationship going down.

Pennys and Ships,
Vessels of giving girls a tip.
Swallowed down through the sea's lips,
lost at sea in pieces of silver ships.

Truly for truly, did they not often feel
like everyone’s personal convenience.
So convenient for people to know them, — just to be
what’s in store, for them all to buy into their dreams.

How convenient; suiting people’s purposes so well;
well enough, as a worn-out suit; to suit those only in
a matter of addressing their personal battles, grievances,
qualms and historical hurts.

It must be so frustrating, to see the reflection of such pain
in these eyes; painted red from every tear we all had cried.
A mask in disguise; a disgust in the discussion of how
their given something, is looked later on as purely NOTHING.

Truly for truly, it must be worth the hurt,
for us to repeatedly be the better person,
around those who only give you and I the worst.
People are truly the worst; and so too
must be loved the most.

See through hands of giving;
closed hand into sinning
All of us are lately tripping;
falling off, death inevitably proceeding
All at our tries of living;

As are us, of our people.

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

How wondrous it is, the way we shift,  
Like seasons turning, giving life a lift.  
Yet more enchanting is the way we feel,  
As transformations weave a poignant reel.

For just as storms may brew in skies above,  
So too do changes stir the hearts we love.

Perceive, triest understand love;
      As a child, seeing many try;
As a young adult, I made my attempt
      Following in man's knowledge.

      Spoken, was their love;
Yet with a tongue rolled under itself
      Seen, some have claimed;
But without center of an apple's eye.

      Some do hid to mind;
But quickly listen to heart's feeling
      As only a few;
Hold truth, facing love's grip trap.

      One by one we fall,
Into the deepest parts of love
      For a large and long,
Number of us at a time fell in love.

      A nose dead cold;
Running it through snow
      At the highest of emotions,
But no being can subdue its drug.

      For love is many,
Beautiful, tragic, joyous, painful
      Maddening, sentimental, wicked
Ignorant, wholesome, challenging.

      But what then is love,
If not perceived as all understood?

Enthralling – the vanished fragrances; my olfactory senses
are akin to a daisy, each petal plucked accompanied by
a murmur of “if she loves me, loves me not”

Her scent – sends sparks of shivers through me;
a fragrance bold enough to fill the space, gentle
not to drop it all.

My dear, is that very scent that ensnared my heart.

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

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

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

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

Falling in love; well at least falling for the person- the narrative
of our love, a romance narrated from a distance — seen in third
person. You’re the third person I find myself whispering, “I love
you,” sharing so much about myself, sharing so much that it
aches to be so personal.

Sometimes my words disappear under your breath; I’m fading
away, and not feeling as myself; no longer existing as a person-
impersonal.

I catch glimpses of uncertainty in your eyes, and I sense that my
many personalities can be overwhelming- please don’t take it so
personal. You sometimes feel diminished in their presence, as if
you’re non-personal

Yet, as the day draws to a close, my greatest desire remains:
to know you deeply and to call you, my person.

How so strange,
it's only on your birthday people fill
up your inbox.
As is with Valentine's,
the only time you seem to show the most love.

Be it some sort of widespread event.

I've found it sad that people don't cry much for you now,
But can cry a thousand tears when your life is lost. Ever wonder why or how?

Still I ask a question,
why haven't you cried for me in life.
In the times I myself was actually lost,
when things seemed to be down.
Why not also cry a thousand tears of joy once I'm found.

Just a personal observation,
and personal concern.
Please don't think me condescending.

I reserve my freedom to be free,
but I don't talk enough to earn freedom of speech
I'm just a piece of peace, and the resounding sound of silence
spelling out my thoughts in cursive; who could read my mind
But just a person more of an open book with charming words,
as I sliced my throat to be cutthroat at most
In those days I used to pray more often when I was sixteen,
still feeling like a preteen; thinning out himself to fit in with others
—I was always petite

Let me relate to guns,
somebody who took one for family
The bullet is adopted,
-a stray that killed a cousin
Gun powder that tastes like baby kisses,
to die tastefully, while she cries
But who am I to judge; I keep one in my pants,
some keep theirs inside, some on their side
I could use it to bring death in her eyes,
or bring in her, a reason to spawn life
This gun is a tool, and it's user a peacemaker
or just a weapon

                  I'm so attached to my gun.

Dial, dial,
the beeping is going so long.
Hello,
do you hear my silence or best do I sing it in song.
Hours,
Here be a thousand hours filled in a bottle on this one empty call,
I lost track for a moment and had to restart. Excuse me I had to stall.

Calling all my friends,
could we meet at the corner of the bar.
Wait outside till the bouncer would blink and move past him faster than a speeding sports car.

Rather yet I should call my mother and ask her how she been.
Last I would of heard of her voice would be ages older than her. Never ment to be mean.
Yet  a bag of ten pieces of silver quarters.
Would I call my father?
Daddy, daddy ,
I don't want to go to school no more, it feels too risky like I'm still crossing illegal borders.

But I never pressed a button that held that number.
Though I could of called a doctor to cure such insanity. To it, I be it's newcomer.

To have people move past me and see into this empty box,
Thinking of who to what I would call, with my silver pieces hidden inside my socks.
Just don't try to call me right now, I probably wouldn't know the time to call you back.
This time feels too short, so it's time to set goals on all the things I lack.

Quotes of my words paints the picture of my name,
a kid stuck in is head sticking to his dues
And due to the bigger picture of things I'd much prefer to stay stuck inside my frame.

But the painted picture can't remain the same,
so let me add a little detail
Hang myself with interesting people
and be part of the craft of painting this picture.

Still I don't see what's the final art piece,
it's a puzzle piece against puzzle piece
A stroke into another stroke,
and a hit line into the fine line
But I should try to find peace within myself from this rhythmic rhyme.

Find the grand stand of the outstanding,
amount to the worth before I lose interest
into my soul's investment
Banking onto the little pennys spent into my dreams of wanting to be grand standing.

For I believe,

To be of cause is only when I'm heading in the right direction;
a long way through life and the challenges
Cause life's a trip and quiet battle that hits low by the midsection.

To be one of the greatest means I should have hang with a few,
Hang my thoughts and ideas with them and  borrow a few
Still I see you as great, but I aim to be greater than all of you

I'm the painted picture that your eye fails to sway from,
the piece art critics wish to know the background of

"Hey where did this piece come from"

And my theme of it all is behind the detail
so feel into my words through braille.

In my eyes—wide shut—
I rearrange the scattered pieces, trying
to build a better version of myself from
what once felt like a creature. I frame
my thoughts to get a clearer picture,
decorating the past in shades that turn
away from mistakes, and painting the
rest with the soft light of my achievements.

Time drifts like dust—
blown apart in fragments. And I wonder
if anyone has ever truly been put together
perfectly. Even the greatest successors were
once victims, parts of themselves quietly missing.

To be complete is to keep finding yourself
again—to return, again and again, to the
reason you began. I stay committed to the
foundation of a dream, building it day by
day from these few, fragile pieces.

As really my mind isn't
always at ease,
Frustrations of the day
are often plenty.
But keeping to the love
of my heart, is the beating of peace.

Say if my mouth were
to run dry.
It's words must be lost,
say if my eyes were to turn blind.
There's really nothing good in
this world to see.

As feet tend be overstepping
on matters,
The hands are scheming
against each other.
Our very spirits are the
only pieces left strong in matters.

Even if my nose is
****** from running.
The ear will be constant
to hearing Truths.

So let it always run to Truth.

These pieces of the body
are simply complex
And like man, is the
tools of being ******* into being complex.

Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?

So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.

But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****.

I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.

We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.

Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.

Sometimes I'd cheat on myself just to get the feel,
Pinch myself if I'm dreaming to feel what's real.

And I can't deny
How often I'd fall quick to lie.
Still I try the best to move past that. I do try.

While acting camera shy
Behind the lens I'll often cry
I can't deny.

While the days will wait on my arrival,
They'll wait that long enough it's best to idle.
For I spent most time designing myself by vinyl.

By then pinch me if I'm dreaming that often. But I'll pray never to wake.
For the Lord's sake
Add more flavor to my self raising Heart to then bake.

Pinch me then
If the first pinches aren't working that much. We're probably by ten.
Still I'll pray never to wake by then.

I'll ignore the hurt,
Pray for wakeness to be foreign to me.
By then
We'll be at this course of this dream  once again.
Try me that much and I'll show you what's the True worth.

Is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere pinch of
love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up. My heart
dances like a brush upon the canvas of my flushed cheeks; I yearn not
to rush into this enchanting feeling, yet I find myself swept away in
this exhilarating feeling’s rush.

Like a lush forest adorned with vibrant canopies, I sense a love that is
both elusive and captivating—so wild is the sensation you evoke, as I
strive to quench my eyes thirst, for one more glimpse of you.

My emotions are splattered across the canvas, each stroke a testament
to the artist's longing; your aim must have been true, for this feels
nothing short of a masterpiece. I draw nearer to you, like that very
pencil, etching thoughts in my mind, desperate to articulate the
depths of my affections.

Tell me, is falling in love like dreaming – for I have tasted a mere
pinch of love, and I implore you, do not pinch me, and wake me up.
I quite enjoy being in love.

_

I’ve slipped into a realm of love, ensnared by
yet another crush— no wet floor signs in sight!
Overthinking, deep thinking; I am adrift in an
ocean of thoughts— no life jackets in sight!
I’ve been a jug of emotions, constantly pouring
out my heart— yet these days, I offer only a cup.

These eyes, are crafted from paper, with all these
drawn-out plans— crinkled, and crushed!
Cast aside like a forsaken heart, unguarded by the
walls I used to bring up— please, don’t bring up my
reluctance to divulge too much— not much to say!

Just pinch me to the starkness of reality; I have
been tickled by the allure of dreams too much.

pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.

The sky's cheeks touched by a dream –  
Blushing softly and bashfully, in shades
Of pink.

As our love ascends –
You are my heavens; embraced,
Radiating in soft shades of pink.

I left all of my dreams in the fabric;'
   all those sweet nothings for you to wear
Over-sized, baggy, and hanging-
   a perfect outfit with no underwear

My intent grabbed by your attention;
   an affection; blush of cheeks, the taste of lips/
       our escape under the sheets

We're each other's stain'
    can't be removed off each other
     tattoos to one another'
   stuck to each other's skins by every lasting mark

      Stealing my heart,
        just like you stole our pink hoodie

Pink sky; a blushing moon
by the compliments of dusk

By the sun—shown to be overbearing
shadows, chasing behind a tall stranger

The clouds have covered the sightseeing
tour of the journey to a questionable life

A bearing chest of emotions,
bare hairs, and without pride to speak

I feel the crawling sensation of a love sicken
child, under my skin.

You have given me peace from a piece of mind,
a piece of story we're yet to experience

Set opinions on my back, are the setbacks I have
on this love and its resilience

Wishy washy—soaked ideas of a love
I've written about on a Christmas wishlist

A letter in pink, a type of hoping for
good weather for the next day

                         .....perhaps whether I'll find the right love one day

Oh, how utterly enchanting, as sweetness unfurls in the breeze,
A tender caress, as our lips intertwine with such ease.
In the dance of love, we twist and entwine,
An invitation extended, a date so divine.
In simple moments of conversation, our souls intertwine,
Passion ablaze, as we discover hearts aligned.

Pretty are her eyes, seductively caressed by the midnight hour,
Ensnared in labyrinth of time. For those who dare to surrender  
to their allure.

Like a shadow, lurking in the depths of innocence,
A hazy mist of temptation, igniting a burning desire
within the daring soul.

Tonight, the darkness unveils,
Revealing the irresistible glow of your essence.

Our resting fates, lay on our head' two pillowcases.
All my thoughts all seem fast asleep in bliss.
Who would dare, disturb my best peace?
Darling, I hope they all would know you,
Are the most valuable piece in my entire mind.

In the tranquil embrace of night,                                             
our destinies entwined, as our heads rest upon the soft pillows.
Every thought within me slumbers, basking in heavenly tranquility.
No one should dare to shatter the serenity that I have found.
My love, I pray that they all understand the depth of your significance,
For you are the priceless jewel that resides in the very core of my being.

Resting face of desire, and her beauty.
You made all of the boys lose feet and chase.
Such a dame, known more for a name,
And games we could play in Sun' day.
I miss you, as you took your last rest.
All I have, is a last scent on your pink pillowcase.

In the gentle repose of passion, your beauty
shines like a radiant sun.
You ignite a fire within, causing men
to stumble and chase after your allure.
You, my beloved enchantress, known not only for your name but for the irresistible games we played on sunlit days.
Oh, how I yearn for you, as you took your final rest.
All that remains is the lingering scent upon your delicate pink pillowcase, a melancholic reminder of our cherished moments together.

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.

Lock your promises,
Swear to me you would, keep to your word if you could.

Lock your promises,
Build a bridge of trust to connect us both, show me you took my feelings with the sense of worth.
Swear to me you would, than to rather force me no good.

Lock your promises,
Hide away the Key, keep the secrets I tell you safe for me.
And surely of you I'd plea, and if you had the heart to keep my secrets, you'd fill my heart with glee.

If you'd lock your promises inside a chest, hidden away from all the rest.
Buried deep down in a foreign land beyond the West, I'd think it the best.

Just pinky swear if you could, lock your promises if you would,
To do justice to my already broken heart some good.
I'd think it best you should.

Nosey!
I guess I am,
a boy just wishing to grow into a man.

And by the lies I do tell,
it's growing longer for me to ever fall short
Oh Pinocchio, how could the world ever love us, when all the love in the world feels so bought.

Feelings aside,
hating the mistaken times I've taken the deed of living inside of pride
Never living out of the world,
cause I found it much warmer inside.

A piece of wood thrown into the fire,
till ashes are all what remains
Perhaps tied a knot into these puppet strings,
that never break so easily for their my chains.

Oh Pinocchio, I'm so ashamed.

I've been done in by a sly fox,
buried a lot of my worth, hoping for it all to grown enough to afford a wooden house

And like an foolish ***,
I've kicked my own self.
Oh Pinocchio, I surely wish I could be anybody else.

Like a trick,
the play of hand has made it's deal
And maybe if I question reality enough it might show me what's real.

But I'm so much like an old story the world seems to have forgotten,
much in common with the darkness,
my body much like the same material of this black coffin.

Still forgive my whaling Oh Pinocchio. Shall I swallow my sorrow
Maybe be a little thankful for today, but I'm so remorseful for those days that come after tomorrow.

Oh Pinocchio, could I tie one more knot into the string,
could I spell out what I feel, like your name I spell out every time I sing.

Could I ask my creator to create the better version of me,
if such a thing does exist, how could it be.
In the sense of being able to see.

I'd see to that very future,
wind-up into blowing winds heading there
No longer sitting on my talent, though my material is what I sit on as a comfortable chair.

Oh Pinocchio,
I surely don't know
For I once was you so long before. But I'm not a wooden boy anymore.

The struggle for freedom
is strong as foreign winds.
A shout from the South to the North,
all who have fallen to be free.
Buried beneath this earth of the East and West.

Has it not become to those
of you apparent,
The disease beneath our flesh,
widespread within us all.
A freedom epidemic,
affecting the many captured hearts,
Widespread as a pandemic.

Those who know of such,
never stopping the fight
Only till they're are dead,
leaving those behind alive to continue on the battle.

For as the children now of our forefathers,
we bear to spread freedom
as they once fought for.

A plague of freedom,
children of our forefathers,
We've become the nuisance against constraint.

Be widespread,
widespread of a Plagued Freedom.

Tell me, what it's like finding love – one as easy as finding your
place in the world. “No wait… that’s a terrible analogy.”

Okay tell me, is there such an easy love to find, like attending
an event that came with an open invite? I quietly watch everyone
dancing in the crowd of love. Right now, I don’t know much
about the steps; could we may-be slow dance? “Uhm… I mean
take it slow!”

Sorry, that came out so wrong – and we know for my week heart;
that’s a bit too strong. “Oh snap, I spelt weak wrong.” Maybe its
because the last time I saw you in person, it was a week ago.
“****, it feels that long!”

Anyways, the words in my mouth, clears my throat; though the
sickness still sticks… love? Could we be like two love birds;
just because of this flu. “Okay, that’s a corny bar!”  
“Are your hands sweaty – no?”

It’s a family thing; having sweaty palms. But I promise you,
I’m not secretly falling in love. “We’re friends right?”
  
                                  the many thoughts that plague his nights.

I chose this to be
Of my own expression
Built up by me
Here forth the planned depression.

The question still beckons on me
These growing emotions grow higher as a tree
Paying for Love at the highest of fee
Unlocking the heart but I lost key.

I chose this to be
Caught in the middle of myself trying fight just to be free
I'm not myself when I act like this person
Here forth the planned depression.

The question still beckons on me
I have wide eyes but sometimes I can never really see
Caught in a blinding light like the eyes of a deer.


It's a planned depression
Not yet a lesson
Just my expression
Of a blinding impression
This feeling not for exception
To the world out there it's passive aggressive
Here forth the planned depression.

Life is just the façade of plastic – plastic money; currency crafted
from synthetic dreams, one's plastic love; affections moulded in
artificial forms. Too much of the latter; a toxic one's greatest trait.

Plastic taste; threads of regret cling to my teeth – my palate’s
insides churns; the words of people made of plastic bullets; still
their weight hurts.

Gazes of a select few friends resemble patient crows, observing
the burdens you bear in a plastic bag of your baggage. A course of
those processed foods; processed natural flavours – sprinkle a little
more sugar to add weight to that plastic container.

“You don’t really match my flavour,” I wouldn’t know how it
really tastes – my heart; I’d love to give you a taste, but it’s often
filled with so much hate. And as I try not to break what holds my
food for thought; I keep my dreams on a plastic plate.

But even plastic breaks, just with the right weight.

So tell me, why are you trying to carry the weight of the world?

I’ve tasted the echoes of a flame; inhaling silhouettes of the night’s
smoke; wasting time under the clouds of downhill voices, speaking
low on my worth.Where I recall my mother’s voice as the sturdy
cane of discipline – as we read about disciples who were just
ordinary men; we were orderly raised, where being scolded a
third time about coming to bath at five, was just a part of our
ordinary days. My most trusted companions where the imaginary
friends I made up – who knew they'd get me in trouble, if I was
found talking to myself while I play.

And I don’t feel that old, but nostalgia has been resting on my soul;
the better parts of it, and also the worst – where I grew up with the
biggest fear around girls. Though part of that fear still remains, only
we changed the fear of girls, to a fear of falling in love with the
wrong girl. “But I love her though,” by that statement I'll know
I’ve definitely fallen underneath the floor.

I hardly questioned my flaws; until I grew a little order and started
to be so aware of them all – then I grew a little older, to soon realize
they’re all just a part of us all. And I don’t feel that old, even when
the wisdom I get isn’t always the same wisdom the youth can own –
still I hope their purpose is the one thing they can own.

I have to keep a piece of self-worth in my silver thoughts, interlaced
like a plait – even when I think up a few corny bars; I still see
myself as platinum. Signed here... a Platinum baby.

Please pardon me; when I say, "it's all of me, all of me."
That's just the pride that swallows me; every time you love on
me, hug on me, each time we're cuddling, and snuggling. The
pretty scars look so ugh-gly; and that's not what I want my love
to be; honestly.

Making me wonder, "what the F," of the effort I'm taking; no
mistaking the fools of swine eating bacon. That's the charity
of clarity; giving your heart to all of the crowds, of all those
boys you met around. You've been around. Chasing circles
of where to be; as it seems. Dogs chasing tails; till it gets stuck
in your teeth. There's no peace, but the piece of sorrow; when your feelings were deceased. Diseased by the love sickness; as random kisses was the weakness to your knees.

I'm begging you please,

to stop pretending; that you're not trying to save up your worth
overspending; never-ending story of the people having the seconds of love's sequel. I'm a prequel to thought. What words are in the courts. All the illegal things that we bought; while breaking a few laws. I'm now allergic to a thought, of you giving me goosebumps in my pores.

I paused...

So you could stop playing my heart. Love loves to play with my
heart.

I paused...

Love loves to play with my heart.  Tell me when does it stop?

cracks of silence –
open letter to pain,
closed doors to love
kisses of violence –
tasting it all again

cherubs from above –
devils on my shoulders;
smiles before expected losses
pretend game of true love –
these horns are placeholders
suicidal thoughts in my head
play dead inside – possums.

I'll write a girl a piece of work,
and speak a prayer of no judgement
by her. Lord, don't let another one
call me, "a piece of work"

The emptiness: you’re so longing to leave behind the shadows
left behind your eyes; watching quietly all the things that start
to feel so summarized; building memories on every fibre
of your skin, like towers crashing down in their own defeat
as my eyes watch the young die younger, to feel a bit alive

“Do I see dead people,” be ahead of most people- “do I behead
people,” live a once lonely life, cos it comes with no sequel;
but depression, a subtle prequel- subtracting most successful
friends to feel equal. I fudged up: sugar butter, milk and cream,
but still don’t feel as sweet as enough

Been so hurt and wounded- “something I also know” Felt so
traumatized to act hospitalized- “something I also know”
Done so much good, to get bad in return- “something I also know”
Gave all your trust just to be damaged- “something I also know”
Tomorrow’s sun seems to bring you darkness- “something I also know” Been in the company of friends that betray you- “something I also know”

The loudness of depression silences you- “something I also know”
Had so much opportunity pass you- “something I also know”
Hanging around those feelings making you want to hang
yourself- “something I also know” Feeling all, you can watch is this
world’s poison, to want to poison yourself- “something I also know”
Tried to give another shot at life, to feel like you want to shoot
yourself- “something I also know” Please let me hear out the pain of
your story, rather than getting to hear your story while
attending your funeral- the pain you feel is a pain I also know

You witnessed the envy in your own eyes
as you gazed upon those priceless evergreens,
their lush greenery a sight to behold.
You couldn't help but yearn for their beauty,
a jealous lip bite betraying your desire to have
such splendor tucked and packed
like treasures in a boxer short.

As your legs tremble with resolve,
drenched in the intensity of the moment,
You bravely shoulder the weight of all
those taunts and challenges hurled like sharp
horns towards your chest.
Just like a bullhorn painfully piercing through
excited flesh, the sensation resonates within you,
stirring a tumult of conflicting emotions.

Your eyes, wide and searching, dart towards
the fleeting images playing out in your mind,
where the memory of being placed ever so delicately
on the bed surfaces.

Initially, his touch held a sense of
innocence reminiscent of cradling an infant,
but that purity is swiftly overtaken by a primal,
almost sinister desire that extinguishes it in a single,
searing breath.

His primal groans start chasing at your ears,
resonating with a deep and primal intensity that
seems to echo through the confines of your room,
reverberating against the walls and
enveloping you in a raw, untamed energy.

The tight moans of his fleshly presence fill the air,
creating a palpable tension that seems to draw
you closer to him, as if his very essence is intertwined
with yours in that moment.

His inviting eyes, like hot fires, burn with a
fierce intensity that seems to sear into your very soul,
their gaze captivating every inch of
your skin with a magnetic pull.

So beautiful were his eyes, reflecting a love that
enveloped you in a warm embrace, his affectionate
gaze mirroring the depth of his feelings for you.

Oh, how long you had waited for this moment,
your heart swelling with a mix of anticipation and
desire as you finally found yourself in his loving embrace.

All the beautiful mansions
with ugly resident
I sort of care less for those who
use their money so careless
But I'm still a little jealous, envious
of how I believe I could do any better/

Grasshopper antics; devouring the land's
crop of provisions
Treason so close to betraying a brother for
his treasure —none is as precious as the black jewel
eye seeing another, and feeling envious

Wicked is he
a prideful man; mannered in the fashion
of a fraction of being rational
Factionalism, spilt in between the opinions
of having a poor attitude so rich
Or richly deserved of your worth in poor circumstances

...common denominator
always determined by a pocket
Costing less to be costed by what
we judge as wins, and whichever we choose to
remember as one's losses

But it's a worn out subject, of how we still
determine one's success by sizeable pockets

Soft kisses, reminiscent of gentle touches on the skin,
Enveloped the senses with warmth.
Every steaming breath embraced the moment,
Saturating the air with indulgence.

Each sip from the largest mug etched a soft memory,
Like a painting on the canvas of the mind,
Capturing the essence of Sundays filled with
The comforting ritual of hot chocolate.

She's XY beautiful,
but she'll be my ex,why?
Cos not all love is so beautiful."

"Her kisses were like ivy,
and our love sickness put me on an IV"

So said the lonely man who spoke,
"love used to lay besides me, now it
only wants everyone else, besides me"