So kept at odds
a life in a mirror; reflective ways
cracking, cracking smiles to see
a fragile side. To make love in front
of a mirror, yet she's the only one to see
herself cry

His breath is vile, heavy smoked
and coughs in between—spitting exhaust
Speaking pleasurable remarks,
but all but unpleasant words in her bones

She should of spent the night sleeping alone
shouldn't have answered his call
shouldn't allowed herself to be called a *****
shouldn't have forgotten about his wife at home
shouldn't allowed herself to be a side piece
a piece of guilt in her side; she has no peace
being chased by a dog, why they called her a *****

"No, no, you're just my side chick
a reason enough when my wife has had enough"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'm serious about you, but we're just having fun"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I'll feed you and your family, and buy you a house"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
she's not around with the kids, but move in caution"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I won't pay for another child, here's a number for an abortion"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
I can't always be there for you when you're lonely"
"No, no, you're just my side chick
wrinkles on clothes, ***** texts; don't air out my ***** laundry

"You're just my side chick, my side chick"
said an old man to a young naive girl.

typing... backspace
     typical really, when he always second guesses
what he really wants to say; what feelings to relay

idling pointer... thinking
it's a no brainer, if you can imagine the art of what to say,
                         your heart can be it's paint

select all.. delete
"no, I'll just tell her how I feel another day"

As I rest on the rigid air – a leaf drifts down, soothing in
its descent; by a gush, the wind that blows through hair.
Tears cascade like rain, shattering and scattering as they
touch the ground— parting the throng of young and old,
all yearning for the fill of love to seep deep into their pores.

I am merely a frigid leaf; the tear of my once grief
the bruise of all dreams pursued with bare feet.

The gentle kiss of light seeks to rekindle the spark in your
eyes— I've heard the haunting echoes of blindness, of a
relentless quest for self, yet finding nothing of substance.

I am just a sigh, empty and bare.

Confined to my own mind'
-thoughts start to feel claustrophobic
While thinking of all the prettiest of things,
the pettiest of emotions are made of thorns,
And I picture them as a bundle of roses,
as I longed of chasing every dream, before
the crack of dawn, but in between all of those cracks,
All of those very dreams have left me broken.

The loneliest place, -is like not missing home
yet never truly finding happiness in my current
surroundings; as if one wasn't the loneliest  number,
I at times find myself living it all for two,
carrying the weight of solitude for both.

Still hoping I could grow wings to fly above
all of my troubles.

But instead, the days grew colder,
and I found myself caught in the clutches of a flu.
A reminder that even in the depths of my own mind,
I couldn't escape the harsh realities of life.

A storm of words
I'm washed by a rain of you
reigning on my mind

You rule every thought,
—a queen, and desirable factor
My smile towards you is filled with laughter

Like finding comfort
in the comforting words of a stranger
Feels strange to be trapped by my eye of one's beauty

But I guess I'd enjoy my eyes being a camera;
capturing every beauty sight of you.

winter babies cry in the summer time – still thinking
about dying twice, still questioning this one life;
still questing to find still waters – still won’t we be
dying inside; drowning softy?

still silence – I don’t know my place; until I close
my eyes, and can’t see any of my shame. the moon gnaws
off a bit of myself – as putting on a brave face in the day,
is our nature.

we are lost lambs, that bleat themselves into silence.

I am not the owner of my words—
not the master of my quotes,
nor the crafter of my stanza,
nor the painter of my verses.

I am simply the extension of the pen—
a vessel of expression, granted the freedom
to speak what aches beneath the skin.

But take away the artist who holds the pen,
or take away the pen itself—and the voice
of the artist, soon becomes the pen instead.
Words find a way to bleed through silence.

No matter how noble your intent,
to silence one’s voice is to sever the
soul’s right to breathe.

And still— they will return,
stronger than before; they will fight
for their word— words that once gave
them armour, and the pen, a weapon.

Not to draw blood—
but to cut through blindness.
A violent expression, yes—
but born of peace, wild but tamed,
structured but never caged.
Because there is freedom in every
word, written or said.

in the silence of my room… I
dance the loudest,
pray the longest
cry the ugliest,
laugh the modest,
dream the youngest,
stare at empty walls for promise,
break down the strongest,
overthink within a guilty conscience,
play out my scenarios worthy of their flowers
planting fields of doubt for all my anxieties
to have a fruitful harvest

in the silence of my room… I
am truly at my honest.

Silent things
Silent sins, and it's silent king

Silence in all but once perfect dreams
Silence the lambs of their bleeding sheep

Silent are the hills of the new mountains & their peaks
Silent pauses; a man wondering if still good in the sheets

Silence is the violence of a mind without any peace
Silence in the times of a writer's block searching for a piece

Silent responses for a lover begging on their knees
Silent witness to the crime of love scripted on life's t.v. screens

All wanting of a silent death;
in the end—death comes much closer in every breath
Pain hurts more in silence, but it's voice often remains silent

A silence of a writer,
with a echoing pen of profound speak,—
it's their next piece. But still searching for the
perfect one; if such perfection does exist.

Do not listen to words of the mouth,
but words of their beating heart.
Lub dub, dub lub, could be the sound of love.
The sound of pain, tragedy, beauty anger, restlessness
and mere doubt. Lub dub, dub lub, passion at every
heart beats count.

Rather be quiet, to let inspiration speak it's
mind. Shut your eyes to see powerful words in
their hide. Lub dub, dub lub, for out of a chest,
beats a silent writer's pride.

       In silence comes the best write.

the secret slip of underwear
he was caught off guard; unaware
widened mouth and could only stare
gazing at her pond of ten thousand sounds,
how easy could it be,— a bit too fishy
knowing he wasn't the first to go skipping a
few rocks

but as a rock in a hard place
between a devilishly charming smile on her face,
she was, "a good friend's friend"
and he thought that made them "just friends"

and not one to play cliches
"i don't want this," he made it as clear to say
in that room at night, he wasn't interested in her,
and it was clear as day

he came only to help pen down a study report
but perhaps the con of hoping there'd be much
concentrate; were the first letters
written by her, wanting to spill ink in a little *******

                        click!

that idea was well tucked away and hidden,
like the tip of his favourite silver pen.

Amounts of time given to people
should be equally given back,
Time is fragile like glass
you can lose fragments of seconds.

Love is a gift
more worthy in the present
The moments you have now
could be the very last.

A second to breathe
is a display of your life's capacity
Now,
is the time you make the most of
Later,
is always unpredictable.

All seem lost,
with age we find ourselves
Identity,
builds on self discovery
The journey of life all must take.

You'll lose more than you gain,
hurt plenty more
Than you usually heal
But for all purposes,
we live a life that breaks us
And constantly build overselves much stronger.

Be as it may,
the handbook of life would simply say
Make the most of each and every day.

Falling quietly into your arms,
still the loudest echo of falling love
Swept of the ground;
as closely to my steady feet, I can't brush off feelings
Or find a reason not place volumes of my pride,
announcing who you are to me
But I often feel as a selfish sinner to say,
"you should belong to me"
And I am like a mirror in your room,
reflecting on your beauty, as the first to see it in the morning,

To be a night-gown that covers you in warmth and comfort,
a resting pillow to the dreams still twined in your hair
And you being a thought resting on my head, of a brain chair;
feeling rude to stare, as you climb into my eye's sight
of your beauty step by step, of your glorious stairs,

Despite you not seeing me, above all those others chasing,
their desires of power they wish they could own, to own you
To enthrone you; those who once sat on their own thrones,
they have polished themselves, for you to sit on top of their heads
I doubt you care; as like a child with someone else to worry
responsibly for their younger's responsibilities,

Still would you ever consider to indulge in me,
with the dews of my eyes and sheering shy smile
I do try and try, till my tired is tired of being tired,
and my spark dies out for the night- lit again by seeing
you another day, and I continue on being fired,

But in the eyes of a looker-on, I'm fried;
spared no sympathy for showing such a simp in me
In the pits of my emotions, falling deeper and deeper,
and I pray in the end that someone would pity me.

The pulsating rhythm of sound crashes against my ears,
resonating deep within her essence- those shattered fragments
have been mended, creating a sense of wholeness for both of us.
Your soul is a sanctuary where I find my refuge, and through
its window of your gaze, I glimpse the serene blue reminiscent
of a crisp, clear day, washed over by your tears. I slipped through
the fissures of time, where what feels like eternity is merely a
whisper of the long-lost days of our youth.

I extend hope to you, like a dream offered to the weary eyes
of an insomniac; I express my thoughts as gentle lullabies, soothing
enough to lull a multitude of lovers into slumber.

Your boundaries resemble a box filled with crumpled matchsticks,
a tongue parched and coated in the remnants of ash. You’ve yearned
for love, waiting for that first drop, now tasting the last. Yet, you
remain burdened by silence, unable to voice your desires, and sadly
weighed down by those you once held dear.

You've transformed into a fallen star, your essence suspended
like vibrant neon lights. It pains me to realize the depths of feelings
you'll never know— as our spirits linger in a shared dream, each of us
isolated in our own worlds.  All we seek is true Sincerity.

You'll desire a love;
that could feel like Heaven,
truly in this Hell on Earth,
surrounded by desires of a party life,
One hell of a night;
in those searching empty eyes,
in this hell of a life.

Are you not lost in the hype,
in the darkness of your soul,
searching corners of circles;
in those nights?

SIN!

Seriously In Need;
as the letters broken down...
You're broken too,
as they would pray on aching knees,
truly child, all for your wellbeing.

SIN!

Stuck In Nights,
like the endless one within,
Hating to wake up in this nightmare;
shedding tears all in your few,
favourite dreams.

I look back;
to this frame behind;
the picture of a past,
Seemingly holding onto grips;
held in an echoing bleeding heart.

And how can I not help but smile,
reflecting on this scar,
Of a past I've known;
all to say-

"you've truly come so far"

I bought myself;-
A single cigarette to share with my ex

Being as smoked out, choked up;
And in between coughing throughout
A prayer to God, I'm still not
Addicted to them.

Good enough lips for old discussions; acoustic ears pulling
at the strings of all we get to hear; I wish you were still here
Turning the dial, that familiar sensual feeling on life’s radio;
you were just a stereo—two channels away from falling in love,
in a forgotten tune of something close to an old love

My slow breaths exhaling, to your many breaths
inhaling; swallowing words to a prayer; happily fasting
on every time it takes, to admit why you actually fell in love
Filtering most of the hate I once had for you, funnelled out
of my folded brain— paper notes of love letters I kept away
from my curious friends

Dreaming of falling in love; soaked tears in my eyes, during-
to just to recall it all, as a *******; as if I were falling
from mountain springs; cold to your very touch of another
winter’s rain. And in a single way, I kind of enjoyed being
single for just another day

There’s something so sinister about being lost inside of yourself;-
I apply Lip Ice before I fall asleep, just in case I have to experience
That cold kiss with Death. But that’s one being, being less than
generous to oneself, and giving out a lot of degenerate excuses
Of not doing so well. Rambling picaresque; engulfed by a hardened
sense; feeding well into my own insecurities, made from haphazard
ingredients- as a soul that tastes like concluded gumbo

Still, I ate a full plate; possessing a ruthless taste; an illegitimate
descendant of experience- that ******* is tapping, watered down
By the chit and chatter of rain; a totem of pain, spoken in haste,
As my lips are a cigarette ember, kissing while heat reveals itself,
As a tiny echoed spark, in a pool full of fresh gasoline

I only hear the sound of peace, in a snoring dream, ha, I hardly
do try to breathe out of my nose. From not being altogether; are we
Really all together- who really knows? But only the dead, who truly
Get to see the entire world, as souls that rise, or of course those who fall
As its truly so sinister living as beings, in this world’s being.

To no fault of my own, the little I own
To the words that ask me to conform.
I feel so alone—in the deep chasms of a petrified soul.

An open door, shut by a closed mind to make a move.
Unwillingness of that to do.

Oh what a world to live in.
Searching, always seeking; in the depths be,
Of a tempestuous sea. I still can’t swim.

So comes that sinking feeling again. I’m sinking in
Deepest thought to the very END. My always sinking
HEAD. Especially when pride gave you a big head.

One hundred and five times going to make mistakes
And that's just the count of one day
Guess it's so hard for me to maintain
An appreciation of this above grace
Constantly going back to my old ways
No sense of care behind that repentive prayer
Why repaint that sin in another quote promise's shade
Promising this time to stay away from doing it again

It's high time I repented seriously in my next prayer

And as the dreams start to haunt you;
· · · · · ·there’s no yielding result
Turning off the lights to your eye’s house
living in a sensual cold heat; cutting away
the old pieces of yourself— tailor trimmed
New memories **** the old ones supreme,
the sweetest ones sting the cheeks, as with
· · · · · ·chocolate, and sweet vanilla cream

But a joy to us, still as a cup filled to the brim
on a sweet journey to love; enjoying every thrill
Thrusting trust on a slippery road, perfect to slide
into Dm’s— one has their risk of trust

Dust is like a cloud on the road
· · · · · ·too blind to see the form of rust
In your dry bones; a burning desire burst,
on a road to and a must, of you pouring out your
strategy, and letting them tell you if it’s worth a shot
They’ll drink everything about you- all in machine
of your sweetness from within

· · · · · ·Tell me what would they get from the first sip?

You dig a hole deeper than what gravity can hold down;
put your phone down – making those comments just to
ring the crowd up.

You’ll never fly any higher than an ostrich; but you play
their popular myth, when you bury your head in the dirt –
to cover up your face, with false scales of makeup making
up your worth.

Maybe as I missed the translation of when someone says,
“bed” to the word bird – to believe you rest in the nest
of your fears; never to leave that habitat, to soar above
the world.

Seems a habit not to face your fears –
sitting on your wings!

By the odds of life; tell me what are the odds
you’ll know the rhythm of a bee’s heartbeat –
And as you skip a stone across the water's surface,
would the river’s heart skip a beat?

know that all of creation are alive too…

I am alive too, as my skin feels beat; self-discipline
is no easy feat – for the flesh is weak, but has the
strength to torment your mind the entire week.

But we are more than skins; capable of beating
the odds, of giving to our skins.

I’d pray my skins off just cover my family’s
Back – yet as I pen these thoughts, my mind drifts
To the shadows of my own depression…

Is it the root of my anguish, or perhaps the spark
That ignites my pen into a fierce weapon?

I find myself asking how highly people must think
Of me, and that’s a thought that always brings me so low.
Acting so ahead of myself but not knowing where
I should go – the ideal version of myself I envisioned
At four years old, had me happily married by twenty-four.

Yet, I struggle to see my own worth in the eyes of any woman.
I constantly search for hidden reasons why relationships
Falter, and it seems that’s why they often do.… still,
I’d trade my skins to shield those I cherish, even if it
Were only for a fleeting moment.

Is this merely a misguided sense of humility,
Or is it a deeper issue of not being able to love myself?
I feel uncomfortable in my own skins

To some she seems less appealing; by skins of shedding
away snakes. Liars in the world with venomous words,
But there's a city on fire,—in the burning eyes of
the bright future I see in her.

Clean streets; at least better than a capital,
chilled vibes, and no rush to the stresses we
all got to face. Faces of a bright smile; but of late
hidden under a surgical mask.

Sky's the limit in skies, but we're limited
by the resources we once had. "Salibonani mama/baba,"
greeting my elders out of respect.
A mix of black, white coloured, indian, and many more;
the dish of flavours going well with good fellowship at church.

Race barriers still exist; but maybe we ignore it
enough that it seems little. The writing is on the wall!

Many tribes, but my tribe is of great people.
Aren't we all, despite of upbringing or class,
status, hierarchy, or density highs or low.

I have love for you all, love for my Bulawayo.

As our tears fall,
so does the rain.
All things washed away
once fallen onto the ground.
All people do fall,
waiting for the hurt to be washed away.

What comes next,
new growth in the new season.
Freshness of new life reborn,
you can't ask for anything more.
Look to the skies as you behold,
the falling rains that can restore.

What once was dried up,
becomes fulfilled again.
Things once fallen,
have come now to rise.
Look with your eyes,
see the beauty of what falls from the skies.

We are the blind faith of birds believing
In these empty sightless winds,
Sugar-spun cotton candy clouds; two kites
With trailing long strings.

We require no advice on the art of how
To fly, tangled traffic threads of candy cane
Lines of the clouds of yesteryears –
Our drive is sometimes a descent down
A mountain, make the time to embrace the sky;
Glide!

I gave up on my possession of love, to make
Peace with those demons; tears cascade like
Contemporary storms, running rivulets; craters
Upon our skin as the ache of hurt deepens...

Stinging like the creases of a well-worn shirt;
Lessons etched in the fabric of new wrinkles –
Still to remain as the silhouettes of the horizon.

Sunlight is irrelevant in a dream
for the one who still wants to stay
fast asleep

Long days, feeling like a mile.
Don't how to be happy, but I'll try to smile.
Testing out my life, it's a trial,
Haven't been good for a while.
Still finding reason just to smile.

Ringing on my troubles by a dial.
Memos of my pain in a file.
Shopping for happiness right down the isle,
Finding reason just to smile.

Lying to myself, I'm in denial.
Growing out the trend, I'm out of style.
Can't you give me a reason just to smile.

Own heart feeling hostile,
It's really here for awhile.
Just looking for the reasons just to smile.

The world is full of
smiles;
switch the letters,
but also so much (SM)
lies.

I wouldn’t find a reason to smoke again.

Even though she always wants a piece of my heart, that’s like a piece of my lungs for a piece of a smoke—while trying to get comfortable around me, searching for some peace just to smoke.

And even as I gave her a piece of my soul, that came with a few shatters of love from my broken heart, — I could neither find a reason as to why I still love her, while trying to piece together a reason at all.

Still as it cracks me up, with a broken smile each time we lie; to each; and together—baby I must have the crack you’ve been itching for.

Let me ignore all of the sounds that you’re no good to me, and share resources for our love as a drought filled community. Especially when our love feels so dry, that my eyes burn with sands trying to cry for my own sanity. You cursed my heart, and before then I promised I wouldn’t let that happen again—I swore.

                       I swore for all, searching for some peace
                       just to smoke— I wouldn’t find a reason
                                               to smoke again.

                               Guess it was just a smoke break!

The taste of you fades,
like the last hint of flavour in a vape
An energy between us-
though the battery has died
A beeping light in the dark, I'd seen
a blink of you before I shut my eyes away
A time to say goodbye, but it wasn't a good bye;
crashing into your skin-
I accidently fell in love with such a crush,
pulling, pulling, pulling me in once more
A love sickening addiction,
oh darling, I'm still in need a few last puffs

Remnants of ash linger –
a pair of cigarettes from our history;
memories tucked away in an ashtray –

“What a hell of a life,”
breathed in right after quarrels, and less
often after moments of passion.

Still hooked on one another.

Strike a chord with this smoke, playing addiction
in a thin tune- call for a rematch; as the fire that
escapes my lungs are many exorcisms: buy me
a healing patch

Years afterwards; my voice thins out with time
like there’s helium in the air- all of the warning
signs written on the box; the very first few puffs
were a sign: a youngling’s toughen coughs

Inherit the habits of man’s old habits- the coal
miners who must have breathed ashes; those we
were quick to call a bunch of dumb *****- now
we’re the ones lost in the ashes of their past

Chimney throats; the tiny stick we all thought
would paint us boys into tomorrow’s men- then again,
not much of us will be old enough to see a tomorrow
by this cancer stick’s end. Oh, what a shame

I sleep knowing,
      I’m always close to the edge of death
I believe in the air,
      never thinking much to count a breath

I sit comfortably in public,
      not knowing the age of the chair
I accept a leader’s change,
      never questioning if it’s actually fair

I ride passenger,
      never wondering if the driver feels suicidal
I say amen as a crowd,
      not knowing if the people even believe in the Bible

I lie, I cry, I love, I hate, I forgive, I resent,
     I live to treat, but sometimes I need one’s care

But as a man,
     I cannot cheat on my barber, when it comes to my hair.

So are we,
People of many faces.
Time growing by the second. Growing old to be.
Travelling the fields of foresight in the many places.

So are we,
Men and women loved of equal.
Like the trees blanketing the Earth, we're that many to be.
Through the small talk moving around to mingle.
Who still wishes to die single?

So are we,
The growing age of time itself.
The flashes of lights in the TV screen of dreams we only wish to see. Sneaking past the troubles of the days. Duck down in stealth.

So are we,
The unspoken words of choice in the corners of echoing rooms.
Don't lose the sound of your heart in the craze.
Don't count the dooms.
For it's the type setting leaving you trapped in a maze.
Silence be your greatest praise.
In awe and wonder of everything so new. Such an amaze.
Stuck in the moment for days.

So are we,
The people of the Earth.
Counting your life's givings to add the worth.
So are we, people.

(A) bit of words I live by.

(B) aware of what you (C)
Nowadays you're so close to meeting a trage(D)

Don't waste too much of your good energy. And don't let that gauge get to (E)
Give more (F)fort to those you love. But don't
go around donating what's in your (G)eans.

Wisdom isn't determined by your (H)
(I) learnt that recently.

Many will self title you from the front like a (J)-card. But it's o(K).
We look at them like, "oh wel(L)"

(M)any  are slave to their mistakes,
meaning we're our own worst (N)emy.

(O)ways know where you came from,
before you head out into the world. Everyone has their o(P)inions. Not every one will be for you, still at least say thank (Q)

(R) we not people of great value? Ye(S)
We seem to have come from nothing, but given time we're all some(T)in.

(U) know who you are. (V)ision yourself a better person by each day. Don't live with  (W) standards.

(X)periences, make us who we are.  (Y) worry about the past, when you have the present.

Life will always be hard, but the rewards are more fulfilling, compared to life being e (Z)

Facebook has taken a break –
Now the darker side of me begins to emerge
As I struggle to remember birthdays without a nudge.

I can’t throw shade at an ex on X anymore,
As I’m deprived of the mindless scrolling, that feeds
A sickening eye on open to doubt Instagram feeds.

The relentless ticking of time feels slower
Without TikTok, and now I’m left to view my own
Insecurities without the distraction of YouTube.

Early hours into the morning'
a slow scenic drive into the horizon
Not of the sun falling down, but by the
first light of new day rising
And all the few hours before,
was just of us partying, and tearing it up in the club
An all-nighter; all of the good highs of a good night,
never given the chance to say goodnight!

As we're all a full package sight'
with all of these bags under our eyes
Switching clothes before we had to go,
we're now switching up, to stay awake with a can of Switch
A couple licks of reminders, and bites of time,
are all of leftover tastes still stuck on my teeth

How to summarise the night before'
a few simple words;

            "A crazy rush"

Pardon all my excuses,
I know they'll always be there.
such a scenic for having all
of my heroes fall to an early death.

Following people that don't follow me back,
my social dilemma is,
Sending out pictures trying
to make out trends.
But I'm really so tired of following people who aren't even my friends.

Likes I get, feel less appealing
to the hearts you most likely break.
Even for Heaven's sake,
my eyes stuck on screens even after I go to bed.

I could type out all my feelings,
but fail to say them face to face.
Questioning how you might to react
before where even in the same place.
I've loaded myself with shots to the head,
with all of my thoughts playing Russian roulette.

What more do people actually
expect of me,
Carrying the smile of a camera lens,
without a saved filter of glee.
Taking tiny snippets of me,
a lonely example.
Through all the stories,
wishing to switch my own channel.
But that's just a sample,
for me to believe I don't really matter.

So to caption this,
saved to my feed.
Holding breath on people's views
of all you do, you might not breathe.
Maybe one day I'll blow up,
but I know that fame won't be a breeze.

Just asking you please,
help out a fellow on his social dilemma.
Speaking to people is holding
up the highest of pressure.
Trying to post my life to something
beautiful and better,
Slowly believing my accumulated fame is lasting forever.

Still why isn't the world doing me any better,
when I'm feeling this social dilemma.

In the grand overview:
a miniature universe encapsulated within a fly’s delicate wing,
entrapped flawlessly in a mesmerizing reverie.

Futile lips that have savored the nectar of a sweet existence,
envisaging the whispered endearments of love.

All amidst a flightless winter, detached from the embrace of summer,
swift moments of the paparazzi’s intrusive lens,
devoid of an escape from fleeting trends.

Lost in the footsteps of our predecessors,
bloodlines tainted with the stench of yesteryears’ socks,
corrupt law enforcers bending the straight lines of justice,
pastors reaping rewards from tithe—promoting slander,
bound by a constricting necktie.

A captivating visage, a trivial coin’s value,
not worth a penny for a fleeting thought,
over ephemeral regrets concerning “Instagram girls,”
no foundation upon which to establish standards,
a desolate heart, a tool appropriated by the most reprehensible,
urban heights in pursuit of an intoxicating sense of glamour.

As society’s vigilant eagle observes it all, soaring through the skies,
yet the sight of it all leaves one plagued by a sense of discomfort.

Holes in my old socks, be so quick to compare to my heart.
Money I kept hide in the socks, lost my loose change. No wait let me restart.

Holes in my socks, be so quick to compare to my heart,
Life been too hard, tell me what's new. We all puzzle pieces trying to fit the part.
And money comes and goes but its never clean like the silk keeping my feet warm,
And we all wake up having a bad day, feeling so torn.

Throw your conscious in the washing machine to try and clean it so it at least smells fresh.
Add my empty socks to take up some space, just don't mix it with an old Ladies dress.

And my brain is just spinning, spinning, spinning,
This game in life feels rigged. So I'm not really winning, winning, winning.

O baby, don't lose my socks in the laundry, they holding too many memories.
All the weird friends you hang with, you would make me hang with them too. These be my next frienemies.

I am the whisper in nights,
of those made silent;

the echo of tears,
of all gone dry;

the champion of wars,
in all battles lost;

the memory of all,
now long forgotten;

an endless belief,
lost a reason to believe;

                           endless am I,
                           endless is hope.

A love my soul knows it could never claim,  
A heart that I still long for, yet it feels no flame.  
Though I wished them to be,  
They will never be the one for me,  
But in solitude, I whisper their name.  

A heart full of its own shame, I can only weep,  
Tears shared for a love that I long for, but can't keep.  
So, with tears lost in my eyes,  
I gaze at her beauty, as it lies,  
But in solitude's arms, is where I sleep.  

A love that’s vast as the sea,
Yet good men to her are scarce, you see!

I sail by her side, I stand as a mate,  
In daylight, we share laughs, it's great!  
But when night starts to fall,  
I weep, feeling small,  
For a love that I cannot create.

High on all of the places, I shouldn't survive
-afraid of heights; above myself but also
uncomfortable being so low towards others

Solo: in feeling I must
face all my pains alone

                    That's a notion highly questioned

Under the stars,
when the morning already arose.
Under darkness, a new light grows.
Exposing itself. In the dark there is a rose.

All on my own,
penning the thoughts of my dome.
Angels calling me home,
demons not leaving me alone.
Questioning my livelihood and sanity.
If people knew the me real,
a lot of them wouldn't be proud of me.

What a tragedy!

Crossing through borders,
waiting for what lurks on the other side.
You don't know what you might face,
till the new battles are what you find.

But I've placed all of my worth in that rose.
I hope it's brave enough to grow,
and cuts down the darkness with it's thorns.
In reference to the first stanza,
each line is on it's feet. They stand out!
In the dark, I realize I'm not a kid anymore.
But a rose at times. I must develop,
and fully grow. The old petals die out,
and the new ones will show.

Solo fears, I fear less of them,
feeling less on my own.
The moonlight beckons. She calls.
Open my sights to hope,
to those fears, I close the doors.

Midnight, she calls.

I suppose, I can no longer ignore.
I suppose, I must go.
I suppose, all things call for your soul.
I suppose, for me, the darkness I fear it no more.

Midnight, she calls.

So loud that everything seems to be low.
At the lowest point of my life, my soul tends to glow.

Midnight, she calls.

So loud that it echoes in tiny corners, till it breaks. It has a lot to show us.

Still Midnight, she calls.

In the solo moments I have to listen
out for wisdom.
Feeling in the dark corners of myself, to know what is missing.

The solo Midnight, she always calls. But I'm not solo anymore.