| Gold in your eyes
  black immorals leave you blind

| Immortal pain, forever will they cry
  as you try to decide of all the written
  messages on the wall, you want to reply

| You're like a worker of the night,
   living in the city heights, trying to get high
   Success gives you a fright; you couldn't see yourself
    well in all those bright lights

| Grinding at work, grinding with a girl afterwards
   on a wall. Your job is to answer customer's call,
  And you also had this pretty ******* call; and you
   two did some damage to the wall

| Trying to patch it up, like you tried with an ex
   you got drunk a little extra, in an empty bathtub
    shower, sending her drunk texts
  She thought you were just looking for ***,
  you threw your phone at the wall—it made a mess
  She obviously could smell your intentions with the
   alcohol under your breath

| So you screamed at the wall,
   "I hate you, I hate you all," as always to that wall
  But it wasn't the people you were referring to at all
   it was just at all your personalities, that you only know
  New friends started knocking on the bathroom door,
   people you never knew at all. They found you bouncing
   your anger on the wall, bawling your eyes out on the floor

| You used to have such good conversations with
   the walls; listening to you intentionally
  You filled them with your punches whenever you
   felt empty. Did so, so plenty and affectionately,
   as those walls could credit your pain, with great credibility

| Yours was an unmatched ability
   to tell a good story to an inanimate object so brilliantly
  Wilfully, cutting yourself so short equally,
   as time kissed you on your spine secretly, to pull you
   back in time- minutely, to reminisce on that girl Tiffany

| She was a blonde; only by her kind of dye
   she looked straight through you; only by
    that black eyeliner on her pretty eyes
   She made you seem a sweet tooth addict; only
    by the many times you tasted her cherry pie
   A cherished walk by; she was sort of bi- buying
    your heart both in and out.
   The number of times you told her, "I love you,"
    you'd probably lose count

| Now you just have that wall of where you
   first kissed
  Where you first embraced, and she accepted you
   with your random lisp
   Sharing your clothes of your blue collar salary,
    making sure it came back ironed so crisp
   Supersoaker eyes after— the only catch you had,
    after a long time you had fished

| In two deep, but all you have are these walls;
   they won't talk back to you. But they talk about
   your ex girl. ****, ****, **** these talking walls

Any feels less of themselves,
staring at broken walls
Desperate screaming for help.

Walls never reply,
they hold secrets
If the walls were talking,
they'd have a lot to say.

Behind every crack,
is hidden hurts inside a black hole.

Tangled thoughts – I love
your beautiful strands of hair,
And not having them tangled in
my fingers, leaves me so stranded.

I can’t help these tangled thoughts;
thinking about your curls.

And so, around pretty women, one must put their mind on their
hip — and also keep their heart on their mind, for when they think
about those feelings. You can get crushed by a crush, yet it is you
alone who bears the burden of its sting— intuition, should be carried
like a sickness, and should you cough, let it out on the world as a bit
of wisdom.

Cos love ensnares us all, yet we remain oblivious to the means of an
escape from it – until the moment arrives when the sweetness of affection turns sour; a love tainted... when you both become so sick of
each other, that every kiss tastes a bit like *****.


                                            A bitter aftertaste that lingers of regret.

The taste of tears
love=flavour’s joy
tasted dreams of another
And as a crying shoulder to a lover
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
anger=boiling wrath
cast in the tone of doom
As we’d cry over anger to keep cool
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
saddens=weather’s blue
we’d cry together to wash away pain
Tears of tomorrow are drizzles of yesterday’s rain
             ....our tears make up our love

The taste of tears
death=last drops
it will be hard for one to say their goodbyes
Still we know that we’ll meet on the other side
                         ....our tears till the end

A tear
is but a drop in the ocean.

As pain
is only for a moment.

Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch

Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!

A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls

                     A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes

You grew out of my eyes – wild, and wet
you held the weight of my pain;

Carrying my tears after the rain
  the white lotus after my pain’s rain.

the few parts of life that always tries to break me down; two eyes
red as tailgate lights – I’ve cried too much, now. a cut-open heart,
with these slow healing wounds to lick on; but let them look upon
you, as who you are, before they look you down

as I hold the keys to my human drive, filled with locations, times,
accidents, and monthly repairs – amongst daily commutes of
businessmen, who only take monthly communion – falling silent
to one’s busy ears, the silence told me, a friend is only a true friend
when they stand above being just a part of your peers

still, to any love I give is two loves I give – loving myself, by loving
the hands that crafted me as I am. please excuse my wet wrists –
I’m a tearful man who doesn’t cry much in public.

Dry of  heart
thirsting
for love.

By end' land
across
ocean' sand,
on a tiny raft
crafted
by hand.

Singing a hymn
in tongues
only he
can understand

In calm whispers
his head
is on display
like an ornament
for a
Christmas day.

Christ is quiet
and holds
onto his love
man brushes his
dry lips together
crackling loud!

He is about to
starve.

'Are you in
the sky
empty and dry
can I see you
as Sun stabs
at my eye?'

Still a quiet
response.

Soon end of
day slowly nears
vastness of dust
in place of seas.

Cries of man
cracked of voice
humid air holds
onto his
throat.

Heaven heard
children' cries
shedding her tears
ten thousand tears
kissing on land.

Covering all
with neither
a bit of shy
sweet rain, the
sweetest that ever
came.

In the midst of a somber scene,
When emotions weighed heavy, it seemed,
Tears began their gentle stream,
Each drop carrying a taste, like morning's gleam.

These tears were not shed in haste,
But rather, in due time, they graced,
A heart burdened by life's uncertain race,
Seeking solace in his tears, and their vulnerable embrace.

As they flowed, his fractured reflection appeared,
Eyes once hopeful, now shattered and seared,
A mirror of pain and confusion, it cleared,
Inner turmoil, in hidden tears, was revealed.

In this moment of deep introspection,
Tears tasted like time's poignant reflection,
A reminder to let go, to find direction,
Like morning dew, cleansing the soul's connection.

And so, his tears marked a turning tide,
A gentle nudge towards healing's side,
Embracing vulnerability, as his tears implied,
Growth, renewal, a stronger self to abide.

Upon the waterworks,
are the very tears tasting of worthlessness
A broken cry of the tears falling into the ocean
as her body curves, displaying these emotions

So what do they tell.

A question indeed,
for human nature yearns to ask the question with the answers we much need
And I'd need a step back from myself
a minor second to breathe
For holding back my tears means I've fallen not being able to forgive.
Surely it's not too good for my health

Still the very Lord I cry to,
hears the echoes of my tears

What do they tell.

How you see good in all your people,
in my tearing eyes I often see evil,
We pray so long till all these knees hurt,
the last bad I do always come first,
And I paid my dues now I need my reimburse

What do they tell.

How to fix all my pieces,
rich at heart but still no richness
the last bad I do always come first
And I love being my own witness

Still what are these tears telling.

How inch by inch I'm climbing my ego,
can't stand myself while I stand with your people
My proud voice only comes out feeble
And I don't know how to be good while I see evil
How do you see good in all your people

And what's the last they've told.

How I talk big talk with small words,
the last bad I do always come first.
I know that it's wrong, but feels right,
don't want to be left behind if you don't mind

I see all my bad, and act blind.

Have I then listened to my tear's story,
perhaps though, still my crying isn't at it's end

Dearly Lord I'd much prefer to be where you are.

Worth more than the gold of this rich heart,
can't finish my words, so I'll give you a best start.
Movie scene, you honestly gotta be the best part.

Chump change of my one dime,
pay dues just to spend more time.
Kinda selfish when you're all mine,
red wine of you both being so fine.

Quite strange how it all goes,
your love makes my words all flow,
Taking heed to your tempo just to go slow.
And at your lightly pace, I can't help but to just glow.

Won't swear for a promise is my better deal,
in the many fake faces, tryna see what's real,
Risk it all just to enjoy that one thrill.
And your soft lips are my sworn will.

As the days will change like another book page,
my love still strong, but it does age.
But started best being teenage.

So let's take the time to start in it, and both engage.

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 that time-
holding a weight onto my heart;
Reason be; when you were my crush,
young and we didn't know about love.
The more we kissed; it was never enough.

As we were, when we were young.

Treat as royalty with my broken crown,
pull away veils, could I not see your open
love,

Your heart amongst empty chests in the
crowd,
would you only notice me when I'm not
around,
Wish to hear me when there’s not a single
sound,
you only seemed lost when there was nothing you
found,

Act high on your thrills in a lifestyle so upside
down,
a pound of flesh, a pack of thoughts, and a bag of
****,

Every time you sleep, you’re taking that leap,
another risk; whether this time to wake up from
that dream,

Eyes wet, waking up from ocean dreams,
I hope your parents taught you well how to
swim,

In so deep, in murky waters,
as all you’re doing is looking for surface under
your feet.

But the sands also sink,
trying not to shut your eyes, so you constantly
blink.

Insomnia is keen to grinning,
smiling on all the chances of stealing your
sleep.

I’m so weak; for not being your shore
inside of all those tempestuous dreams.

Forgetful dreams, trapped on the pillow of my
bed— tiptoeing thoughts, almost like a ballerina
having a good stretch. As an injured picture frame
hauls away the canvas of a dream on a stretcher.
Giving pretence for a pretender—and knowing
whether the weather decides to jump over your
head, is knowing when it has a spring in its step.

But it never bends to tender hearts—it only offers
them the work of love. A group of tenders; all their
touches tender, all enlisted in affection’s labor force.
And if it's a compulsory love, we'll love with force.

Cos Love is a chin check sport—and you pay
for it with the protruding part of a chin cheque.
Control, and out-of-control—to the ones living
so remote. But lose that island, and you lose control.
And lose the answer to the power of influence—
and you begin to question what control even means.
Control is part of that… this far, at least, but a life
without risk— is the risk of never having lived.
Because everything you love to do might just be
the very last thing that finally does you in.

Woke up feelings to a morning that kind of *****; mixed a bit of ****
in my coffee cup – being blunt, that I need a higher buzz. When I cry,
my tears are always like smoke in my lungs; it just chokes me up.

In this life where people search for *******, more than the depth
of one’s inner soul – they might say they love you, but never hold you
that close. Even if our energies magnetized, I still need to know – that
if we dressed our love, would I still be attracted to you even in your
baggy clothes?

We all carry baggage – still if I showed you mine, would you
show me yours…

Pillow talk: you can be good at it, but in public you don’t have the
right words – you just rest them in your thoughts. Where you woke
up, laughing with the bad folk – the wiser eyes look at you as the
joke.

                                                      Aren’t we sometimes a terrible joke?

do you love me Bipolar –
My heart is in a bit of disorder;
ordering my emotions, suspended by
the winds blowing me into my
Mood swings.

Does loving me sometimes feel
too irrational – do I
give you a sense of Phobia; I
cannot Lie; I have

thanatophobia

and the someone I love,
that I fear losing - in All honesty,
is losing myself to Love…

Truth is…

I am a private man who tries his best at showing public love;
chromed heart, leather lungs – aiming to avoid a plastic love.
When I fall in love, you’d know, when my words are so tied
up; stringed lips, blurry eyes, and a sponged mind – praying
I don’t easily absorb everything that’s noxious in my life…

And like when your WIFI is low; in desperate times, is when
I start to use my resources so well – resorting to digging away
at my pride, digging to find those quenching waters; a demure
self from a humble well; I find it hard to be well with my own
character development; for as you reveal on all your personal
struggles, some wish you well, and the rest just goes, oh well…

As for right now, I am a man with every decision being made
with a good prayer in mind; respecting all of the days at heart;
it’s through His love I’m still alive, despite these various odds,

I still have this life, thank God!

i.

By chance,
I'm really not that good at giving his thanks.

The moment is equal to the words I should say, but sometimes things never really add up,
And in my case no addition to the cause subtracts the total worth.

Please excuse me though I may tend to act up.

By chance, I wouldn't know how best to express myself,
Unless if I was somebody else or playing pretend on myself
I guess until I would only learn how to stop copying somebody else,
I can be my own self.

By chance,
I wouldn't know how to stop myself from falling in love.

And the chances of me not showing it aren't too many,
I do apologise baby,
My apologies are always so plenty.

But you and I will choose to play the game,
flattering ourselves that we were in love.
And yes darling feeding yourself dreams still makes you starve.


But why are we these beings,
falling to love.
Cause human beings can't function to love another if they can't love themselves.


ii.

But it can take the whisper of dark,
falling onto the cold nights,
that you may toss my comfort away from your side.

A slow measure distancing man from God,
in our case man from woman.

The butterfly knot would then be surely untied,
you wouldn't expect less of me,
Cause you'd expect me to tie a new knot of making you bride.

But my only possible fault,
being too afraid to commit
And one's added failure is to not point it out.

Still never distance yourself from these warm truths

Distance may let you grow,
cold and old.

What’s the tempo of your body,
Trying to catch it’s beat;
My heart is beating- skipping,
At least on this track;
I’m racing against myself,
At least while I’m on this path,

Searching for a much deeper way
To love you back
Yet, reminiscent of my past,
These fresh emotions
Pull me back to that which
I never really had –

Even if it seems our love could
Only last a fleeting moment,
My dear, I offer you my
Heartfelt thanks.

In this very reality,
everything will always be so real,
From the beginning till the end,
life till death
We're all born to be real.

We've become apart of this world,
to bring a lot new into it,
We're all children of something new,
apart of life, asking so much of us.

Are you ready for life or is it ready for you,
for if you wait too long to do something in life,
That's unfortunate, for life doesn't wait for you.

For whatever you do now,
the future asks you constantly
What's next,
so make it like it was your last,
Make it your best.

In aforetime,

a beautiful day,
in the fall, where do tree leaves,
come alive in their spring,

all children out in the bent to play,
in a world of cunning-handed colours,
our toes well in the sun,
hanging off a tyre swing.

God painted us a dream,

the brush of eaves aloof,
as leaves blow in winds. Even after the rain,
we joyously rush out to play,
inside the assuage cracks of mud,

stained feet and a mother's complaints,
as was their display of love;
hearing them call brood to their bath.

God painted us a dream,

on the open wings,
spread open for us to feel free,
I can't help my remembrance of
such a wonderful day,

without a reason to hold onto money,
being okay in life's once okay.

The picture has now turned grey.

Oh sorrowful song,
As the chords they go—lifting minors
And falling majors, flat to the eyes, D minor
Of the saddest song:

                    He sings with a choke of voice
                    Smoke from the lungs, a smokers abyss
                    His pipes are cold,
                    Blackened in the airways of the exhaust
                    Exhausted by the pleasures; only pleasurable at first.

Oh where are the words
The words to speak ill of another colour
Must of been caught up in the smoke—in the years
The years he said them marginalizing without remorse
In it's race, sped into discriminating; on his own tracks
Of how the world must only revolve around him
His wife had shed a tear in her prayers, "Lord do a working in him"

                   But his heart was made cold and hard
                   A stone—paved by cement of his opinions concrete
                   His racist abuse was made public, non discreet
                   So how would he fit a colour of world being discrete?

Oh the upbringing, hierarchy forced in eyes
To follow a father's pride—a fitting bride
He was unaware she wasn't hundred percent white
And in the end, both father and son died alike
Ironically chocked by the black smoke rewarding cancer inside

                    The sad life of the black smoke racist🚬


                        The son hopes not to follow his father's line of smoke.

The box: a cradle for the delivery
of new life born into this world

or

the space where a man may wander aimlessly,
lost by his lack of self-control.

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

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

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

Ole to the beautiful flower hidden underneath
a shadow- a beautiful flower in bloom, alongside
a naked truth. Sensual images, picturing gentle
moves to drive love so pure and never felt;
its eyes a flower garden of unspoiled- felt so heavenly.
Permit me to kiss you evenly by heaven’s sweet entry;
flowing in sync; we’ll rest in a lily field of complete
serenity.

And she replied to him:

Our first meeting of first feelings- never felt before,
as I waited in the shadows; longing for the needs
within us, for one another. Aroused in my inner core
to touch and explore love in treasured completeness
and wholeness. Share your life with me and within me;
darling fall into my arms, and allow me to feel my inner
spirit for you within- burning endlessly from my soul’s
aflame.

                                      Shall we burn together.

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

In the paradigm of this fictional paradise—in the eyes
        Of thinking life is all about bias
On the one side, you may find me on a grey line
Or rather a grey lie; as the N is the ends, of something unfamiliar
You may slip easier while wearing slippers.

As are my best years: warm ash blowing in the wind
Time is just a mastermind, planning only to seem less everyday
I tell myself not to be afraid, of that which few will understand
   Life is unclear, as like watching scenes through filthy glass
   I only worry for the young, as still being a youth
Those trying to achieve their dreams, by the skin of their teeth
                                             With a missing tooth

But where am I even going with this,
      Fuelling insecurities to my drive.
The longest ride of galloping dark horses inside,
   I fail always to have a stable mind.
But let me hose you a little, pouring out my pain in these prose
I suppose it’s the running smell of intentions, with a running nose
   I’m cold, and flew out of the window, busy chasing my dreams.

The birds and bees—life is full of all those awkward conversations
         ***** referred to the birdseed;
         Pollen I guess is fairy dust attracting bees
    Everything eventually desires a multiply; of course to divide
The female’s thighs, adding my power of manhood, bisecting insides
     And we hope not to subtract the time we have left,
       As the final product will be the life of our child

   (I still hate math, but ironically try to make this moment count)

Seriously where am I going with this? That’s me again—
Heading nowhere, without any directions.
    I must of missed the signs; sigh
    So excuse me while I grab my thoughts—not to thwart
    And trap myself in these usual profound thoughts.
Those who love to think deep, probably can’t swim.
And if you don’t get that; blame your shallow mind.
    This is Adults swim—
                         All children kindly step outside.

Now let me talk to the mature poets in the room
I warn you, it’s grave to write like it’s always your last;
Buried as a pen in your tomb
Some would try to write good deeds in the good book,
                                                  In that waiting room.

With your holey socks; the only time you seem a fibre of holy
   Hey you! Take off your shoes, this is Holy ground
         And by the way, that was me being profound.

I’m the chaos of words...The Chaos is profound!

There’s a parachute stitched into my eyes— soft silk holding
nothing, as I watch myself freefalling into an empty space
The ringing words of love still call, like fading prayers –
as the voices of lovers trying to reconnect.

But I never was good at playing my heart. But aren’t you
expecting me to stay in character? To wear the lines you
wrote for me, in the means of keeping up this fantasy of love.
My smiles are scripted; as everyone else is helping to create
such a picture frame. The world helps paint our picture from
all the wildest of conversations; but the more they run out of
your mouth, the more they seem to taste so tame.

These tired eyes have searched in your eyes for a reflection
I can truly bend– so is the baggage claim of my baggy eyes;
visioning our broken pieces coming together to hopefully
mend.

I was your background character, your silent NPC in a game
you never knew I played, the first time. But when I stopped
watching, when I stopped turning toward you with secret
obsession – you started to feel the crush of my own crush.
Now you chase the echo of something that once held you
true—that hidden crush, that tender view, searching. But love,
my dear, truly YOU, should see how love is so **** blind.

The sky is falling—
ashes in slow motion,
  raining smoke laced with doubt.
I’m trying to figure things out – trapped inside
   of my mind, trying to map a way out.
Time wears you down like a borrowed face.
Money races laps around your mind—
  and we’re all so deeply
    invested in the chase.

I think locomotive thoughts—
   every train of thought heavier than the last—
but somehow, I keep losing track of time.
But what is time,
  if not something that’s never mine?
We spend every second like a dime—
  but not every moment
    is worth the time.

I dress up for someone else’s moment,
tailor my soul to suit their life—
wearing joy like it’s rented, hoping the fit feels right.
Every mistake I remember from yesterday
  becomes a brushstroke in the picture I paint today—
a portrait of someone better
  hanging up in my frame of mind.

And maybe, just maybe,
there lies the real way
to fit in.

There is the time when life flourishes;-
and only but a second when it all vanishes
A winter loveless; makes itself cold – needless,
airless, so emotionless- for is the state of the heart
after sudden loss.

The loss of someone, the loss of love,
the loss of dreams, the loss of time, the loss of faith,
and tragically the loss of hope; - that loveless winter
embraces your mind in a heart’s grief.

You seem afraid, so afraid to break the silence;
still, you can hear your bones break in despair –
and oh despair, “you have choked me in my heart,
banished me - I feel your hand squeezing my trivial
heart made of a speck; sometimes it’s crystal or metal,
nonetheless, it all will break.”

Though suddenly, I snap awake - perhaps it was
just all a dream; - a fierce winter to recall.
It was more, for the somebody taking everything I love,
were my own hands, around the throat of everything
I held dear- all I thought I had lost.

If life was as easy,
what would be our existence
If we've never been broken,
how'd we know to fix the pieces?
The Chosen know life is a long road,
but be brave to walk the distance.

I placed all my quarters on forever,
hoping for a future filled with endless possibilities.
However, deep down, I couldn't help
but doubt that the future held much change for me.
This uncertainty left me feeling indifferent, as if
I had lost my enthusiasm for what lay ahead.

    So I said, "flip the coin, and maybe I should
                 chase some tail when I'm in over my head"

Is it black, or is it red,
as it mostly makes me feel blue,
when a lover is just a memory in my head...

Purple shades in the passion of our love,
a yellow delight, if it feels destined from above.
But for some, a whitish-gray when their about to ***.
Those who believe they're shooting out their love...

Green for the envy of those displaying their
affections in public. Pantone 448 C, for some
people's love is quite ugly. But in the warmth of
us being orange, I warn the woman I love to ease off
the long hugs. As my tenderness is a light pink, so a
quick hug if you please...

                               We've all got our shade of colour,
                                                 to the feelings of love.

Losing fragments of your essence— those fresh nicks from a heavy
blade on your hair; each strand carries the legacy of generations,
a tale waiting to be shared with your heirs. Ears dulled by the
overwhelming tide of emotions, as the ocean of your tears are
divided for the two days you permit yourself to weep. There’s a
Moses in your gaze, appearing on weekends when the burdens
of the week leave you feeling so weak.

Knees trembling under the weight of an unyielding deception—
striving to connect to an acceptable truth; through a faith that has
morphed like a password to someone’s compromised Wi-Fi.
Choked by the very words you struggle to articulate; those
emotions blur the line between reality and forgetfulness.

Tonight, you ventured out to dance with your own spirit—both
hands firmly on yourself; yet the crowd feels a bit too touchy,
with those who aspire to be G.O.A.Ts You turn to them and say,
“Please keep your kids in your pants.”

Your hair was shorter than the breath it takes to articulate your
thoughts, as you begin to feel like a transparent shard of glass: a ghostly
figure they see through. You entered this multitude hoping to remain
single, but to at least mingle with kindred souls who endure every hit
life throws their way, encapsulated in a brief collection of life’s greatest
hits from a solo artist’s single. We all crave that connection with people.

My thought’s nature is so chain-free; though when
it comes to missing links of love [I’m so incomplete]
A love for you, locked by the links we’ve made; we are
slaves to each other, and I know it sounds shameless in its
message relayed; still from the sound of your voice, there’s
something in the air- with the pauses in between conversations;
All the invitation of the opportunity to kiss each other, to clear
out that awkward air

Before birth and afterwards, I seem passionate over your touch
as like a youth- waiting to take your hand and speak for us
whenever the ask if we’re in love. And in the soil, I’ve buried my heart,
still feelings of it are so light, that they all grow out with delight
Our laughter spreads across the land of a bedspread, and their little
giggles in between, are like daisies sticking out on the lawn
So, if we bury all our memories in the wrinkled sheets-
our beds are our graves; that could remember far better, with their
memory foam mattress [Darling, I will cover you]

Only when she's not around,
I find my heart cut out through my soul,
She always cuts me deep,
her love is bitter to my tongue
Sweet to my lips.
I feel stranded in an empty town,
far from my home, away from her ground.

So down in my weakness,
find my strength in the sips that I taste.
Grab hold of the back of my throat,
cutting the air. She causes me to choke.
Feels so warm inside,
down to my heart, around my pride.
She's much my weakness,
confessing my secrets to this black body mistress.

She called me every morning.

Then my lips ran dry,
far from a taste; or scent of her flavour.
She brought me pleasure,
far from enough, a feeling lasts till forever.
When will we be back together,
two thousand years since I've had a taste.

You've been gone for far too long,
miss how we met every morning.
And I swear my taste buds are calling,
I can't help myself from burning,
and I'm out here only yearning.

The craving yearn for her,
how it constantly burns.
I miss my cup of black grounded coffee.

There was a dream of mine,
an idea of most in a different space of time.
I dreamt of a place where a man stood in front of a crowd. People of so many colours.
Unashamed of the colour on his face,
nor the song underneath his voice.

Some of course,
hated him and his so called gang of "stereotypes".
And in all honesty, it wasn't a shy away from racism,
cause they introduced them as short time hypes,
failing to even pronounce their leaders name.
 
So that's what they walked in as, "The crazy gang of dangerous stereotypes".

They crowd fell quiet at their arrival,
and really the few who understood their vision came up in front with their tiny cheers.

Those against them sent their spies to try and infiltrate the group inside,
But their leader didn't mind. "Let them try and break what's outside, we're much stronger inside".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.

Those against them tried to pull the plug on their little performance,
but it just made the leader chuckle.
"They can turn our mics off, but our voices will always be on".

Their fearless leader echoed to his stereotypes.
And now turning to the crowd.

"I know you hate us, I see it in your eyes.
You think we're quite strange for being a gang of such vibrant colours,
Which is the case, but also the case of how different we are from one  another.

There's white on our keys, 
black on our drums,
yellow on our bass,
red on our strings
And mixed in the lead.

I understand being mixed seems a little overwhelming,
but trust me, it was for all of us at first.
Still we need you all to listen,
we've got a song to give.

We're tired of this hatred for different colours".

Their leader gave the call,
as the drum began the count,
The crowd grew closer. A few began to dance, while others still stood in their places.
But you could see the jig expressed out of their faces.

As the song was halfway done,
the crowd was entirely full.

Where the leader swerved left and right,
the crowd did so without hesitation.
And those who had stood in place where now dancing with everyone.
Dancing as one entire nation.

Their leader lifted up his voice to the Heavens as they rained down a shower of lights,
flooding the entire room.
The leader fell to his knees as did the people,
his voice was tired and broken
But he kept the song going strong.

He got back up building his voice till it was echoed high enough to bring down a mighty tower,
And with one mighty call to the Heavens once again,
the song had filled the room with cheers and tears.

Those against them had stood behind explaining,  "sorry but you've been suspended".
The leader with a smile replied, "we kind of figured, so we're taking this party somewhere else".

As he left with his stereotypes, the people inside had begun to follow behind,
They tried to break what's outside, but we're much stronger inside.

And that's the strength of our song that goes,
*** *** da da di *** ***,
*** *** da da di la la.

"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.

Had it been a year ago,
you'd tell me a cough would be the scariest thing to hear,
I wouldn't want to be in that year.

Had it been a year ago,
The common flu wound be the death of so many,
I'd think all common diseases are working to be my enemy.

Had it been a year ago,
the four walls of my home would be my very prison,
I'd think the year had gone against us, so I can call treason.

See,
I've feared enough in my life,
to never fear the same thing twice,
But now I see,
I'm much afraid of a sickness,
that I fear twice of my own cleanliness.

As I see,
the flu is the possible thing to take my life
Sorry, but am I even reading that right?


Now this year,
I was told to be insecure of how clean my hands are,
rather than being insecure of myself.
To make social distancing a trend,
for the sake of my health.

To now questioning how this might all end.  
Sorry but I had a more eventful  year planned out,
rather than this year instead.

Now,
tell me what is the cause,
I've heard so many theories, but who really knows.

Tell me how it got here,
I've heard it came from so many places, but I fear mostly that it might be near

Tell me why I'm in Lockdown,
the news told me it was the safer way to live, but my isolation isn't doing me the best to stay calm.

But just tell me please,
where did this Corona come from.

Was it the hands of man,
who for the many good we make, we make one bad to throw it off,
Was this the supposed plan,
decrease the population and leave them all guessing where this virus came from?

Sigh,
never mind the cause.
Why question so long of things we don't really control
Human nature often pushes us to question everyone of our flaws.

Pull away from that disease,
maybe do yourself the justice of getting on your knees
Maybe pray a little more than you'd like people to believe.
Then again you were taught well to know asking is the only way to receive.

A cure really is what our hearts are hoping dearly to receive.

But have you prayed enough,
given your all, till all was foreign to you
Taken the time to fast as much
Asked the Lord how the cure would look if the cure was in you,
and all of us.

I seem that silly to think such a thing,
but I've heard a man state "he has a dream",
And my dream is such a thing wouldn't be as hard as it seems,
We just have to believe.

Believe that we'll conquer this pandemic,
For I refuse to let a sort of flu be my death,
I won't accept it.
I may be isolated, Locked away from all my people,
But I'm still connected.

I won't shy away to check on a brother by the dial,
"Hey there brother, wanted to know if you're doing fine
Or quite bluntly are you still alive"
I kinda figured my concern of your life might add more time to mine.

I'll still be connected.
I won't be defeated,
Cause I won't accept it,
I'm broken yes,  but I still have a lot of fight within my pieces.

From them I remind myself of what I've once said,

The world is in a moment of chaos, but only as a moment.
So if the miracle the Lord has for us appears in or after the chaos we'll  be the ones to show it.
I may act a little selfish and say I own it.

But I'll never own the victory of all my people,
I've told myself, "at the end of this all we'll share this victory as equals"

We're the cure but only if we're willing

Willing enough to pray to be the cure of this virus,
I've prayed to him enough to though he wouldn't deny us
Cause he told me all our battles don't break us, but only define us.

And I'm defined to be  the cure if I'm willing,
cause I'm grown tired of people dying,
To hearing that corona did the killing.

I'll be the cure for my people,
ask them to be one for another,
To be the one's to call up a sister,
send a text to a brother.
Show compassion more than a little,
Cause right now should be the time we learn how best to love one another.
Perhaps more than a little.

And that love doesn't need a gesture of being the biggest hugger,
Rather of the simple task of checking on one other.

The cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want my year and people back
And I'd never be much gladder.
Cause the cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want this all to end, and go back to the days of happiness and laughter.

But I play two sides, hiding the darker part cause I'm scared what you'll find.

Still in the light I know a bit of dark,
darker sides of me festering in my heart.
I would explain what it is, but I myself am trying to figure this darkness out.

See I learned monsters too need to eat,
my darker colours make me a beast out to feast.
Cause I feed sometimes on lightness till I'm all but darkness,
A cynic type of picture cause really I'm a cynic  type of artist.

And mixing the two colours completes the full picture, but I show one side in the light day.

Cause if I'm going to die tomorrow, let me live tonight,
If it's a cost for me let me spend this life.
But if the darker colours tend to peep through when I lose control,
you'd be wise not to tame such a thing if you value your soul.

My lightness would give me reason to cry, as the dark holds a lot in.
The dark enjoys nightmares, as the light is only a dream.

But oh well, I guess that's what you get for being kaleidoscope,
playing two sides is frankly draining and no joke.
For I know people fall attracted to the lightness,
but the dark gives a reason to run away,
But you feel a bit of commonality to my darkness,
cause our situation is kinda the same.

Kaleidoscope, dark and light,
brave or fright.
Good or bad, a changing perspective,
I lack a strong fibre in will, and the will for repentance.

But I don't regret this, I just expect this.

I heard the darkness was freeing – for in it you cannot see your
mistakes; and would I be wrong to assume that’s where *******
children are made?

I heard the darkness was freeing – that even if you looked at your
ugly reflection, that part of yourself would always seem so far
away…

       The dark, can be uncomfortable – sometimes; but also warming
   in your worst times – all you can do is withstand the slow erosion
of your happier memories; the darkness has seen me bare; it has
cradled my tears, and for a fleeting moment, it made me feel loved,
only to turn its back and betray.

I heard the darkness was freeing – for when you felt like nothing,
you could be a peaceful nothing in this endless nothing place

I heard the darkness was freeing – it grants me a semblance of
acceptance, allowing me to revel in the very things that bring me
shame – oh, how I ought to flee from this place, yet it soothes the
burdens of the day.

As the likeness of dark; a pathway into
the mind of a depressed tormented soul,—
The beauty of their expression is a walk in
the park. There's a spark to a passionate flame to any art;
But also a hurt of creation from the echo cracks of their heart.

A mountain top I'd have to climb, a large hill made
of stone. A thorn in my side, as the bleeding anguish
to paint out favourable dreams. The kiss of so real;
in a reality painted in the colours of tears.  I've seen things
so clear, to see nothing of this world was meant to be so real.

Yet the realest tears of unanswered prayers, falls upon
the bruises of my knees. Real as knowing not all will
believe in you and your dreams. The Dark's light—is
seeing past the shadow of ominous oppressiveness.
A lasting restlessness of wanting to impress all those
around, the larger crowd, of painted smiles of daily clowns.
They'd easily praise you being brave—the loudest voice of cowards.

They would shoot you down, (bang, bang)
and after you make it big; turn around and say they're so proud.
(Enemies becoming fans) letting it be the case, humble character
wouldn't make a boastful sound. In the end I know my God has
and always been so proud.

There's always a light in the dark.