If I put my thinking cap
in reverse to think back,
On the worth of my penny thoughts
how much am I getting back?

Sparing the poor man a coin
who sold me his cap gone to spoil,
For one last meal in his belly
before he goes to be with the soil.
What will be the worth of that coin?

Surely for each penny for my thoughts
gives for him lots to be bought.
Or am I as poor as he,
Spending the worth of time only on faults?

Who then am I to say I've done good with time
thinking back shows it's a lie
I'm poor, for poorly using up my time,
obviously so because I couldn't afford a cap of mine?

How so then, we love to waste the time
all with a ****** attitude.
Truly how isn't such an act an act of crime?

A glass of water for an empty shell,
Living this crazy race of my life, I tell you this life can almost feel like Hell.
A bucket of tears and a thousand  breathes,
Moving on and on till I really need to rest because I have nothing left.
A  song for a singing heart and a mute mind,
Play backwards tracks to repeat that step, I'm a whole different kind.

And I don't have a son right now but I worry so much for him,
Son, your father hopes to give you everything you need, my Boy you'll be my greatest win.
My dearest daughter that I'm yet to meet,
Your father would give you the world if it was mine to own, but I can give you place to set, a place in my seat.

And I'm trying to break a spell of being so common and easily known,
I'm trying so bad to kiss a sun and hug the moon, and sit next to a new Dawn.
Or maybe I'm desiring to be something else that people are yet to understand,
This noise maker of self, making background noises, this one man band.

And curse my evil thoughts and distasteful lusts,
Shame on me me for being tired from doing nothing, and cuddling in messy husks.

But really right now I need a glass of water for this empty shell,
And to relax myself then keep myself going, moving forward even though this life can feel like Hell.

All want change,
but aren't the ones willing to be the change.
All wish for heroes,
but don't act like they're saved.
Why be stuck in these ways.

At the edge of the sea,
lies the land of we.
Are they free,
see through our lives, what will you see?

Along with you and me,
a variety of difference between thee.
Still a beautiful people,
we are all but we.

As to be; a righteous figure, but to always
be burned by the world? Or the vilest breed,
in successful pits, but burning in Hell?
I guess we're all going to burn in each side of choice
in the end. You live by the sword, to die with
it—you live with the shield, to only defend.
You are the sly player, or played by the game.
They either call great of your name, or scold you in a
greatly shame. You are the writing on the writing of
the wall, or the wall to fall of rite.
You are the ruler of the dark, or the blind display
ornament sitting in a light.
You are the anthology of misery after success, or an
unabridgement of joy before loss. The mistreated employee,
or heartless boss. —Life is unfair—good intentions are rare.
And as to be; a righteous figure, but to always be burned
by the world? Or the vilest breed, in successful pits, but
burning in Hell? We all burn!

Wasn't a crime of love, a custom feeling holding two places wasn't enough.
Growing tired and weary, losing hope in you dearly.
Upon a hungry heart going into starve,
as the closest meal isn't as close nearly.

A short verse grows colder than a body in a herse,
a swearing word raises concerns, and upon a curse.
And it's a familiar time I act the worse.

A haunting whisper,  turns my heart anew in a new year,
So saying goodbye to the old feels so weird,
but still wish I never knew you.
And time has past from a white hair in my beard.

So a custom please to myself, and the unhappiness towards my wealth and health.

Your eyes may speak the cons of consistency – you live a life of make
believe; you might have forgotten how to believe in your dreams –
their steadfastness might have slipped from your grasp. Your burdens
sometimes resound like a tempest, reverberating through the space,
thunderous and relentless, yet always, the sun breaks through; its
radiance brings warmth, and with warmth, love flourishes.

And love remains, unless it softly murmurs: “I’ve finally departed.”
Love knows no age, neither young nor old, but exists in the
timelessness of a breath – for in moments of suffocation, that breath
arrives to clear your chest…

Your anguish could be distilled into a single droplet – a tear, so
numerous that they could overflow a basin – do not allow them to
drown your heart or wash away your soul. Instead, release them to
rise and vanish beneath the sun, into this life that is both exquisite
and untamed.


                       We could be love, if only we learn to love more!

What's today if we haven't
felt yesterday.
And what's the future if
we haven't made the most of today.

What's love without words
how then do we speak into the feeling.
What's life without living
for we know Death can be so sudden.

What's a beautiful smile
without some past tears.
What's accomplishment
without pain and strain.
What's a true tragedy
than just expressions on a face.

What's a firm foundation
without the first brick.
What's the character of a man
without the wisdom of his father
And the loving compassion of a mother.

All are the things of us,
we are the very words
Spoken upon to create us.

We are many in the little,
as the little we give is many.

We are us,
mankind.

Trying to understand my identity’s subtle ideology,
hoping I could foresee my own wealth as a prophecy
—as a mind tells me I’m a prodigy.
But around certain people;
      [it’s an Anomaly.]

I pray more so to be a better leader to all
my successes, so they all can follow me,
While playing out life on time’s court; waiting
on all of my choices that judge me so much.
One day they’ll honour me,—
like raising wine glasses, after my tears cried
their red, of a harsh found maturity;
After times of losing the sense of common sense,
       [often times, known uncommonly.]

I used to live for laughs; making disrespectful jokes;
I stopped to listen to what the world had to say; —
just more disrespectful jokes in turn,
in this life of sickening comedy.
Probably why I won’t let the world force
me to be, what it wants me to be
Living as the glitch to a broken system,
for when you choose to live out of the world
      [we’re all its Anomaly.]

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

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

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

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

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

I don't give people enough
reason to laugh,
Why do you take me as a joke
on sunny days on less than sunny Sundays.
What's the rise of the sun if it doesn't  rise on hope.

I sung Christmas carols,
and got myself carried away.

Just like a Monday,
hate the feeling of starting it all again.
Waking up sometimes with no motivation inside the body.

Often I can be so choosy,
quite loosely before it's even Tuesday.
Best time for me to be so moody,
beating myself so much I love
the bruising.

Truth is, where's the religion
on a Wednesday?
Wed myself to the feeling of love
before I go slightly crazy.
If we can't wed that day,
then I can't marry you baby.

Cause come Thursday,
you know what it means to drown.
But come out of the very waters
still very thirsty.
Even if you ask for a thousand wishes,
you'll only get one just like a birthday.

So can't we be
free by Friday.
I know I've never been the
best at times.
But I'll try to rise to the occasion
and make it our high day.
Even if you hate to have your head
stuck in the clouds
Sometimes the clouds overcast pains of our eye's.

So by the time we make
it to Saturday,
The pain I have right now is making love to you in the best way.

Why promise you the world if it's
something I never had.
Can't blame the world for not everlasting,
everything we know has to meet it's end.

Just like my Weekdays and Weekends.

All coming full circle
just to spin all over again.

This a weekend shirt, that some people wear you
down on a weekend shift. I met a nice girl at a party,
where it was a plus one, yet the body was a plus two.
If she fell in love with my sharp mind, I'd plead to her,
"I hope it never cuts you"

But here's a plot twist; when you share your heart
with someone so heartless, You pray that they would
love you regardless. But here's how the continuation of
that story goes:

A young boy activity, activities of extra curriculum,
used of messing around with girls. Open conversations,
with closed results. Still needing them all. Energies so little,
but loads of choices we can make to be safe. Riding the front
tooth for a bite of love, and kissing in perfect waves.

I’ve got nickels, quarters and dimes, of all the money on
girls overspent. So maybe there’s a cost to the regrets.
Of the lack of sense I’ve got left. Owed the change, to the
better things of my life cares. Or those truths after dares.

Resemble this, when you remember this.
When you’re still young calling any potential a Miss.
“I miss you texts,“ under the blankets, with the lights glaring
in my eyes. I send happy emojis, as if that’s how I really smile.
Don’t forget to say good morning, or at least say hi after your
tender goodbye. Oh wait! Never mind.

I’ll just type the message with my data off. Turn it on in
the morning, and the message is sent to look like the sweetest
actions of sweet words.

“Hello,“ we open ourselves to casual talk.
Cheering each other up for the day, and the struggles we’ll
face at work. “Of course I’ll be thinking about you till the last,"
I’ll say as a start into sexting for some breakfast lust.

Put on that mask, not for my mouth or nose,
but for the face scars. Untrimmed beard, awkward growing hairs,
and a comb making sparks through the sounds of knots.
Put on my favourite red long socks, and pull out my jewellery
out of their treasure box.

I get a quick text from her, and read the message as a notification.
Thinking about the best reply to use while putting on my shoes,
and promising to make it to her place, if she shares the right location. Lotion on my face, heavy cologne on my neck.

Spray, Spray!

Vaseline on my morning dry lips, lick it into place
so petroleum stays in it’s grips. Spending the Friday morning skipping through work. The final whistle blows, thinking I can
get my whistle blown. And here I am again; off into the world.

In town on my phone long texting this girl. Oh how will
this story go? Who really knows, but just it’s end. As her and I pretend to still be friends.

A word to hide behind our guilt. Making myself out as
the *** guru in quick words, but that’s not how I was built.

So as I got close to the deed’s door, I just run off.
I couldn’t play the song to the dance of chance,
without the right chords. So in the end, I just found myself
better off staying the weekend at home. Peacefully alone.

I'm that weekend shirt. And feeling like a piece of shirt.

For this love she said to,
"wait on me"
Despite my heavy heart,
love don't put your weight on me.

The long wait has a heavy weight

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

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

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

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

A thousand acres of land, beautifully crying-
their grasses shimmering in the rains after dampness
Tails of shapely evergreens; plants undressed and robust
seed heads, beguiling death- buried in the means of finding self

Folios upon the wings of fowls;
as towels hang on the rails of the skies, as perfect white clouds
The dust of the sun, covers asbestos rooftops in a light brown;
darkness wears a frown, on the faces of people who patrol around
the nights, of doing their personal business without an innocent sound
Soulmates of stars crash into each other, each time they're falling in love-
in and out, is the hunger for any more time; both for the belly buttons
that go in and out

Kisses of dreams for bare bones: bending over to a bent red sky;
a sheepish lover to the shepherd’s delight- still a bit shy, from a child
My door opens to one’s suggestion; hangs a welcome sign on a string
…welcome to the house of my mind; please don’t stay awhile.

And if I became a rapper, I probably wouldn't rap long (True)
Being known for writing out another sad song
As they say, 'choose your poison—my poison is life
'Choose your weapon—my pen is a ****** knife
Flavour your values, my character is a little bit of spice
A mix of overly nice, I tried to grow some ice
But the soft waters remain still warm from my eyes
Working harder when I cry, those waterworks are real
Tried to help people out of some good sense of will
But all the investments in people hasn't paid me still
(Still broke)

We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)

We're not done with the disappointing jobs
We got a couple more years of time to sob
They don't think you're much of a man
And being a writer doesn't fit well with their logical plan
You still **** at being a good man of his romance
You never even got the chance to own that collection of Vans
The suicidal thoughts are still lurking in your mind
And you've dreamt up so many ways of how to die
At the funerals still refusing to show emotion and cry
You still make up ninety percent of all your smiles (Sigh)
As we're currently still going through those constant trials
Hey younger me, welcome to hell of this adult life

We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)

I met the edge of death – her blade slicing through my very
skin; cutting me into pieces; a piece of me died inside, haunting
my dreams like a spectre. My bucket of tears had run dry, in
a futile attempt to fill this glass bottle of forever, though it remains
a daydream.

Pop a cherry, somehow the shattering of innocence – levitating
in a bubble of love, praying to God it doesn't pop. I lived the
omnipotent experience, danced with the spectre of death, a cruel
and merciless partner in this dark waltz.  While the heart sleeps,
my brain still thinks – I lament the vision of a nobler self, confined
to the realm of my dreams.

In my quest for paradise, I only discovered the relentless paradigm
of a life wrestling all time left on its mind. I was once a love warrior;
now merely a worrier of love – the winds of my spirit propel the
arrow of my aspirations, yet I still falter in my aim.

As your brows furrow, rising to confront the shadows of doubt,
I reflect on a life marred by fear, despair, and unfulfilled affection…
yet, we may die inside tonight, just to live tomorrow!

Diamonds that are forever; with love not being a treasure,
nowadays the news is all depressing. We seem so relatable
when we're talking about *** things.
7.6 billion people, and the whole world still feels a bit empty.

On the inside;

Where those battles are loud, when you're just a silent echo
in the large crowd. The ear to everything; but your own problem's sound. Out aloud, screaming in your head, what if today is the day I feel a little dead? I meant to say dared; into living this life. Living the lie of where you'll finally rest when you die.

Okay, that's depressing...

Let me try a better trade of thought. Butter the centre of my fill; to feel. No big deal! Weighing the bargains of too many dreams,
and all that's real.

But next line now.

I'll take my stand in this next stanza. Even though I have more questions than there are answers. Profiting from wisdom passed down in a bonanza. There's freedom in knowing who you are,
and being lost in that extravaganza.

I'm not working on myself; but rather working on my entire surrounding. In the wake of living, where a lot of things are so alarming. I can only live by one positive statement;

WE'RE ALL SO AWESOME

Self aware,
seems the site of you can force a stare.
Life ain't too fair,
searching for love,
Haven't found you anywhere.
I'm much to square,
trapped in my own box.

How to be in love,
must be like falling from above
Those hitting ground, falling in love,
hold down your words, hold onto your heart.

Must I say,
the feeling grows old like yesterday.
So into play,
acting out what seems to stay.
Feelings of today,
are moments I want to treasure

Love has much pressure,
can't rest for love, nor find time for leisure.
I guess for love, I'm just a stranger.

Still can we meet,
though it feels Heavens away.
It would be heavenly nice
if love and I could finally meet one day.

You drowned me in a whirlpool of emotions, engulfing
me in the exhilarating sensations of falling in love.
It felt so vivid, like stepping into another realm of
consciousness where the boundaries between reality and
fantasy blur.

Perhaps, it could have been yet another *******, an
intoxicating experience that thrived in the depths of
my subconscious. And amidst this haze of desire,
life appears like a pristine white sheet, evoking a sense of
responsibility to keep it unsullied and untarnished.

Like a diligent custodian, I struggle to navigate the
complexities and challenges that threaten to soil its
purity, to maintain its pristine condition.

God,

I'm going to need a shrink,
living close to the corner where
that shadow lives.
I have a pound of flesh, a pack
of thoughts, and a bag of ****.

Every time I sleep,
I'm taking that leap,
About to take another risk,
whether this time I'll wake up
from that dream.

I'm in a shell,
in a deep sea of thought.
Swimming back to myself,
swimming back to shore.

My eyes are wet,
from that ocean dream.

Forgotten traces of a pencil – I’ve been built
by words; public reputation is the means of
being good at your own public relations.
As love’s repetition is loving those you’ve
fallen in love with, off the pages of life rather
than the scripts of perfected fiction.

And to believe your love is perfect is to rival
God's – where you become your own judge;
biased as much, for the flesh desires to feed
only itself; the flesh isn’t the perfection of love.

For everyday of life is the day for all equal dogs,
moral or uncouth,  posterity rests its favour –
Still a dog must know not to bite the hand that
feeds it; as it seeks the hand’s favour – wouldn’t
we all like to find favour in the hands of our Creator,

What are dogs to their Creator?

I'll swallow my pride,
and choke on my heart,
Be losing my mind,
in all of it's lovely thoughts.

I'll do it all, because I'm in love.

The weight of the world,
keeps me down to earth.
And a painting of a girl,
is such a portrait of it's worth.

I'll do it all, because I'm in love.

Every moment is easily gone.
When so many things,
can go so wrong.

I'm writing to you,
with the words that I lost,
I'm speaking to you,
while biting on my tongue,
I'm thinking of you,
with so many thoughts.

Asking myself,

"what could even go wrong"

Burden myself carrying a weight,
cross my mind nailing a thought.
I'm not thinking so straight,
too busy getting myself caught.

I'll did it all, because I'm in love.

So sick of the sin,
the guilt and my shame.
Still stuck in that dream,
where I echoed your name.

I'll did it all, because I'm in love.

Every moment is easily gone.
When so many things,
can go so wrong.

I'm writing to you,
with the words that I lost,
I'm speaking to you,
while biting on my tongue,
I'm thinking of you,
with so many thoughts.

Asking myself,

"what could even go wrong"

Pack away smiles; just to save face
And if my face were a sketchpad,
You’d see me draw out this smile

Playing strength like the weight of a bass
Subtracting all I had, to make space to add
Still hating the math of the human race;
Running their lives in a pointless mile

he pretends to be, “okay”
if you say so, then okay.

Crowded foresight —  
      thoughts stacked sky-high,  
     cluttered windows of a dreaming mind.  

              Out of mind,  
           out of sight…  
     yet somehow, I keep seeing  
     the better days of my life  
       skimming the edge  
        of a hopeful smile.  

                 That smile —  
          soft, unspoken —  
           given with time,  
        drawn from deep thoughts  
            folded in silence.  

                    . . .  

         Any life worth seeing —  
       any better version of me —  
    is shaped by what I’m willing  
          to put light on.  

               So I  
            paint my  
       foresight with  
   fireflies  and  sunbeams,  
     hoping the dark  
          makes room  
             for the  
            light I  
               keep.

My love for living is nothing but Titanic
a sinking ship;
down to the end of it's relationship.

Come to terms with the realization that is life,
if I die tonight would I make it to Heaven.
Perhaps you think I'm so alive, yet I've been dead since I was seven.

Everyday feels closer to the very end, I've feared no Armageddon
Like the young seeking only pleasure,
seeking such desires in the shortest of measures.

What is living.

What is purpose upon knowing who you are,
and therefore who are you if you're only known by nobody
What is living for yourself if we're constantly trying to live for somebody.

What is living.

Like a distant memory less focused on the past,
how far have we come
And in comparison to the past,
what's left for any of us.

What is living.

A closed hand question,
but not on the grip of things,
while thinking upon on all we've once held
So then it seems,
man only seeks to keep hold onto all their dreams.

What is living.

The days right now are foreshadowing the days ahead,
the months before;
as the years have gone away
To compliment the gesture is yet another day.

Then again what is a day if not lived to fullest
what's the question of living amongst the dumb ones and the clueless.

We're the only one's stupid enough to keep poking at the notion,
abusing the idea of living;
and seeking out our own torture.

Truly what is this living.

At the peak of the very tip falling off to the edge
a graceful fall into the shadowy hole of self longing
The time is rising still as the days are dawning.

Crawling out of the black pit we've buried ourselves in,
the grave we've set.
Gravely do you ever think of the mess you're in.

Perhaps no,
but no to the notion of thinking it's the end.

What is this living.

Living in the world that can't live with us,
a world we **** and still beg for it's trust.
What is the hope for us.

What then are we living for.

Living once and to the very last,
what is the hope for us.

Love, what are you than that constant butterfly motion in a tummy,
Moving me up or moving me down so close to the ground, paying so much for you with non fictional money.
What's this love without a little bit of old pain by the side.
Kissing a lot of strangers in this name of love, hoping the next one could be my bride.

What's love without a bit of hurt from the one close you've lost,
I admit I cry rivers of tears in the name of love, I've paid a lot of bills for love at a very high cost.
What's this love but a drug I'm sniffing and taking to my brain like *******.
Now if I went numb from this and you cut me open would I feel any source of pain.

But what is this love, but a story or movie that I still don't understand it's full plot,
In some days you're leaving my heart so dim and cold but in the night you burning me way up, you just too **** hot.
Taking pictures of love floating around in the sky.
I captured it in a moment but I can't explain you yet, I'm just left with this capital why.

This is love, drug taking with some seduction and sometimes a little familiar pain,
But despite it all I would stand outside and let the hurt be washed away by joyful rain

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

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

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

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

Don't sell yourself short,
child the world is too tall
Trying to reach to the top;
you must invest in a stool
Grab what you need at that top shelf,
quickly, quickly before they make you fall

Don't sell yourself short,
child your soul is too tall
It's easy to sell out, but not to buy
into those worth while dreams
What sells the self is a sellout,
and I wouldn't want you to lose it all

Chuckles
          Ironically, I'm sold by that advise.

Time sits still
while we sit still too.
Seems only calm,
as we ourselves are calm too.

Account for lost time,
can't register the lost seconds.
Where's all the time,
forget it when we make it to Heaven.
Falling away like falling angels
Don't hit the ground,
might not survive the damage.

My time is a stranger,
one who wears a red coat
Hidden in his pocket,
the cutting edge of time that cuts my throat.

What if I don't make it
close to tomorrow,
Was today the best I gave,
lend me a grace of grace
And a couple more years I could borrow.
I could lead the masses,
but I too could be good to follow.

Chewing through time,
but I don't think I can swallow.
Best to live life at my prime,
just in case I'm not first to wake tomorrow.

Her beauty is a painted picture,
a work of art.

Darling you don't need that much to make it such.
A little make-up just to tickle my fancy, but not too much.

A little attitude in that walk you make.
A little sharpness to that tongue to keep me straight.

Be out of this world,  cause you take the space,
Cause you're a painted star that knows it's place.

Time...

Tell me — how much does it cost? ****, I don’t know.
I’m just trying to keep watch on the blessings I’ve got —
but more and more, they seem to stretch thin... like needle
and thread, barely holding the seams of me together.

I’m fading in connection. A rock flips — and I’m ******,
yet still trying to show decent manners. A “decent citizen”
in the dirtiest world — where the canopy of utopia is just
the Tree of Life man’s always itching to cut down…to sell
its fruits, to chop its wood, just to make pencils — so we
can write stories about it in our edited history books.

Love…

Tell me — what’s a dropout lover, anyway? Not one
who failed love — but one who stopped trying to graduate
from failed attempts. A degree in hopeless romanticism,
and a Master's in being a bachelor — but if time is really
worth it all, then tell me… what all do you really have?

Just a handful of yourself and a whole lot of doubt.
Now... what’s that about?

Let me draw you as a sketch;
a portrait of all those beautiful memories

And we can make up some future events,
with like a little paint on a face-
All of the colours of a world, you and I have to face

Stick to my side like a rib bone,
say that you love me with your chest

Skip the conversation about rocking your world,
and let me skip a rock on your stream, when we're alone

Let's tell each other all our ***** little secrets;
the ones with a little dirt, to keep us down to earth

Going around trying to pick at each other;
I do prefer to fork, but I had a spoon to scoop you up

Let's build a mansion of all our dreams,
and live in their moments, before the disappear

I'll let you be the playlist of my day,
and let you be an airpod in my ear, to hear you clear

Tell me, what's your favourite part,
and I'll play out the role with a script written
out, by all the feelings I have at heart.

Shadows of formless flames –
silhouettes piercing my vision, through their gaze
of a relentless light. A horn of fire in my hand, I feel the
gusts of smoke-laden, blowing away my once air
filled lungs.

Tender lips brush against my heart,
awakening the remnants of darkness and chill; my spirit
resembles a mere lump of coal. I am the embodiment of love,
inspired by someone else’s dream. I toss a handful of coins
into life's faulty machine—yet another excuse to invest in
faulty dreams.

Battles yield no victors, when wars try to be won
by other wars; love cannot nourish itself if both souls
stand with open arms; one must yield; to surrender —
for even in doing nothing, lies a semblance of peace.

Individual actions act as a lifeline for those around us—
who never know how to love. The flames have scorched
my flesh, leaving blisters, woven into pain— nurse me
with the balm of patience, as every old man confronts
the inevitability of death. The question that haunts us all
is,

when?

Mountains that are tall, cover the dreams
that are shallow. Valleys that are long,
are the lives that are too short,

Love that is blind, is a tragedy to eyes. Words
that are sweet, are sour to the years.
Beauty that is made, is the grief of an early
morning,

Choices that are made, is the shaping of
their future. Creatures of a thousand
breaths, are all under one Death,

Tears of now, aren’t the ones of forever.
Spirits to be filled, are of those empty vessels.
Transformation isn’t a sudden, but all a
continuous event,

All that we want to be, can all be.
The question is only,—

when?

When do you choose to move, in all
the things of life holding you back,
When do you choose to be brave, in all
the fears you constantly have to face,
When do you fix a broken world, in all
of the brokenness to be fixed in you,
When do you choose to love another, in all
of the less love they have for you,
And truly when do you make a change for yourself,
in all a society trying to change you,—

tell me when?

autumn tears...
  falling for you
    all over again

we’re just friends
 in the present tense
        making amends
     like cracks filled
          with silence

tears of yesterday
    still
      water my lawn
  i’ve been banking on a love
    that never matured
          just an emotion
            on loan

tell me—
  do you rest your hand
    under your chin
         like I did
             when you’re alone?

sharp edges
    on my mind
           but it feels
             pointless to forget you

to accept you
  is to accept
            not having you at all

the drink of your love
            I could never finish—
              you were
                too tall

too much
  too deep
     too far

you poured yourself
    out for me
  and I drank
    greedy

we kissed
  like language
    like memory

and I felt the shiver
        escape your pores

so why
    can’t I
          escape your love?

And a rib was pulled from a side,
Soon was molded to be his Lover:
Tiny whispers calling beautiful bride,
Now with my hand so soft and bare,
I tend to land, 'these grounds of heart.'

Lay down my eyes, hoping now to see,
The widest eyes, lookers of everything:
'O, stop looking for perfect fish of the Sea'
Rubbing salt in a wound, that won't heal.

All we are; are two skies far apart,
Longing to be one being and in flesh,
A piece self trading into your heart:
Love was first made, we came second.

Children all of our Adam and Eve,
The seeds of a garden forgotten:
But even as I don't see my paradise,
Darling you'll always be my Eden.

Zip tie lock your legs- anchor down your stress;
change the fabric address of that nice sunny dress
Body full of blows, skin made of dust; counting on hope,
joy, and sorrow, every after hour of the day’s settled dusk
From telling thin lies from the thick of red lips on a reed,
to all those gears of ideas start to shift away- taking steps
in reverse, when everything is exposed of your old deeds

Tears in the river of tiny ripples to the sound of love;
to be honest it’s an unfamiliar sound- 3,500 mites;
become a float of those ticking ideas. Scrums around the
clock, sharing bread crumbs with old chums— those few
who actually stuck around

As time starts to show, on the flakes of skin, the loss of
strong hairs; you feel much older to a recent picture-
the unfamiliar creature, invisible to so many people
But with a smile, you appreciate all the places you have
been. You must be ready to meet your King…

I know death calls me so many times, like I owe it too many favours
But I won’t answer that call – until much, much later
And they might rush you to live your life; but child
Don’t you know Death waits for you, with great patience?

And all these girls on my feed with curves, all start to feel
So shapeless!
Love nowadays is so baseless – when you place your faith
On beauty; do you know that one day it will all betray you?

But when we drift, do our tears dry under the sun of
Our daydreams –
In place of all our streams; your teeth could still sink in my skin
But even those that had a bite of love; are still searching for their
Own piece.

I miss the sleep of our daydreams when we had the few times
To dream, and not going to look for love in sheets –
When love was paved on the streets; not these things
That belong to THE STREETS!
Where we could be dancing in the waves of the sea;
Surfing all of your best ideas, when kids dared to dream
Never too afraid to swim, when we had each other to pick
Us up, whenever we start to sink.
                                                when we were kids.

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

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

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

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

O'lord  that idea was so misleading.

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

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

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

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

Upside down smiles to bare a frowner.

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

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

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

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

Smiling so bright but only on small ounces of glee.

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

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

Where this Rose lies,
surely she has survived
Though many of it's kind
through time have died
She stays strong and as the only alive.

Where this Rose lies,
her beauty has for set eyes.
She is much a desire,
longing tender, treated worthy as a prize.
You only see what you find,
you look up to her as she will soon rise.

Where this Rose lies,
she who has kissed the sky.
Roses don't truly die,
swept away for a moment
In time she'll come to be revived.
As the day is coming,
her beauty will soon again arrive.

Want to be there for you,
but my mind rushes to been there.

And who really wants to be where there's pain?

Tomorrow is always so dark —

I don’t have the eyes to see it, but I’ve got
the faith to believe in it. And if dreams never
die… do we still dream after death?
And do you still dream with open eyes —
or do they close by the end of the night?

We dream in colour in a black-and-white
world. But what’s colour worth when we
judge by shade, by place, by blood?
Even their own goes against their own
for the turf they hold onto of the authority
they own.

My thoughts —
  
Black as summer storms over my mind.
Winter is coming, and all we want is to
stay warm by standing with our kind.
And I hear those churchgoers
tell the best lies — where are they going,
if they say they carry His light?
Leading us all into a “tomorrow,” but
is just a place made for the dark…

Tomorrow is always so dark...
and somehow, still the thing we
all hope to find… but it’s also a
place we use as a place to hide.

Whispers of panic,
When you knowing yourself an addict.
Type of closure of young, wishing I had it.

Tears and bruises
Not hanging with the losers
Acting like the choosers.

Waiting on the world as it holds the weight,
Upon my narrow shoulders growing broad as growing to be much older.
Questioning what is Love living next to fate.

Fate as it is much scarier than destiny that can't be changed
On a lower scale of life running out of the range.
Through the many chapters of life moving through each and every single page.


But where I am in life is not where I stay,
For each and every day there's a dawning fact.
When a darkness of hopelessness smells of early morning decay.
Though questioning if there's anymore to life beyond any of that.

Comes the mystery of a mind behind the curious eye
Keeping close looks to each other being one's personal spy.
Then what is the logic of the definition with no defy.

Whispers I hear across the scope of a narrow view,
What is then Love with lost emotions. Therefore what is True.
What rising Demons roam around your heart's front door, what troubles knock loudly searching for only you.

Silence being golden,
Though lack of sound drives me sometimes insane.
My mind overloading,
But I take my overthinking to be the one I  blame.

To be the if of my nose running on snow,
White lines of the cold forecast.
Drugs men take to blow,
The buzz failing to last.

Why do it still, no-one knows.

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

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

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

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

Can we please talk?