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?

It's often such a strain
Trying to keep up positive thoughts —
To strain my mind, hoping to get rid
Of negative thoughts; sometimes,
It just strains me more…

Life boils me over.
Some days, I get too steamed to even try
And move on forward... feeling so stuck —
Sitting still, too hot to handle,
And being too heavy to pour it all out.

I feel like white rice —

Plain, overcooked, forgotten, and just
Sitting there, cooling off in an unattractive
Bowl, that no one really reaches for…
Sometimes  I am the metaphor, the idea,
The hope, the dream; or nothing at all —
Yet I’ll give everything of myself, every
Last drop… even up to tiniest piece of rice
In that open rice bowl.

The object of an eye
is dire to entrap my love towards,
An orb filled with desire, but as the life too—
of those suffering, and desiring to die. The figure
with his long dark coat, keeps the world in a right pocket.
His eyes red as the blood they curl. The sky is black wherever
he walks. His breath is heavy, and a black cloud of smoke.
One word swallows all, and as so—he destroyed the world.

The Devil, Man, or perhaps both.

I am a riddle;
  (only a few understand)

An unspoken poem;
      (few will find)

As shall by the gates,
do wisdom and I meet.

A riddle of purpose, &
the answer we all seek.

Dismissive thoughts,
telling me always to quit.
Watching out for time,
counting empty seconds on my wrist.

What is my time,
if I'm not one to make it mine?
And if ever give up in life, it's probably because of those first two lines.

How do I ever give up while still being alive?

I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping
hurts!

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...

If I could imagine two, I'd imagine twice of loving you.
My feelings were unlocked while I picked at your heart,
And I need you now cause you're such a must.

As you're such a pretty eye. A pretty lady.
But I don't want to see you cry, when you're my Lady.
And I don't want to die. I know it's crazy,
Cause I'd hate to say goodbye. I'm never ready.

But my words are weak at your scent so strong,
my feet are cold, well my eyes are wet.
and without you all, it's but regret.
For my sight is short, still I'll see you long.

But I'd have to ask why love me so?

Stepping lightly on your heart;
creating wounds and those
well-known scars –

Hold your tongue to keep from
saying too much.

Dig your hands to bury your grip away
from the time you could never own –

Erase the traces on your skin,
-those artificial fragments of a smile

They won’t notice your tears, as they never
wondered about the authenticity of your grin.

Time of my own lost in few hours.
Beating at an empty bush for pretty flowers.
It has no use,
What's its being but just self abuse.

Something I'm trying to prove,
Stuck up person, never keen to move.

Wicked I could be,
Knowing my name well, but do you know me.

They may know your face,
But not what you hide in your hearts empty space.

Wicked I am,
Some days I fall.

Threw my heart,
hoping for a catch.
Life too played such a wicked  game,
on the other side of that,
It had a bat,
taking a swing,
Didn't even miss unlike me.

Tears cast shadows; I can still hear your quiet sobs echoing
in the night; the love etched into your skin is crumbling under
the weight of this love game, much like a fragile house of cards.
Could I offer you a more favourable deal at discovering love?
Do you still recognize the beauty that resides within you, or have
the echoes of those who captured your heart dulled your shine,
leaving only the sting of their betrayal?

I’m on a quest to find the melody that resonates with your heart;
though it feels as elusive as seeking out David’s hidden chord.
It’s as if your inner strength has been severed, much like Samson’s
locks. But if I were to gently knock on the door of your heart, would
you welcome me in, or would you push away my advances, toppling
the pillars that support my pride? I can’t help but wonder if I’ll
ever see you again.

A wind calls a wind,
to each hearing other loudly.
To us and ears,  
only empty whisper.

Throwing shots out a window,
it's all really a pain.
But it won't stick or leave a stain.
Still mind my ways,
the many open things on my brain.
I feel fragile as glass,
so please Lord, don't let me break.

Shadows silhouette
static t.v. screens electrifying
performance just before the curtain falls
An audience roars applauds to none of which
is truly heard, taking bow to resounding success

All at a level best, the author neither hears the end
of their own story—but quietly predicts it
Believes in it so much, it soon becomes disbelief
or as the fear of a fitting end has eliminated grief

Ssshh,
shuttle away to the quietest of dreams
transported to a land of only imagination
Passion, passions of all but passionate
Weaving through traffic of a rush hour mind
with no stop signs or any bright red light

Denying all of your pride
so choked up in a dream, coughing out aspiration,
ambition, or ideals
And only in a land void of fears, do we soon
find the bravery to grow our wings

my skin grows red hot,
and slowly warms the blue hue
of your skin
-your shy lips quiver under my
breath, closing into that kiss's embrace
to the open tongue of twisting our words
intertwining fingers in your scroll of hair
as the  parchment  of your grace, is written
all over your face.

oh so beautiful,
for i must have been struck from
behind, in a catching thought, i became
so caught up while staring at your curves
at the mountains peak of your structured body,
i'm always trying tp climb into those sheets
to have just a peep.

and as the taste of you, becomes
the sweetest nectar, i solely desire
-blowing the butterflies in your belly,
i'm barely intimidated by the moans
of pleasure; as it all becomes the sounds of
permission to add pressure.

at the bite of a tip, the dripping taste
must of course be licked off, in a
tasteful manner like ice-cream
so as i scoop you up, know there's
always a spoonful of kisses to feed
all of your words.

so tell me if lightening ever strikes twice,
cos according to my likeness, i
learnt how to strike a nerve of pleasure
at a constant, once i have it on my sights
so a simple answer would suffice,
or really something much simpler, when it's a
           wink, wink, and blush, blush.

You stay where I live—
no I live where I stay, as livelihood is doing in my head.
Girls with pictures—pictures with girls, so few
left in my phone. These are just running thoughts,
as I’m chasing dreams; as a working mind in them.
Skeleton hours; dead in the night, as it’s just another shift.
But it slips in these grinding gears, like winter rains slipping on
the road.

Under the cold whispering of previous night’s wind,
reminded of a cold world out there.
Be it truth to live by—amongst liars to speak such is dare,
and quite frankly rare. But I’m none impressed by trends,
tread your grounds carefully of where you walk.
Don’t slip up on your feet, bruising your knees on the
winter rains slipping on the road.

A side note of my love to rhyme...
by second nature to plan the ending word to second line.
Bringing it back this time to the starting rhyme,
and referring to the second rhyme by the fourth line.
Words slip easily off the tongue, dented like
winter rains slipping on the road.

This poem inspired was inspired by my walk
through shortcuts to work. Black wet tarmac,
holes in every direction. Back and forth, cars roam and go.
My breath visible in this morning cold. A sight in dilated
eyes; towards the sight of the winter rains slipping on the
road.

This winter is cold.

I'm less of a mathematician, but still counted
as a human who sometimes makes a bad decision.

As the eyes hunger for everything;- they also
betray me on a constant treason.

Misplacing most of my why's to sound a bit wise,
still that's no disguise;- to displaying true wisdom.

Heavy is the weapon that carries it’s victim’s blood –
Heavy is a ***** mind that eventually fills with mud;
Heavy are your eyes in a dream, like a sleeping prong,
Piercing your thoughts in the daylight; life lives short –
While the dreams we make of ourselves live long.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
Heavy is the crowd, hoping to see you down;
Heavy is the weight of love, to make your kids proud.

For by the blood of ourselves, the words of our tongue
Are the greatest weapons, to lift or bring others down,
Even as your dirtiest thoughts subtly attract so easily,
It comes from all being fully stained in our sin’s filth –
While your dreams are the length of your passions;
The measure you take to achieve them, lies in width.

Bearing the crown of responsibility; those below you,
Look you down, seeing your success without longevity.
Avoid the negativity, live in positivity, a life of wisdom,
Joy, & love – a legacy your young would be proud to be.

The scars on your heart,
are from shots straight through your chest
Lead your life for no-one else will play your role,
our greatest pain is our own regrets.

You have to know what's at stake,
and eat it like it's a last supper.
Can't keep believing that you're a mistake,
because life doesn't come with a rubber.

Don't try to be what you're not,
and tie yourself into people's views.
Don't pay your way to the top,
the fall costs more when you lose.

Acting cheap won't keep you safe,
so save yourself the time.
Don't live in things not of your place,
it will soon turn sketchy when you're out of line.

Inhale the air by the moment,
exhaling out life.
For death comes unexpected,
when you die no human can call it.
So before then don't be the one left when all others did things right.

If you can't keep to what you say,
stick to what you can read.
If you want to complain try and do it after you pray,
see by then if you still don't believe.

And if life gave you a quarter,
how would you spend it?
Don't hide behind a smile,
you'll be only a poser.
Have only hate to say to a person, best not say it.

Good company is not always a given,
while bad we quickly run to.
Nothing can be done if keep on wishing,
and these words I've written is my advice to you.

You choose whether to take it,
or leave it be.
You choose whether to share it,
or leave it be.
You choose whether to declare it,
or leave it be.

Choose of your own will, not of others.

Round the city blocks;
with its fake people,
       And the bad crowds.

***** dealers;
and their corrupt cops

House party speakers-
cracking noises
                   So **** loud.

Amongst all the chaos-
still wishing my love was
                        Still around.

With these hands of I what would be the worth of my sweat
The many things I would of done and not, would be closely in the fears of only my regret.

Yet with such these hands what towers do I Build
Collapsing on itself. To clear new ground but on such an already empty field.

And as children would play amongst in the carnage, as to they a Play Ground
I held onto their joyful laughter to increase mine. Though would my own Mother be that of I so proud.

But with such hands I find myself to quick to hold onto to sadness that it bruises my fingers
Instead to build a future for my own, I would have aimlessly build hope in empty figures.


So for a man of I, shall I honestly use such of my hands wisely in the views of my eyes.
Though not to be caught up in the storm of these clouds of Grey Lies.

For with such these hands of I.

Beauty incarnate, blaring flames;
loudly as the spark of new love, illuminates the
world with its vibrant essence.
Feelings are ignited effortlessly, carelessly rising
like the bright glow of an orange flame,—blue desires
that sting with a burn of passionate words,
creating a fervent symphony of emotions.

Truly not enough about you is spoken about you,
for your essence transcends mere words, leaving me
tongue-tied and mesmerized.

The core of your beauty eludes description,
profoundly affecting my thoughts and senses.

For in your presence is a profound sense of calm,
a palpable peace that radiates love throughout the room,
enveloping all in its warmth. The silent yet profound gaze
of your eyes speaks volumes, embodying the depth
and wisdom, both truly remarkable; for you are WOMAN.

Wasted sober thoughts, prays the hardest without
picking a religion. Sounds as a Muslim, playing Christian.
But just a name; as their friends were pointing and teasing.
All the good days you claim; aren't the ones for the missing.

Wasted sober thoughts, made myself out of made up
thoughts. Make yourself a hero, just to save your worth.
A cape on too tight; squeezing the air out of my neck,
as my delusional depressions is still the only threat.
Bags under my eyes; not tiredness, but all the luggage of
my greatest regrets.

Wasted sober thoughts, my pain is a word I can't explain,
down under like the lowest writes. I must be sad again.
Swept under my head, deeply thinking into my grave.
And I express them well, when I'm feeling a strike of brave.

When I’ve got my fill of wasted sober thoughts,
intoxication to be expressing my unread words.
Do you read me or not; copy or roger this lot?
It's of no fault of your own, just a poem I've written
out of my lows. I'm intoxicated by words.

Play with the words,
a game of lips and speech.
Given it's direct,
it could be a movie scene.
But given it's more of an act,
I'll just play into it,
Roll under it carelessly rather than to overact.

I'm just bored with my words
aboard that ship,
Thinking me being extra firm
keeps me crisp.
But maybe I'm too much of an air head
as I lay on my time eating a potato chip.
Though if I jumped out of my ship,
I could go for a little dip.

But I guess when you swim too long,
you're soon to sink.
Swimming too long becomes a drain,
Like when I fall over myself,
when I take life as a trip.
But I do wonder if I'm
heading in the right direction.
But excuse for me changing the very topic,
I just hope to drift from it, always on floatation.

Still I'm thinking way too unstable
while trying to have a little fun.
But pardon my horseplay, my mind
isn't to stable.
But I'll just go figure the destination,
pay for that cargo of my thoughts by a waybill.

"Mummy"
screams a child running into her room
"I have an owie,— a boo boo"
a child that runs into her room, is running
into her care

The cherished love, cheery smile of it,
and being patient as the cherry on top

"Mum"
miraculous unconditional marvel,
the superhero of wonders in the kitchen
At times a quiet disciplinary in public, with
a sharp eye of a cutting glare

          Later at home you'll be in trouble...

She is love, often not loved enough
even though; her love is more than enough
And can never be undone

"Mummy, mum, or just ma"
she is all, she is a mother

Choke on the lies;
but the truth also hard to digest.
As to hunger for words,
to be fed my worth of their love;
Born by a tone of voice-
A child indeed of bless.

May the excuses be;
as wild as I am to self (Maybe)
Tamed by softest words of love.
But its only in the above;
man seeks truth of Heavens not seen.

So I will be-
better known by my words.
Even if they go unheard;
all these words are my worth.

Lord protect me from turning urban
So easy to act so different, when you're living suburban
You could get lost in all the foolish things while constantly searching
To many of us forget about a recent sermon,
But remember what we found two weeks ago, while internet surfing
Drowning in our sorrows, and still wondering about our purpose

All it really takes is God's discernment...

Life is so unnerving,
Crawling under your skin; as the flesh is always burning
Always yearning;
And when you feed into it, our spirit is slowly hurting
As the sacrifice made for us, is something we're undeserving

Still it served a much larger purpose...

It's so easy to lose your faith, if you trade it's purpose,
For buying into feelings like a daily purchase
As this prayer would end off as it started,
As a prayer for protection from this world circus

                              Amen.

We're all living in worlds too small; strangers on the
streets, all our eyes surely met before. The crowd
seems so small, when everyone in it, you might have a chance
to know. Even if I kissed a thousand girls, it feels like I've had this taste before.

But I strangely want more.

My world isn't round, or flat. But a box with people, filled to the
max; of people you call fam. Everybody is an uncle, auntie, or
cousin. Stuck at those family gatherings; with the same old discussions.

"Tell your mother I said hie," the message that never makes it home. We don't take the time to get the clearer message,
when we're all playing broken telephone. We have too many
big problems, in worlds too small.

We want to know everything in our heads of worlds too small.
But when you done buying useless knowledge at the mall,
you could give me a call. Careful not to raise your voice, everyone is listening in worlds too small.

And it's never too hard to find yourself, in worlds too small.

—this a dreaming past
a touch from God, glimmer of hope
in terms of giving someone else their
turn. let live what you earned, never
dessert what you deserve

serve up the sweet course of your worth
but do not let it be spoiled by any who
cannot see it for what it is

Delete the Text of my time – the Seconds won’t reply
Money in the Worth of time; is never worth the Money,
If all it does is Slowly eat away Pieces of your Time

No shape, but Maybe it’s shaped like your darling;
But they won't promise you the entire World

                             We live, surrounded by Time
                             Consumed by money & Wealth

The worth of self, has
Now become what
Worth
You hope to buy–

Sounds & pictures,
for the records to show
—today we're going to war

Grenade hearts; with all their
pent up emotions ready to explode
The sounds of guns in orchestra
of a thousand applauds
Ashes have made grey the floor;
as the after smoke chokes the globe

Parachutes blanket the sky,
black navy teal,—the day becomes night
Darkness roams behind a gun,
and with it's might, dissipates a man's sight
Blinded by foreshadowing, what follows
through, is it's omen painted black of blight

Pools of blood, shallow to a charging foot
marching armies depart blades of grass
from it's root

Children who sing songs with a gun
dancing unarmed under the sun
Thinking it's just a toy for fun;
what has this world become, but the result
of being the victim in front of the gun

                          ...we're killing our earth
Means we alone are just killing ourselves

The very words have slit the back of my throat,
a crude experience tasting on the blood of a wounded tongue.
The very taste of evil slipping off of it.

The lines are chaos trails leading to a destruction,
Lurking, slowly preying like the untamed beast of unfiltered words.

Soon it attacks tearing at flesh to reach the heart.

Falling into submission, it holds back by the voice holding it down.

Don't you dare speak another negative word I tell myself,
pulling back the very thing and letting healing take place on the wounded tongue

"You lack a vision for your life,"
"You are drowning in your own ambitions,"
"Do you genuinely believe you will succeed?"
"I cannot see you going that far in this journey,"

"Is this truly your purpose?"

Careful of your words, for I may cast you
As an antagonist in one of my countless stories,
Being a narrative, the WHOLE world shall see –
For I am a Writer!

Where are the words,
any really.
Where are the words,
really I don't know.
Where are the words,
round the corner of Writer's block.

What are my thoughts,
between them.
What are my thoughts,
I don't know what to pick.
What are my thoughts,
any empty suburb of Writer's block.

Why am I blocked,
obstructed as.
Why am I blocked,
I don't know how to solve such a Rubik's Cube.
Why am I blocked,
because I'm stuck on the outskirts of Writer's block.

“I don’t really exist, and I know I don’t exist,”

so it says – being latent, until it’s been found.
Where I sometimes break down by the corner
of Writer's block; where the drive I had for
something, finds an abrupt stop.

In truth,

this Writer's block doesn't exist; it's just
a point of time, the writer needs to BREATHE.

A full stop to the end of something worthy of time; -
a spot in the crowd, as a fool stops by feeling unwanted
here and everywhere else; - Less important than everybody
else; who am I if not a man silent most of the time; - sadly,
and greatly; his greatest work never becomes sublime.

Oh, it’s a curse; - that their eyes other face to
meet, but forget so rapidly an honest verse.

Still- he braves another line, despite what feels
like another pointless lie; - Still, he writes!

…as a violin with no strings,
…an endless sleep without beautiful dreams,
…a courageous bird with no wings,
…a mortal passion that never wants to die; -
              Still, he writes!

Circles—round a trip,
going all around the plains of plain thinking,
A blank mind; empty paper, ****** canvas,
As of the first I'll write: a masterpiece to create.

A shaking pen, a hold of my thoughts and emotions.
Dreams so unreal; feels so prohibited to a natural
thought. So I write them out in words.

Read through it, subtract, dissect,
read through it again; alter, adjust,
As many times, till I'm content with the piece.
But I'm never content; until the next piece,
the next piece, and next pieces after that.

Battling thoughts on whether to share or
archive for a later story. Post for likes, comments,
to please an ego—post for dispraise, inklings,
to better self, and writing capabilities.

For all-inclusive

I am suicide,

entangled on the wrong line of conversation – 1-800-273-8255.
My existence crumbles, while my life is degrading; emotions
constantly rearranging, while death lingers, with due patience.
I am the impure linen stained with the tears of pain. I am the
cacophony of voices in my own brain, the picture of love, yet
my heart beats with a hollow rhythm, feeling so plain.

I am time,

as it twists and bends, mirroring the sharp twist of a knife by
my side. I am unkind to myself – hate myself in secret, but in
public I always smile so bright. My happiness is a reflection –
I am the moon, a distant memory, until you remember a
beautiful night.

I am poison,

the chlorine of sorrow, and so wasted in my wasteful tears.
Each breath is heavy with the weight of my fears, I am a grave
to bury my griefs. I am sometimes a religious person, with iffy
beliefs. I struggle to believe in myself, as often as I can believe
in others, while my dreams fade into monochrome colours.

My mind runs around wanting to die, yet I cling to the will
to create; on what I can write. To write is to stay alive!

Violets and roses,
not a picture perfect Love scene

Like Valentine's Day.
Movies scene fake,
so less important compared to a dream.
But the kisses
are tender much,
Even before our lips touch.

Love,
is an essence I can't get enough of
So if to starve from it
means I'm surely hungry for love.
A couple tattoo kisses
stay stuck on my flesh, deep down to bone
Of the Mrs,
memories drawn, but hurt me crazy like a thorn

Rose,
sharp are her words, and her body
A often ***** thought in my mind.
I should clear that room,
dust it a few, but I'm still enjoying the view.
I could go blind,
but stay having imaginations vivid of you.

X and O's,
once for crossing my mind
And O,
how I tell you that I don't mind.
One on the heart,
and two for the hole it has.
X right on the spot,
and O, am I not so glad.
For an XO,
written by my heart
Carried by my soul,
so many colours of you to pick from
Babe you're like a personal kaleidoscope.

Ignite within me the feeling of love –
a bulb warming up in its own radiance; I need that idea
behind me falling in love – peace of mind, yet we still
kiss behind the chaos of what we always had –
                                                a long time crush.

Don’t you dare crush my heart – swear to me, cross your
heart and hope not to die, or would you choose to double
cross me, transforming that sacred mark into a bitter X…

I suppose for me, this would be the third strike.

                                   ***

Disengage; why diss an age for not being at the same
pace of your particular race,
Disarray; what play do you stand for in the game of
fitting in life's tight space,
Display; is on every man's pride on the wall;
painting the bricks you've built on false confidence to portray.

In these days pretending we're all okay,
"how are you really," we should really tell our cherished people,
But the words are too heavy to say. Too heavy to be brave,
too ashamed to pray. The African mindset of sitting on a
journey's first step, and yelling, "God will make a way"

We're far away from the potential we choose not to chase,
a waste of yourself. ******* attitude; rotting the mind to
decay. Calling the black and white lines, yet we're forcing
ourselves in between truth and lies. Life is grey.

Life is strange, life is wonderful, but at times a cause of
man's dismay. Still cherish it for it's all, and appreciate today.
It's someone's birthday today, anywhere in any moment. So
celebrate each moment like the event we all cheer,
"hip hip hooray"

Yaaayy!

Yeah... I’ll be the reflection of one’s depression – to hotspot their
emotions, for the ones that lack real expression. I am a weapon by
the impression of my pen; I demand love and attention – so ****
possessive; these words are my greatest possession.

My mind… my mind is just a book, and I feel so overbooked.
And the dreams in my eyes are overlooked, while I dream about
my death knowing it’s never too good. But we feel so misunderstood –
hoping not to leave pieces of ourselves. Life dares to cut me down
like a tree, and sometimes I wish it would.

I’m two doors swinging in the milestones of a lonely road. I threw
my rocks at my reflections – their irregular metre, is such an ugly
ode. Still if I reflect other's depression; I’ll transport it around the
globe, and carry their load.

I am their depression to be showed. Yeah, we're depressed, but I
doubt a lot of you would really know!

Do you still book yourself
to spell the words of your love'
Often read in the wrong body language;
making scribbles on your skin- to mark out
other people's marks, marking you as their own?

Do you still dream about that pretty rose,
sitting in a water bottle in the sun
Trying to brighten up your skin, and learning
to be like a flower; not so scared to open up?

Do you still feel nostalgic when you kiss
all of those nights away;
As you always miss the goodnight kisses
that your lover rested on your head?

And you cry and cry, every single night
with an ocean inside of your eyes
Drowning yourself inside the guilt,
in a guild, of all those people you had once loved
Similar interests of a man's endless pursuits,
they only seen a pretty face, but could never see Y.O.U

these tears welling up in my eyes, seem to rise up like yeast –
fluctuating changes accordingly to life circumstances; the circumference
of love appears diminished, hiding deep within the confines of a
bottle. that sanctuary of liquid comfort –
                                           a quiet solace, in a fleeting
sense of bravado that comes with embracing an intoxicating high.

bred amidst the layers of plump cushions of anxiety and worry –
here again, those tears once again threaten to surface like yeast, but
a persistent sense of restraint lingers. a barrier obstructs the natural
flow of my tears –

                                                  a yeast infection!

When the song of love plays,
I won't have it on repeat.
When love is in the air,
I'll wear a mask. Don't need to get love sick.
When love tries to brush,
I'll stand my ground, not to get swept off my feet.
When love holds a knife,
it won't steal my heart. I won't entertain a thief.
And when love goes lost,
it won't make me cry or give me grief.

But isn't that what we all say?
Till love does all of those things,
and we fall in love one day.

Yes! Love is definitely strange.

What to say about yesterday,
the day that seems to blur with the passage of time.

It's like trying to grasp onto a slippery memory,
fragile like a delicate pat of butter slipping through your fingers.
How I wish I could hold onto it, savor it, and make it last.
It feels as if I'm trying to spread my time like butter on toast,
hoping to cover every moment that I have, that I had.

Memories are like fragments of a puzzle,
slowly piecing together the story of our lives.
And yesterday, it held a significant piece, a piece
that I don't want to let go of. It was a day filled with laughter,
joy, and love, creating a tapestry of beautiful moments that
I want to cherish forever.

The colors of yesterday, like an artist's palette,
painted a vibrant picture in my mind.

The sounds, the smells, and the sensations are
etched in my memory, even if they slip through
my grasp like silky sand.

Yesterday is now a chapter in the book of my life,
a chapter that I hope will never fade away.

Whole heartily who's loving who and who.
Looking through cracks of a mirror, who's reflective of themselves in you.

Trailing thoughts of those happy times that could be,
Feeling though like your own sadness follows in the packs of we.
Still in such of the emptiness you trying to fill it with something of the worth.
And a million dollars seems like plenty but not as many as your existence to the world of your birth.

Like the thieves opting to steal by night,
Why not be the one who returns the lost joys in days of bright.

Yet be out of sight of the enemies eye who hides in the bushes like a snake,
For you own liveliwood mow the lawn for your sake.

And,

You, find the victory in the great things you do.
You, trail from all the rest. Rather be you .
You, the world may drag you through the dirt can never stain your happiness.
You, who seeks for their victory today could never be driven away by this world's  nappiness.

Be as you are. BE YOU.

Bright smile! like summers stuck in your teeth,
Oh how! beauty catches eyes;
    baited as fish,
Worming ways of compliments, for a smile.
Tightest hugs! feel so claustrophobic;
Closest friends, closed on time we seem not,
    to have,
Thoughts of pleasure! grasped with imaginary hands;
   You felt it before too?
Like fools in love—Tools to it's trait, (*******, but always
   nuts for more)
Trying not to fall deeper in our cavernous love.

                          A possibility?
        Perhaps in a heart's forgetfulness,

                         A reason?
      Only by a mind's found emotions.

                          Question:
Why do I hurt myself in delusions of lover's thought,

                          Answer:
Simply because; I know I'll fall in love with —YOU!