down to my last dollar for the weekend;
chances of falling in love in a club – I can’t pay for
those feelings. crying thoughts about what it means
to be in love, with delicate watercolours. paint me as
a feeling, as pruning a rose falling piece by piece into
that pit of love

for love is so deep when it first trips you off
your feet, the sounds of it sound slow and easy in my ear –
but like club music, the dj plays a slow song, then suddenly
blares the mood with music to bleed out my ear drums

am I… bleeding out this love, coming up
with a gift of sweet nothings in chocolate box?

      love is all sparks, but any spark can be made\\
         but that real fire in your heart, comes finding
                                                        your right match.

Loaded gun; with the glares of girls shooting
their shot. X marks the spot of where she aimed for
my heart.

It hurts to love, it hurt me plenty in the fall,
I was in the air; floating, waiting for what they say
it means to be in love.

Slowtown, right around the corner of the rush
of my feelings. A crush is a rock you carry on the strength
of wishful thinking, and desire.

Overcrowded in the room of sickly ones,
wickedly sickened by a love sickness. Love sticks to the air,
Untamed by the consequences it must carry.

Yet you only see what you what, but still a love
sick fool is the reason for it being so blind.

Do you still as a youth glance at a potential lover,
or does maturity see a future?

Now how do I put it into words,
Explaining a feeling I've never felt before,
A little piece of love; making me yearn for more,
A richly deserved taste of it's brewing love,
Inside of my cup; sometimes in a long mug,
The steam tickles my top lip hairs, I stir, and stir,
Sip, sip, careful not to get burned.

That little *** is boiling over the stove,
It whistles proudly; of my warm heart for my love.

Pulling the draw; grabbing a spoon, three teaspoons
of sugar, a full spoon of coffee, and the hot water I pour.
Oh! Looks like it's a bit to bitter, so let's grab the sugar
and add one more.

Warm blanket, warm thoughts, a warm paper,
and pen, then my warm words.

Warmth. Warmth is all I can describe of my
love in words.

empty cup that fills my mind – down to earth man
sips the ground; a scent that erodes all other scents
swirling steam, a bittersweet dream – fruitful energy
given by the swirl of it’s heat; as my tongue ripens
to this flavour in my cup

the days are always a rush; a cup of coffee sort of helps
me slow it all down – thrown seeds to grow in my heart,
rejoicing in the love I have for my morning drink. reaping
for more, coffee seeds planted in the coffee machine.

cos some days I work myself like a machine – I need to
oil the machine, with the fuel from that coffee bean
the goosebumps rise on my skin, I’m in love with this
              coffee bean

Dip my feet-
In a bag full of coffee beans;
To get the feeling of-
The ground in between my toes.

A vast cosmos swirls within my cup its hue reminiscent of
rich earth – this is how I savour the celestial dance of stars that
illuminate my dawn. The birds are chirping; their incessant
calls grating to someone still caught in the clutches of sleep,
an hour past their awakening.

I crave the warm embrace of those first sips, the aroma of
a universe enveloping my senses – those dulled nerve endings
yearning for that electric jolt to awaken my body, sounds ringing
sharp like a sudden jolt to the ear, quickly grounding me in
the present. My eyes, keen as a blade, slice through the haze of
distraction, honing in on clarity.

As I speak, relishing that fleeting moment of joy, the kettle
whistles its urgent call – a signal for the morning coffee I so
desperately seek.

The rustic wood exudes an oak essence,
imparting feelings reminiscent of timber
running through the depths of
a contemplative mind.

The morning wood embodies a
hardness akin to the tenacity of roots
growing defiantly out of solid mountain
rock—a force to be reckoned with.
She savors a taste that mingles with a sense
of triumph, a bittersweet victory vividly
displayed through a masked countenance.

Her prowess is demonstrated by
splitting rocks effortlessly with
the razor-sharp edges of her teeth,
wielding a tongue that doubles as a
deft weapon, teasing and tasting with
calculated precision. Each fiber of the pink
flower's stem is thoroughly imbued with flavor,
with a cascade of nectar streaming down
his throat, carrying forth every inspired
thought on a voyage of fervent creativity.

Reflecting on the past reveals remnants
of everything that has been left behind,
a realm where he fearlessly surmounts
challenges from behind the scenes.

Amidst disciplined actions, he occasionally
employs stern measures, firm and
unwavering. In his possession is a
substantial jumbo jet, soaring high into
the skies, causing her eyes to involuntarily
roll back in sheer awe, a testament to the
impressive magnitude of his influence.

The days pass by in their own magnificence —
that brilliance of a radiant sun, illuminating
all around with its natural intensity and warmth.
But fortunes now stand as a beacon of their unparalleled
richness, so akin to perfect health, while hearts wear
their emotions openly on their sleeves, displaying an
unwavering untrue transparency that desires to still
captivate the world.

Deep within the hidden recesses of their beings lies a
dream, delicately tucked under the protective shelter of
their collarbones, waiting to blossom and unfurl into reality.
Connections to the past linger like ties to neckties
well-hidden beneath the surface, silently influencing
present actions and future paths.

Despite the passage of time, some still find themselves
immersed in past troubles, carrying a heavy burden symbolized
by the chip on their shoulder, gradually accumulating into a
weighty packet as age advances. With each passing year, the
resistance to healing grows stronger, manifesting as a cold
shoulder turned towards the prospect of finding solace
and restoration. Cold souls under the warmth of the Sun.

"But let me tune you the live about life's simulation,
that assimilates one's worth. Poetry's code isn't of ones
and zeroes, but of all lines and words"
Says the wit of a coloured oan wanting to chuff the girls

It's all about the honeys, and maybe some sweet
success of hustling for a little extra money

Taking a stand on every stanza, I grew up to different standards
Unlike the hood rapper clutching the 48 hammer,
I was taught in my hood how to hold a 48 spanner
I have my odds in odes; every heavy breath in each
coma—not so common
Given the stereotype of dealing and robbing
To steal your stereo if the right type,
and best to drive with caution

A dark skinned coloured
fitting in with the blacks by appearance
Accents do tend to change ears intently hearing
Whites think I'm that way out of a private school fashion
But I did at times hang out with the wrong crowd,
at times on weekends smoking **** and relaxing

And yes I'm actually coloured; to those of you asking
Hit you with a "hey what's up, what's happening"
Don't mind me asking questions with this sort of coloured accent
"Yoo what's the story," we start our conversations
in the morning. A different kind of breed Godsent

I don't force how I speak
But if it disturbs the peace
I'll change my tone of speech
And find solace in writing another poetry piece

                                            @the Coloured poet

She has her highs,
I have most of my blue
While all of my messages are read,
no matter what I say, I can barely see much
love out of my purple eye's hue.

Time is golden,
still I tend to **** most of it nowadays
While death is black; my envy is always
present of the green someone makes,
—maybe I'd **** to be famous one day.

My chest feels burdensome,
and too heavy for me to cough.
As I put an end to myself with scotch,
as nothing would sit well with me like a
darker brown spot on an already brown couch.

Blue, red, purple,
Gold, black, green,
Scotch and brown
—seems I'm all of these colours going around.

Walking along the ocean: my mind was imaginary, swimming
in passions again. My dreams became companions in my
loneliest nights—a closest friend.

The colours of time were a painted clear picture; the black
and white meaning of life written all in scripture.
I sang praises with rocks, mountains, and every living creature—hoping they would comfort me again.

I was dreaming of the end, it was such a dark picture.
In the same darkness before the beginning, I wondered if I
was alive, or close to my death.

Sinking into an ocean of tears, walking along nothingness
hoping not to slip. Trying to keep track of all of my past
steps, spending fashionable time. I was fashionably late.
Wearing down my heart, of the evil I've done—I woke up early
this morning to repent.

These voices were chasing, but I chose not to run. They passed me
over in one quicken rush. And I thought if was saved by the
colour of Love.

Or was it the white rising flag of mery upon my sinking ship.
I can't tell you what it was, but I could say it was peace—I was
just lost in a world of Colours & Dreams.

I touch pieces of Heaven every time that I sleep.

Wild at heart, pretty woman at it's will to tame.
Don't take that to shame,
But perhaps taking from this conversation your name.

Turned the age of eighteen once before thinking I'm the man,
Looking for a piece of love from a girl who's just a fan.

Turned the age of nineteen thinking I grew a little wiser.
But the time had my eye to deceive. Life can be a liar.

Now at twenty waiting for wisdom to reach my feet
Hoping wise not to have those similar mistakes on repeat.

So perhaps as I speak to you, think me childish
Like living on a life of latest fashion trends to seem stylish.

But right now it's my coming of age,
Growing to be the man I am.
Starting my own life story on a fresh page,
Coming to be a True man.

A claim you possess;
we’re possessions, battling for one last touch- our
love on the battlefield; the gore of it, engulfs you as
if you were drowning; sinking deeper into your
emotions. Our hearts relapsed into their silence, a
fathomless ocean- of us holding our breathes each
time we kiss.

We were so tired of loving with no results,
so much so, that the very first time we kissed
it all, it was all too much to comprehend.

It's quite concerning,
this place I find myself am at.
Take a deep breath, but O'Lord I hope it doesn't stench.
I'm a spoiled mood inside my heart, feeling like a brat.

It's quite concerning,
where I've come to be but never really see what's in front of me.
Probably closing my eyes way too much to try to keep on dreaming.
While kicking the world right off my plot for too much scheming.

It's quite concerning,
how I have my wings, but don't know how yet to fly.
Living on the kind of words that feed my dreams so I don't quickly die.

Probably losing my focus staring straight so long at a crooked world,
That makes me feel so dead inside like my own funeral.

And it's that concerning I'm too emotional that I don't know when to cry,
Nor knowing if I should keep my composure when wishing someone I miss already goodbye.

Though am I qualified of being the right person,
Cause sometimes everything of me is gone so fast, I'm all that's left.
And I choose to be lesser of the swearing type, but **** it I can't help without the cursing.

And it's rather concerning, so very much concerning.
And I don't know what's there to fix inside of me when I don't know what's really working.

This blind man is too busy gazing at this empty wall
I tried to tell the deaf man next door, but you were to busy listening to soundless beats to hear me call.
The druggie in me took five imagery pills to **** the buzz
My brain was in some kind of blitz from drowning in shadowless trees, counting wheels on motionless cars.

Condensed in an empty space of just  more fullness
Cutting in a straight line of this circling square, trying to find it's cruelness.
Speeding too fast in a not so slow lane
Young old boys killing time and stress, still sounding all the same.
Cover up your face from way behind
Fact that factor up and tell yourself what you may  find.

Pour a glass into a straight shot
Don't let the bartender  make me taste any of that, stuff is way too **** hot.

Condensed shadows but we living in the light
Shutting my eyes shut, but I haven't lost any of you out of my sight.
I gave the whole world a low high five
She still yet to give me back  that response, but she better hurry up because I filled an empty pool  with dreams, now ready to dive.

Condescending,
I know of which isn't ending
A better version of previous self,
superior for owning up to my self wealth
To some it's much frustrating,
I do apologise for being so condescending.

I go against I ,
an ability to be held back by only I,
A type of guy who can't deny,
his much a snack to an apple of the eye.
To those finding it overspending,
I do apologise for being so condescending.

I'm superior,
in a higher rank of self quality
Who I am, is who I am glad to be,
be as I am, an own personal fan
Being proud to call myself the man.
I know for some seems offending,
I do apologise for being so condescending.

I like to like myself,
and loving my own
Surely it's does show,
the light of me which glows.
Like a fire that must burn,
a spark of me, can give you a turn.

Time seems impending,
I have less of it to be pretending
Might feel myself ascending,
but rather I'm not here contending
I just apologise for being so condescending.

his eyes are what graze his meal,
while he pokes at it with a fork, like a child

she asks in a sweet voice, if there’s
anything on his mind…

with a full plate, leftovers of his love
for her, and an empty pride - he finally asks
her

“did you also tell him you love him, right
after I watch you both kiss each other”

splat!

her spoon crushes pieces of food on her plate,
my love, I swear to you, it was only ONE TIME

he smiles, but in a sombre voice he replies,
“funny, with such a passionate kiss I watched,

I’m sure the both of you had a lot of practice”

Confidence in check,
well I'm at least to expect,
To give those around a piece of my best.

But how so? I'm a piece of depressed.
Bleeding out my heart, and beating out my chest.

It's been too long, since I've had a word,
a little hint in the letters I pen.
But then again,
I'm completely clucked as like a hen. Hanging with the lions in the depths of a den.

Still confidence in check,
like the pride beating upon my chest.
What did you expect?
I take everything as if what the heck.

Living in the moment,
till I'm out lived by the fewer moments that follow.

So really what the heck?
Rather be the wild card amongst the deck,
black sheep amongst the wool of white,
least then fall into opportunity's sight.

With a little confidence in check,
doing all the little of best.
Then again what did they expect?

Ain't my confidence in check?

—in all of my ways, I'm not ashamed to
call your name. But so shameful of me to only
say a prayer when things don't go my way. Echoing
the final phrase, "in Jesus name" hoping everything
magically becomes okay.

Seems when I'm in trouble, I only choose to pray
a spiritual prayer that day. And I'll go back to sinning
in about two days.

But let me rephrase, "God loves you, and cares for you"
whether I'm telling it to the crowd, or secretly trying to
remind myself. "Don't envy another," says an envious
colleague, after he congratulations them in an overexaggerating
tone. But when I'm home alone; it's either myself tearing myself
with tears, until my face is torn. Or punching the wall, then
after using the other hand to cope with a little ****.

Actually it's a lot—a lot of the times I'm lost in empty
picture screens, till a quick satisfaction is found. Then after
washing the sins off, while staring in the mirror, and not looking
so proud. As the realism comes to light, as the realist sees their
misdeeds way past the dark.

Like a pick-up truck, hauling heavy loads of these burdens.
But we like to pretend our backs don't snack while forcing
to look like an always good person. In third person, we don't
see all the places you're hurting. But it takes first person, for I
to realise I'm inwardly cursing of those new struggles soon
to worsen.

To oppose another, being the face I choose during the day;
opposing my loving father. And in it feeling ashamed, and so
afraid to call His name; only when things aren't looking too okay.

But here's a glass to all CC's, raise your voice if you know you've
been that type of way. Let me keep you in my prayers; perhaps
you'll learn to speak honestly by tomorrow, than with a mouth of contradicting yesterdays.

                                                 ...don't worry children,
                                your father still hears your prayer!

Let's be honest, life is moving way too slow don't you wish you could fast forward it,
I would pay the universe to speed it's motion, but gosh ****** I can't avoid it.
Life of ups and downs without a sound,
But I still haven't hit the ground.
Let's go ride shotgun in the backseat just to get a clearer view of the world we live.
And if the enemy cut my left hand down, would I still have the right to go and give.

"Hey me, how you doing,"

hey future me, I'm feeling clueless,
using less of my time, and feeling a bit useless

"Well, I wish I could tell you that it all gets better,
But even in the successes you and I will have
You're still stuck on hoping you've done enough"

that kind of *****, cos yesterday I was just telling our
past self, we still haven't done enough
and I'm feeling really down, but always trying to keep up
in playing this bluff

"Really life is just a constant game of us playing cards,
My advice to you; put down the cards, and learn to play chess"

sorry, that statement doesn't make any sense,
and above all, it probably went over my head

"Life is about making the right moves,
Lining your goals, and trying to think way ahead"

highly unlikely; let's not pretend

"Hence the word, trying;
You won't get it right all of the time.
But all of the time we have, is another reason to just try,
And every mistake is a lesson we can't ignore or never mind
For the never in our mind, is the reason to all of our insights
being so blind"

can you show me these lessons,

"No, because they wouldn't be the lessons
You'd hold onto, without any of the experience
As the best teacher is experience; still the hardest teacher,
But she'd treasure a good listener, and treat you so precious
My lessons to share, would be to stay brave, stay who you are,
And speak all of your truths of what has hurt/made who you are,
As all of those daily confessions

hey future self,

"Yes"

you really ****, because you always have to be so right,

"And me being right,
Is to show how to be right with our life"

                             sigh!

In the realm of my chamber, where the walls stand tall and proud, a crack resides, a testament to the passage of time. Each morn I awaken to its presence, my gaze instinctively drawn to its jagged lines, as if it holds a secret waiting to be unraveled. Curiosity blooms in my chest, like an ephemeral flower, its petals seeking to understand the start and end of this enigmatic fracture. Yet, despite my relentless pondering, its origin remains shrouded in ambiguity, evading the grasp of my eager mind.

Venturing beyond the boundaries of my chamber, I traverse the intricate labyrinth of rooms that exist in this grand tapestry of my abode. And lo and behold, that very crack that has captivated my attention seems to follow me, lurking in the hidden corners and unassuming intersections. Its presence, though subtle, is undeniable, an unspoken confidant whispering ancient stories and untold secrets. Returning to the sanctuary of my own haven, I find the crack more defined than ever, etched into the walls like a mark of permanence. Unyielding, unchanging, it stands as a constant reminder of its presence within the depths of my consciousness.

Oh, how I've longed to mend it, to bridge the gaping divide and restore harmony to the once-seamless surface. I've tirelessly searched for the perfect mortar and the right tools, but alas, it persists, taunting me like a mischievous specter, forever out of reach. This crack, with its resilient nature, seems to possess a life of its own, defying all attempts at erasure. It has become a fixture of my sight, a permanent resident in my waking hours and a steadfast companion throughout the moments between dusk and dawn.

But, dear listener, let me share with you a truth that lies dormant within the depths of my soul, hidden beneath the dusty layers of reality. This crack, you see, is not what it appears to be. It exists not in the physical walls that surround me, but within the intangible realm of dreams. It is a fracture of thoughts, a crevice in my mind that transcends the confines of the tangible world. This crack, oh, how much it speaks of the human experience, the complexities and contradictions that shape our very essence. It is the crack that embodies the intangibility of our emotions, the fractures that define our individual journeys.

So, as I gaze upon this crack, ever-present and unwavering, I find solace in its inexplicable existence.

Reflective tears— but none fall.
Glass-stained eyes, holding back
a flood that forgot how to break.
The walls pit inward— tightening
like regret, closing in like the hole
in my heart.

Hurt me again— my mind almost
begs for it; not for the pain—but
for the proof I still feel.
Cracked knuckles answer what
cracked thoughts can't say.
A fractured mental frame
held together by restraint.

I want to cry, but as I reach for the
memory of it, the tears don’t come—
Just the hollow ache of forgetting
how to let go in that way.
It be like that some days...

Gnawing thoughts;
Biting beats on brain'
Yawning dots'
Sizing them both insane.

                 Or perhaps plain:

His head hurts'
At their single home;
She wears only long skirts.

                      Darling;

Do we surpass our shys;
Being too afraid'
To show our insides?

Shy as a tall mountain'
Hiding behind clouds:
Seems for this first,
We both have a lot to climb.

And in this life, we:
Live, we regret, we learn –
Lessons from regret

And for bodies, we are:
Skins, touch, ecstasies in –
Two hearts that touch

Finally, we are all to:
Love, give breath, have *** –
To expect, another breath

              We all create.

Speaking in tongues in accordance of
      The audience, prior the winds of your voice
To be spoken in my ear of that accordion
      Accordingly so of the bellows—the chorus of
Love in that mellow tone of a Holy orchestra
      A symphony of the Bible; all revealing many mysteries
As I constantly read more of you

All the text setting a picture of your context
my joy is content: not like a performance
      Of this world's contest

Psalms 121:1‭-‬2 NIV
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

So as the top would say;
I'd lift my eyes higher than the mountains
    To you Lord—
Of where my help comes from everyday

So I pray: to be humbled by your grace—
    non dependent on man to guarantee the will
Of your way
    In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

There are two kinds of creatures in this life;

the most attractive creature, is a man mindful of your feelings:
considerate of your emotions, making you feel truly valued,
and respected— who listens attentively to your thoughts,
and concerns but also responds with genuine care, and
understanding.

And the dumbest creature, is a man who instead thinks
with his second brain: not much thought needed there.

What kind of person would I be, to love you
even when I don't love all the parts of me...

Would I give you a sense of certainty
even when we don't look so certain to be?

It would be criminal to love me!

the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling

this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing

The sun surprisingly reflects against
your yellow dress; barrier languages between us both
Old memories of such a coy smile; your love’s rarity
and royalty are trimmed with so much purple
Tired old bones desperately trying to pop back in place,
under the sunshine popping out to cheer me up
When it chooses to appear from out of the clouds;
it’s flashing that skirt once more.

Embracing your love while plunging deeper into the
silent sea of solitude: it’s a struggle to stay afloat,
The thankless night calls out for weary souls- feeling
abandoned in their search for solace; as the sanctuary of
angels seem to drift further away. Isolation and despair
that fills the night air.

It feels distant and elusive; trying to find those words
to express one’s love for another- even in their comforting
presence; all the words are quietly leaving them
Adding to the overwhelming sense that it only gets harder
knowing what to do, after you confess your love to a crush.

bought crushies for a crush;
but she told me I was just a friend,
a brother on the hush,
pouring out how her boyfriend got back together
a few days after they broke up,
i had a crush on a crush that crushed my heart,
a crushing feeling.

Eastward
rising in me rising for you.
Following behind just like a fool,
for words of your lips and kisses.

Lineage
has me walking the line
Hoping to be bound as I tap on your spine,
deserving more glances of you besides in pictures.

Darling
you become almost like spring
Forcing me to be out here jumping
while my heart is doing more than blossom thumping,
You only gave me nothing, but from it
I somehow took something.

Insecurity
always stopped me from expressing
For I've been down on my luck, it's so depressing
too afraid to actually fall in love,
Love gave only to me it's cruelty.

Babe
I don't know if I could swear to you
not to curse myself to be stuck as glue
Trying to pick out between so many emotions,
which one might keep me saved.

Instead
I act the quiet fool
or even the shy guy you've known from school,
Searching for lively words to speak my truth
but truthfully my words are dead.

Distracted
by beauty I seem unable to hold
Only really for me to watch and behold
eyes still youthful of passion
But as the rest of me it's but passive.

Action
is what I should take
But I erase the thought, not wanting a mistake,
still like a wet fish caught by a hook
I'm hoping for this to be that catch.

Crush
me over babe
It's the exact crush giving me no escape
The very rock holding me down rolls
over in a rush.

It's a crush, I hope doesn't bring me harm
if I ever again fall in love.

tell me if i wasn't drunk,
as you took off your shirt
i was seeing double
-chastise me for a bit ill thought,
as i'm easily falling in love to be love sick,
so needy as the shaking feeling
by my knees

the ecstasy; a love drug,
bitten by the tooth of desire, on my fragile
skin; by a love bug
so insert me in your happy place,
in between the gates of love and pleasure
the left and right of your hinged legs

i'm unhinged; sort of crazy in love
crazy enough to admit i'm in love
so admit me to a psychiatric ward.

What if I finally came to all of the places,
to feel eventually complacent
In between seeing a lackluster example
of what it takes to lack love;
Would I be lacking in the appeals
of peeling pieces of my skin to this former apple of an Eve,
The apple of my eye, bitten by the marks of the
world' dogs; with an echo to their every bark?

But what man isn't referred to a dog,
with just another territory to mark
As we're ******* by those trying to be just a man;
with mannerisms of an ill-mannered upbringing,
Did you at least question their gestures with a little reasoning?

We are littered by the stains of this society;
as the illiterate, misread by a literature written
by history's cruelty in a castration anxiety
Even to those cut from the same cloth,
how much have we lost for the cost of just playing another's part?

I'm in part, lost in the standards of this world,
that would cancel my tongue for speaking something so bold
As I've lost the voice in my lungs, and the hairs of my chest;
to honestly have the heart of bravery; as it now appears to be bald

And I would make the fortunes for these misfortuned,
fortunately for the lookers-on, it makes me an abstract portrait
So I'll just portray what I know best from my many teachings,
reasoning, understanding, valuing, and treasuring
To relate to those I have no relations to, to find their meanings


       In politeness,
          I am not one to share any other man's likeness
            Still to rather seek peace in chaos of all this society
               To not find myself caught in between this culture violence

The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time

A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired

But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******

Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires ****, is because
they don't use much of their tongue

But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun

Cupid’s aim was off, he lost one of his arrows
in the wrong heart he shot; I'd had my fair share –
of these scars painted on my skin; all the best
intentions being lost, while adding value to someone
just to add up the cost of their love…

Cupid’s aim was off, he forgot to wear his glasses
while on the job; giving me extra weight thinking
about my past – all the pain left behind, we all need to
move forward, but I still want to kick Cupid right in
the ****!

Sunny days could still remind me of so much hope,
Smells like the sweet natural honey I tasted from my finger tips. So sweet it was just too hard to cope.
And I can't help it if that love song plays on the old radio I find myself to cry,
It's really a bit of me being silly, I barely could explain the reason of that to myself so don't ask me why.

And the nature of my soul is a changing season,
Often it's a bit shaky when I lose myself to sin and I eat it up for no apparent reason.
If I could tame my thoughts to stay close to a cleaner side, surely I would.
I've proven myself many to be new greatest to something yet to be. How this feels so good.

My cure to what breaks me down though sometimes never really works,
It's something that fulfilled it's purpose, so I can rest my soul. Rest now, a seat for it, as it sits.

Cure,
To what was stinks my life like manure.
Cure,
To what has brought me down so many times though being so few.

CURE FOR IT ALL...

Alone in such times of de-stress
Emotion drowning at the cost of what I can't feel anymore.
Tortured mind of so young.
Depressed.

Through the days of life I learnt, perfection is irrelevant and therefore non existent.
Minds so many easily bought by the fancy colours of their screens.
A relay on a track running around closer to the edge of Death. A cold mistress she is, eating through our time through wasteful routines.

Alone at the fact all those I love sometimes look down on me.
Wishing to take the world by a storm, but instead I have it's overcast with a cloud on me.

What's a cure for loneliness for those of depression
A factual feeling of sanity with a mind poisoned by world's venom of prey to a lonely heart. Searching deep for the impression of the expression.  

Impression of hope where it lies.
Though with my world falling on me, the pieces I try to rebuild.

For a cure for loneliness is all that eats through me but keeps my eye so fresh.
To gaze through the troubles of a world to peep something of bless.

For that of the cure for loneliness.

The curiosity of young; is the danger of creativity,
discovery, but at times ignorance.

The fat cat...

Is it curious of me to ask a favour with no return,
I owe the plenty of their time I wasted. Chasing the
clock round and round these late working hours.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat...

Is it curious of me to want what others have,
the happiness it brings them, I too want it's share.
Despite at the expense of my appreciation, I want it all for free.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat...

Is it curious of me to want a love I can't afford,
this love for the things in this world. What fame can
get you, whether in the honest success, or the success
of selling your soul.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat...

Is it curious of me to get my eyes stuck on the sky,
I'm waiting for Heaven to fall onto this living hell.
How long will I have to wait longer, for the Lords return?

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Is it curious of me to wonder what exactly killed the cat,
so many lives wasted or not; dependent upon the right curiosity.
We're all curious beings; whether small or big. A question of
where you curiosity leads you to.

The fat cat in a hat, told his kitten to go buy a bat,
Chasing a rat hiding under the mat. She was battling with her
careless curiosity in daily combat.

Ordered the bat online, it came with the vat. The bat was
black in matte, to go chase a rat all around their flat.  
She was a sort of brat; with an annoyance that flew around
like a gnat.  So inquisitive of people's affairs; and nobody
likes that.

In the end, curiosity did **** that cat.

The egotistic, unrealistic quotes of thinking about bars,
With the obvious prison of your caged mind.
It’s a force enforcing me to rhyme at every line
So it makes every write a question of, what rhymes are left,
And which rhyme of the bunch seems right to align
It gets so out of hand; out of control, to seem like a lyrical man
But lyrically— I don’t follow a plan, or a rhyme scheme
As random as a Tuesday dream. We don’t get to choose what we see
No scripted story, to detail life’s most critical scenes
No make believe, of the way we live. As in the ways to stay alive,
Is to survive in life’s performance; that’s always live
I’m cursed to rhyme

Growing kids, calling each other “bra”
A mark of the memory on the back. Our favourite line in strap
Of really how we loved to rap(talk)
As keen as a king, to ***** people off royally
A bald man could say it boldly in bold—of all the lies he sold
But I doubt he’d have a heir; and that’s not so fair
But of the lies he sold; comes it’s fare
And that’s just a small example of the chaos inside
Inside my mind; a few seconds of exercise to stand the test of time
I’m cursed to rhyme

Hey there Mr Rhythm; I’ll introduce you to Miss Flow
Marrying the two, but don’t diss their force
As to reach the terms of getting them to divorce
One is a gulf of words; finding the best stroke in her golf course
For I know enough words…no never mind
There has to be a better rhyme to find, as I’m cursed to rhyme

The fourth stanza—a search for an answer
As only the few of my hand had of some. I’m quite handsome
The sensitive guy, who loves to write, and all and all
Always cursed to rhyme