It seems as if most people these days
Talk about the sign of the times.
It seems as if every generation
Has their own idea of what
The sign of the times really is.
For every person it is different
But we still manage to have
Some things in common that get
Passed down too.
It is up to us to define what
Our own idea of what
The sign of the times are so
That when the majority
Changes with time you
Can still define your
Own idea of what the sign of the times is with confidence.
If you don't you will end up changing with the
Whimsy of every one else instead of being strong inside.

Like a flicker of a candle
Seasons come and go
Like an half open blind
It's never a closed show

Like people you love
A few will turn there backs
Like shadows on a wall
Tis time to mend those cracks

Like a rainbow in the sky
So colourful and high
Does heaven really exist!
Is that why birds fly!

Like a crow caw cawing
On an ordinary day
Is it in that silence
That nature as it's say

Like these pictures in my mind
Are they sub-consciously real
Or do I think too much
That I sentimentally feel

Like a whale in the sea
Who swims day and night
Will eventually rise
To inhale the bright light

Not flowers but
All the
Cracks
At the very edge of petals
Where the watercolour bleeds away
And starts to rot
Sweetly
- That's what I am

She sat
Upon my knee

And branded me

a leo and a libra
f*ck the constellations
the loose ends
don’t matter anymore
it was destiny, fate




fate has lost faith in us

i wonder what you saw
when you loved me
and i wonder what you didn’t see
when you left me

I found myself growing backwards.
I was sunflowers before I was a seed.
I have allowed myself to be hurt the way I did to you
Now, I know I really did love you.
It took a whole year of abusive relationships and manipulation for me to learn what love is.

Love is the way you would sit next to me in silence when I was anxious
And not yell at me the way he did.

Love is the day you told me I was beautiful and meant it
When he just used it as an excuse to touch me.

Love is the times you drove me home when I was too sad to move
While he pretended I did not exist.

Love is the feeling I got while holding your fingers in mine
They had the warmth his lacked

Love is all the times I got scared and pushed you away
Because I knew he wasn't going to stay

Love is the hours I spent in your car talking about the universe
While he told me that I was not smart

Love is your smile and the way your eyes crack
Not suffocating with his hands pressed against my neck

Love is when you asked me if it was what I wanted
And he didn't listen when I said, "stop".

Love is when you told me you loved me
and I didn't believe it

Try and succeed to relieve all that is needed from need and all you shall receive from life is but a dream, yet painful sorrows and melancholic mellows show true despair in the form of shadows.
To what do I deserve this existence fated, shall I remind you of how we were created and bated into believing there is a reason for life's unjustifiable treasons or do you merely conceive this dimension of its meaningless meanness. For it is despair that intertwines convoluted parallel exultancy. That and the indulgent parade of unmistakably acceptable pleasantries that life's joy brings to me.