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Power stood, but strength fell
A capacity to fear, but no more burdens to build,
The forlorn of a daughter.
While fault became honey, sweetly puréed upon the flesh I wore,
The drought of one’s character left dry this flesh.
Sticky and shriveled, was my existence.


No conquest could restore, dignity or integrity,
The forlorn of a daughter, lost to the hunger of confectioners.
Below beloved, vanity and prosperity.
Anger and tranquility.
Foraged by emissaries of lies and deceit.

Below beloved, fables and reality.
An unwanted pregnancy,
For whose judgment should be used ?

Below beloved
A life without sentence,
With only pleasure’s grown bountifully.

Below beloved, desolation as time goes.
Has life been lost ?
Or has pain gutted from within its home.

Knackered to the bone, yet I say,
Below beloved.
Let the numen be in sovereignty
Let this life have its own merit,
My beloved.
No clarity can wipe clean the love I give to you
Unrequitedly famished, from feeding only one alone.

Not a poet, but I’d milk every word for your love,
Break every law of the world, all whiles knowing you’ve painted upon another’s floor.
Days come days go, every morning it’s always a different song played.
Nature alone entertains my broken heart
Never has such accidie been maimed.

So I plead!
Love me before the quietus of your quiddity comes to a foreclosure in this life we’ve rationed.

Even if you’ve feign every exertion of your body
There’s no better admiration of a fabulist of this nature
I’ve always wanted happiness, to keep it
Not just feel it.
To never feel the pressure to have an umbrella, allowing the rain to soak my skin and leave the sun to dry my soul.
I’ve always wanted it all.
Nagging at the television, of what’s real and what could be.
A good home was always better than a perfect one.
Oh how I wanted it all!
And to know, it was of existence, while I denied myself the moments.

I wanted it all, but it would seem I needed not it at all.
We mature by damage, not by age
Not by milestones of numbers, but by the prickles on every stairs.
Hurting in order for knowing.
Painting appealing, the repulsiveness of growing.

Childhood memories planted in traumas and miseries,
Becomes a template to adulthood and its emissaries.
The erudition of time, insults continuously the morsel of one’s life.
Gifts and rewards.
Becomes the incarnation of endeavors and endurance.
At 80, I’ll dance
At 100, I’ll have died
Only for many to say
She lived a happy life.
So bumptious of mankind.
I grew up in a home where wrong doers were the the only prevailers, where sin gave you a chance at fame, and modesty was the dust you swept beneath the rugs.
I became toiled within those walls. Fabricating happiness and joy. Wishing and hoping I had what it takes to be great. Then time grew older on me, and I was gifted the opportunity to make decisions for myself, running away from my demons became my passion, forgetting evil became my love. But time still grew on me, and every time I ran, I retreated back.
No where to build purity, I figured sulking in my own home of sins, would be better than anywhere else.
But time grew on me, and I lost the strength to care, to fight, to be concern with this life being lost. But aren’t I sinner ?
I pretended I was different, better, molded from greater. But I’m a sinner.
Yet !
I have failed to be great. To be happy.
I was ready to butcher it all away, piece by piece, I wanted to place every part of me up for the highest payer.
Maybe I still do?
God deprives us of options
Oh yes, how sweet and good it is to have options
But how often have we picked the right options?
To have it all and not know.

We curse at his favoritism, dethroning faith and belief in his existence.
Spiting his love, and bargaining his hurt.
Only for him to deprive us of options, for love is his conception.

The many possibilities we find, pining all upon our hearts.
Only to discover, not all made us happy.

A prayer we never prayed,
Answered in right timings
He deprives us of options
Cause we can never know the right ones.
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