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TW Mar 2019
I vow to never let destiny get the best of me,
Life expectancy threaten me through questions of legacy,
Mentally wrestle me, never envious jealousy,
I'll measure every breath and beat and take them to the Nth degree.
TW Feb 2019
Hello, it's me again,
I'm about to shift the sea again,
And right now, I just need to vent,
If I put it in a letter, would you read it then?

I'm trying to make you notice me, that's why I shake and crash the seas,
Call it misguided, but you could never call it apathy,
Baby just come back to me and we can live a happily-ever-after,
Until we leave a crater of stardust,
Mapping out your patterns of apogees, and trajectory,
I know you follow him, but I'll never let it get to me,
I believe in destiny, we're meant to reconnect someday,
We ought to be together, so I'll always set an extra place,
I'll orbit you forever like a ship in a whirlpool,
I've been with outer space, need a bit of the Earth too.
A valentine from the moon to the Earth
TW Feb 2019
I was charcoal drawings, you were taking camera snaps,
Frozen moments, mosquitos stuck in amber traps, handicapped,
You were Polaroids, stretching out a memory,
I'm only broken since my etching now will never be.
My work might feel saturated when I get all "introspection-y"
But I'm so exposed, we're all contrasted and you look like silhouettes to me,
I try not to let them get to me, those polarising statements,
I bite my thumbnails inside a lonely, idle basement,
And I shudder when I think what state that time will lapse the world into,
It lends a resolution, the pics'll frame you and I'll persecute.
TW Feb 2019
An ego is a comet burning up inside my atmosphere,
So if I ever buy a ******* chandelier, take me back a year -

To coffeehouses in the autumn with the falling leaves,
To cottonmouth up in the morning when I yawn from sleep,
To background jazz and tonals from the saxophone,
    Cut the vocals but leave the rest of the act alone,
To trees in full bloom that I've barely even ever seen,
    Eternally convinced they're only semi-evergreen,
To all the melodies spilling out so cleanly as,
    I look around at a sea of woolen beanie hats,
        The only kid who's not colour matched with the foliage,
        The only kid who's so unattached that he notices,
To that kid on the benches, sitting, scribbling sketches,
To the rhythm of set lists on a ritalin head trip,
To that girl in the booth, who brought a pile of cards,
    No concern, wouldn't move, getting snide remarks,
To that smell as the coffee's wafting across the room,
    Not being bothered and nodding off from the solitude.
TW Feb 2019
Whatever the weather is, windy or hail,
However it howls in symphony gales,
With windchill turning my skin into braille,

I'm here for it all, from beginning to fail.

We both know we won't make it for sure,
Let me lay out my heart for you, naked and raw,
I'm breaking it more for the sake of a call,

So love me, or like me, or hate me, I'm yours.
TW Jan 2019
You once told me that when we die,
we become another star in the night.

I never really cared about your zodiac and lunar signs,
I never paid attention to the solar action shooting by,
You'd wonder if it's magic plans or broken scrap that flew the skies,
You were psychedelic dresses, I was only wrapped in suit and tie,
It never blew my mind until I finally gave your truth a try,
I glimpsed the puzzle pieces in the time before the moon would rise,
A tapestry on galaxies, depicting myths, and human lies,
I guess you proved me wrong again, I was quick to scrutinize.

Now, I'm studying the subjects and sitting in observatories,
Thinking back to when I'd write them off before I heard the stories,
Earth is boring now you're gone, I hope you're up there yearning for me,
Every star's a soul, I'd see you but there's nothing worse than stormy
Nights and light pollution, it's a blinding kind of nuisance,
I'd be admiring your fusion but the sky has turned translucent,
But still I'm plotting charts of stars, I'm always making observations,
Waiting for the day I get to see your face in constellations.

I wanna chase you forever, whether heaven or hell, I'll go,
Can't let you float away, I'll take a world tour with my telescope,
The way I speed through hemispheres, this night will be the death of me,
But otherwise I'd only see you half the year, you're my Persephone,
I'll trek from Arctic harbors, give binoculars to polar bears,
Shiver in my igloo, hands together, say a hopeful prayer,
And no, I won't be lonely there, your soul will be a solar flare,
You'll whisper an aurora, northern lights to let me know you care.

I'll whistle Canis Major and Minor, and let Orion guide me,
I'm quite unlikely to quit, what kind of guy would I be?
To search the Seven Sisters for an eighth and get inside their psyche?
I'll question Cassiopeia, Cygnus, and Pisces nicely,
Ask if they've seen something fishy, and then I'll talk to Taurus,
An orbit tourist, I'm daunted without the gall to forfeit,
So if you're gone, then I'm glad that this was all you taught me,
I live each day for the night and just endure the morning.
TW Nov 2018
I am a writer who hates whiskey.

I feel that I should love it like a writer's only friend,
Like I should sip it from a glass while I scribe with broken pens,
Like I should clink the ice against the sides and swirl it, deep in thought,
And take it neat and raw, in admiration of its steely course.
It should lubricate the mind and guide the flow of words to page,
And since a nervous age I've yearned to say I love the way it burns and maims,
And maybe on a certain day, I'll glug it without choking, breathless,
But for now it hurts my brain to even think about its... smokey wetness.

I've idolized an archetype, a writer with a harmful life,
Sit alone in bars at night, lament the fact that art is strife,
But recently I'm thinking more, and honestly, this can't be right,
I love the pen and paper, and I love the fact it's hard to write.
It's the way that I've romanticized it, fantasized and glamorized it,
Like I could just forget about a novel, let Jack Daniel's write it,
While I sat and focused on my magnum opus, penning parts of it in prose,
I viewed my present like it's hindsight, through glasses tinted rose.
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