Salt lines stains tired cheeks
Passed by overused dimples
Like flowing steady creeks
Taking turns in their descent
Rushing very simply

The sun in her last strength,
As she readies to takes her rest,
for the next day at length.

Leaves behind a pretty picture,
One of,
Orange,
Blue, and
Violet.

Composed and hinged,
All perfectly together,
In the most beautiful gradiant.

Admiring her zestful Rays,
Landing a simple kiss,
As she gently fades.

Into the noir sky we go,
But I will see you again,
Because you are, you know,
The best part of my mornings.

The inevitable unknown abyss,
Sparks the fear in one,
As one contemplate of the steps,
That leads to possible oblivion.

Fearing the thought of being forgotten,
Anxiously striving to create,
A legacy
A mark
Something.
In desperation of murdering this feeling,
Putting it away from us far,
The very idea of unimportance.

Every being,
In this vapor of time,
When faced with our setting sun,
Dream of all not being for naught,
Of our little contribution.
And we hope at the very least,
We are remembered,
By someone.

Towers as they pierce the heavens,
surround, stare with nonchalant glares,
as they protect the lifeless spirits,
who rush on these monotonous mornings.

Protection from the great light,
these beings are many things, but mostly,
just remnants of artificial shadowing.

Your contagious grin,
Your bubbly happiness,
Your zestful spirit.
You are an unintentional liar,
with a simulated appearance.
The world misled by this facade.
I know you though,
as clear as the cloudless sky,
and I hear them all,
the thunders,
in your sighs.

Sometimes I would deliberately sleep on the couch.
(weird behaviour, one would say)
But the couch had something different.
With just enough room so you don’t feel lonely,
and the same warmth as that of human skin,
I always slept well.

One morning as I’m paralyzed in sleep,
A grasshopper begun to challenge me.
It is as if she was defending her home,
It is as if she was letting me know she ruled these parts
(meaning the couch, of course)

In the dimness of the light, I saw her.
And in one full motion I swung, as she crashed into the wall,
Fixed my pillow,
and attempted to sleep once more.

It wasn’t over though, she came back with vengeance.
Landed on my ear with a droning sound, waking me,
as she flew parallel to my eyes,
where our starring contest lasted a good 10 seconds.

With intentions of finishing the grasshopper later,
Looking like a zombie, I made my way back to bed.
Admitting defeat over the battle of the couch,
I leave her with this win.

Every second it pounds.
Each pierces more vigorously than last.
Each with variations, yet, all to a similar tune.
A never-ending explosion.

And where the drinks to go rest,
feeling something so intangible stirring.
A whirlwind perhaps?
Or a circus at its peak performance,
overflowing with a vibrant attendance.

As adrenaline do, it comes,
everything altogether.
As I vision, through cracks of lost history
The touch of her largest *****.  

Her voice, the old fishermen would agree,
is like the sun racing the surface of a still ocean.

Her body, you are convinced,
the God in the heavens came,
and carved personally with perfection.

Her skin, so unaltered by age.
Greater than the finest linen.

Her soul, both frightening and free,
can tremble the knees of the most confident men.

With hands like those of old carpenters,
and a face the magazines of the times
would never feature, but,
O desire, O desire,
for her again,
I lack none of.

Nil are the things that conquer the speed of time.
Not the cheetah racing to its prey,
nor a car upwards of 200 kmh in a 85.
Not the sinking of confidence when faced with doubt,
nor a kid escaping against curfew orders.
Not the changes of a lover’s feelings without warning,
nor changes of one with bipolar struggles.
It’s the spasm of the way things exist.
Distracted even for a second, as
everything gallops into history you can’t recuperate.
Close the curtains of your sight,
and be amazed at the speed of the sun.
From the beginning, time a long stream,
forever a gravitational pull,
for those who wrestle to keep up with it still,
while abundant of others who have finished their race.
It’s always the same orbit.
With the impossibility of changing choices,
welcoming this new year,
In something so metaphysically tangible,
yet so unaltered.

A great flood, in a room.
Water filling up the corners,
but it's just you,
at the bottom of this ocean.
The hand you once searched for rescue,
is the same one you've lost.
And the cause of everything;
these feelings you can't explain.
For a moment, the water disappeared,
as you grasp a hint of fresh air.
Never liked lies,
but you hope this is one of them.
You try to convince yourself,
but your eyes don't believe you,
and your heart knows what it's feeling.
As the uncontrollable flood, begins again.
You sit here, in this awkward space and time,
as the past flashes and the future seems unsure,
and all of your questions beginning with "why?".
You start to think.
Some things aren't meant to last,
Some things aren't healthy,
Sometimes the one you love the most,
Is the one you shouldn't be with.

Dear friend,
          
                  I know that this letter will do nothing.
                  I know it can't fix your problems,
                  nor is it the cure you're in need of.
                  They're just words written on the internet.
                  Though, I hope it will remind you,
                  that I am still here,
                  and so are you.

No one likes to live with regrets.
So let us tell people,
How much they mean
To us,
Before they're dead.

Louder
Louder
Louder!
I hear them
Fierce clashing of swords
The constant fighting
The agony, the cries
The men.
Give a moment
For explosions
In the sky
As sprouts of blood
From open wounds
Make their way outward
Seemingly…
Vanishing.

There’s something about
The night
Especially around
10pm
The tranquility
Makes everything seem
Loudest
The war begins…
It draws closer
Louder
Louder
Louder!
You hear them
again…
Regrets
Disappointments
And
Everything that’s caught
In-between.
There’s a war
And
It’s raging on
It’s raging on
The venue?
My head.

Walked to my window
Saw the lights
Of the
Street
Buildings
And said:
“I’ve never raised a sword to ****
yet, here I am, fighting again”
In a moment of peace
My eyes met
A field of grass
Moving so
Effortlessly
In the wind
Without a care in the world
I smiled.
Feeling a
Bit
Jealous.

never did fancy crowds
nor did I understood
those people who
did it all
for attention.
more of the
introverted type
would be fitting
to describe my soul.
never what I seem...
people often think
he's to a fault
"inhospitable..."
it's just a reaction
I guess...
to my problem
with crowds.
In a room with
1
  2
3
or more,
watch as I
shiver,
feel the eyes,
create stories
become
a bottle
that has lost
it's cap
at the end of
a table
with an
unavoidable
touch
beginning to
t i p
       o
          v
             e
               r
as all anxieties
present themselves
on the

f   l   o   o   r

fascinating
I find
how some can be
surrounded by people
yet still
feel
so
unbothered.