it's a simple idea -
top and bottom and sides
to encase something -
something i've known from infancy,
and yet,
when someone says
they need a box for a purpose,
it is no longer so simple.
it must look like this,
act like that,
hold this for so long,
suit the purpose and the occasion.
a simple box that is no longer simple.
they are as varied as people -
chests, lockers,
trunks, cases,
urns, and caskets -
no matter the material,
no matter the construction,
no matter the price,
it's just a box.

Something was lacking,
In this ****** life of mine,
I don't know what's that thing,
All I know is it's one of a kind.

I think I really  need it,
No matter what the cause,
But I don't know what is it,
Now I'm really lost.

I hope it's the last piece,
In my puzzle, my life,
Maybe I didn't notice,
Because of a strife.

What if it's not an object?
What if it's you,
I'll think, I'll reflect,
To deduce what's true.

A person with intentions to love forever only deflowers.
I was wrong, I remember
Those nights, it was nothing but plum kisses from left to right
And your nose tickling my stomach.
Zestful.

All the blood would flow to my head.
Making me pink with ecstasy.
The nectarous smell of excretion fulfilled an image
And our fingers--- they would intertwine as if you felt I would slip away.
Sensational… amorous!

You would look me in the eyes, I would
look you in the eyes, a message would travel
this is more than just coition. Well in my
noggin I believed that. You wear a good look, callous.
I’ve been dumbfounded.

I look in the mirror. I am a stranger
To what I see. I now feel stripped
From my myself, your pupils have seen it all. You did this.
I feel disgusted, letting you dine
As if I was a restaurant. Twiddling and fumbling
As if you were blind and I was braille.

I now bathe in regret. Scrubbing
Till I can no longer feel your touch.

Those sweet endearments and promises would once upon a time tug at the strings of my heart.
Now those same lost endearments and broken promises threaten to wrench out my very heart.
The excruciating pain feels like the walls are closing in on me.
It’s getting hard to breathe.
Slowly making me lose the will to live?
As I desperately flail my arms in the dark to reach out to my once colorful past, reality hits me in the face like a bright painful ray of light telling me there’s nothing.
Should I comfort myself that I at least have the ability to still feel something?

Vincent was a painter of note
White van man,white suited overcoat
William a writer of fantastic plays
Lived in a hamlet where he spent his days
Starry nights,clouds and that perspective chair
Vincent my friend he lived in despair.
Romeo and Juliet were a fine pair of lovers
Did he write these plays or were they just covers
The bard of the boards with his life he could cope
Day to day this writer ,lived with so much hope
Painter ,a genius such a life with much fear
What ever happened to his infamous ear
Paintings and writings,from Vincent and Bill
One with a brush the other with quill
With lots of hope and litte despair
They left such treasures for us,so we can share.

I tried, but I failed,
I did my best, thought it's not enough,
I'm determined, yet I bailed,
I said I'm okay, but it's a bluff.

I thought I could handle it,
But it's just in my mind,
I thought  I reached my limit,
Without a reason I can find.

I wish this would be the last,
Leaving my frustrations and regrets,
I wanna get over this fast,
Learning from it, aiming for a blast.