bring on the rumbles of thunder
rolling,
rolling,
from the outer space
towards,
towards,
the earth's tamed and untamed maze.

bring on the sharp lightning
striking ,
striking,
from the hands of the Supreme
towards,
towards,
the human's vision streams.

come, come,
heaven-made catastrophe,
bring it on,
bring it on.
for in the loud throbs of
your anger's noise
i calm and silence
my own inner chaos.

I don't love you
But I like the way you make me feel
I like the way you look at me
I like this burning sensation

I don't love you
But I like the feel of you on my skin
I like the feel of your lips
I like how you taste bittersweet

I don't love you
But I like how you call my name
I like how you feel the same
I like the way we lose ourselves in each other's minds

It's not love
And I couldn't care less
Even though I don't love you
I don't want to ever walk away

no, it will not be about
the moon,
nor about the sprinkles of stars
shining so
soon,

when the queen sun slowly
sinks,
sinks,
to her grave called
western horizon,

i will give
thanks,
thanks,
for 'nother 24 hours
of millions
inhales
and exhales,

and for my existence's
unknown reasons.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Unfinished stories
All drafts
All hanging
Incoherent
No rhymes
No patterns
Just a mere plot twist
It’s the story of us
Poorly drafted
With a beginning
A storyline with no ending