You're a hideous creature.
A disgusting slave
To your emotions
Of lust and pain.
Have some self respect.
Give yourself some love.
But irksome are you;
your yields are not enough.
with self control; restraint.
You're a demon imp,
Though claim to be a saint.
Neither prayers nor witchery
Can help you now.
For all your life,
to this idol you've bowed.
With your touch I feel the shocks of love course through my skin.
With one single kiss, I am rapt.
The sun must be so jealous that your laugh is brighter than she.
And if my life's mission was to harvest that luminosity -
Then blessed am I
To have experienced a lifetime's worth of exuberance
Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.
They keep soaring.
They glide beautifully, slowly.
But with your approach, they reach a frenzy.
I try to stop them.
Put them in a net.
Shove them in a jar.
Throw them out of my eyes.
And have them tumble far.
But they glide beautifully. Slow.
They flutter frantically when you're close.
I shout at them. Scream.
Beg them to be quiet.
Viciously try to suppress their riot.
They won't listen. No matter what I do.
They just keep trying to fly to you.
Then they're still.
For that second.
Then you touch me.
And they dance, sing - go crazy.
They fly our through my eyes and into yours.
So when I finally look up, slowly,
your eyes are glowing.
They say I’m losing touch on what’s important:
School, study, a job.
So I can pay back dad and mom.
They say I’m not realistic enough,
because the world is tough
and if I don’t do it right, I’m a stuff-up.
Who needs dreams when you have a Lamborghini, right?
All the money in the world, for sleepless nights.
The picture perfect spouse, for a thousand fights.
Fancy clothes and a house, for an internal plight.
Working yourself to death until your cheeks go white.
Losing focus on your dreams until you go blind.
Letting society consume you until you lose your life.
Your life is a nightmare, but you’re not dreaming.
A heart designed to carry joy, instead is seething.
You can’t hear anything except your screaming.
You check your heart but it’s not beating.
You’re not living; you’re only breathing.
I’m not chasing paychecks:
I’m chasing foreign sunsets.
I long for antiques and books and eccentric notions.
I desire creative people with intense emotions.
I want colour; I want paint.
I want dancing in the rain.
I want to feel foreign waters’ cool touch.
I want to visit places with nothing and yet, much.
Take me to places I’ve never seen.
Cue the saxophone in New Orleans.
You may see the world in black, white and grey.
I see it in a colourful array.
They think I’m crazy because of the things I dream.
They think life is harder than it seems.
The can’t understand me.
But they’ll die in the dark,
regretting what they should have done.
While I’ll drown in a sea of flowers,
under the kaleidoscopic sun.
I’m feeling terrified.
I’m feeling terrified and hollow.
I’m terrified of the decisions I’ve made,
And the ones to come.
I’m terrified of the dark,
That slowly eats me alive.
I’m terrified of the poisonous black ink,
Trying to discolour my heart,
That’s not sure pure anymore.
That’s not so whole anymore.
I’m terrified of no human being,
I’m terrified of my brain.
That made me experience insanity
In it’s purest form.
Poison that’s fed
From the voices in my head,
To the demons in my heart.
what stops you is not made of flesh and bone,
but you alone.
You have so much to say
and yet you refrain -
only to promise to another day.
You think you may be fine, carrying on like this,
but you're digging your own ditch.
Even this is a dramatic outburst from inside;
for your soul you're trying to hide.
Why did you let your head grow downwards?
You used to be so good with words.
Are you now?
Can you still feel it in your bones?
The only thing stopping you
is you alone.
Tap-tap* the pens race
whilst hearts beat at an ungodly pace.
Never before have I seen such a frown
on such a smile-accustomed brow.
I wonder, if heavy hail were to fall
would they even notice at all?
Their dear old pencils are on the grind
as they chew them with an absent mind.
However, some are not as amused as I am
as each minute on the clock appears ******.
They fidget in irritation, their patience hardly deep,
and some even try a hand at sleep.
Exams. What a cumbersome concept to me.
So much time allowed, but hardly freed.
What excitement when the bell strikes, friends!
Then, our drooping eyes study.
And it starts.
All. Over. Again.
Inspired, or rather forced, by the rather eccentric woman I call my English teacher.