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I am not a writer.
I am not good with words,
I cannot speak up for myself,
It is my pen that bleed words.
No amount of convincing can give me conviction.
No amount of clarification can make that distinction.
Please refrain from using titles.

I am not a writer.
I am just a dreamer,
Dreaming dreams of inverted galaxies
Where complexities are reduced to simplicity,
And maybe love wouldn't be so complicated.
I dream of a world where I'll be unchained and liberated,
Because currently freedom is hard to go by.

I am not a writer.
I am just another over thinker,
I stay up all night disassembling the world,
So I can put it back together.
Adding new features that I think will make it better
I get lost in thoughts, and day-mares, fantasies and others,
I obsess and I always suffer.

I am not a writer.
Though sometimes I am photographer,
Snapping,
Close ups and selfies of my terrible mind.
Giving glints of places you won't usually find,
All because I write sometimes.
I just express my emotions is what I'm trying to say. This poems sounds like I'm rambling..
The dynamics of balancing
The euphoric state of wonder
Time is the essence of illusion
Forged in false hopes asunder

Feed me, the darkness cries
Choking on reality, starving for lies
See god's breath in a December's chill
Frozen spokes in an eternal wheel

The mind's eye aimlessly stares
The spirit within thinner than air
The enlightened soul holds its own
I think, so therefore my thoughts roam

Hold me not in my belief
******* that turns to grief
Touch and taste but don't confuse
Let thy myth be thy muse

The door lies open within the dream
For those who choose to surf the stream
Traveler Tim
re to 1-18
Burns in the heart
Need to recover from it
You left me a scar
That reminds you all the time
Pain never bothered me
But Separation had full effect
It feels like rocket launchers
Hitting my heart
Breaking it into several pieces
Everyday my task is to
Collect my pieces and
Attach them and
Giving a faking smile
That no one can ever know
My pain
I am an actor
Who is cheating me
To adapt for loneliness
I am an actor who is acting all the time
Restlessly
///////
         •
<>

( • )  ( • )

X

Little child

( No --- )



Faith

••

There is only one Story now

Only one Song

••

We ain't runnin away
We ain't fallin in love

••

Feel

Feel

Feel



We ain't runnin away
We ain't fallin in love

•     •

We are dyin but it's no big deal

We are dyin but we won't be dead

  Better get that thought INTA yer head

••

Faith



Only one Story
Only one Song

••

Pick up
Your courage

And sing along



We are dyin but we won't be dead

Better get that thought inta yer head
They blow themselves up
into hundreds of tiny ****** pieces,
killing themselves and others
for the love of God,
or so they say.

But did anybody
ever hug them,
tell them we care,
whisper in their ear
to let them know,
they don't have
to go that far?

So go ahead
my global friends,
let's hug a terrorist today
& spread some genuine love.
Only genuine love can stop senseless killing...just sayin'
I may cry
when you pass.
don't be fooled
it's not for you.

It's for the father
I should have had,
the father I deserved.
That's what I'll grieve
not you.

Never you.

What's there to miss?
I can do without you
making me feel awkward,
ignored,
an inconvenience.

Can you understand my view?

There were no cuddles
for me,
no tenderness
or tender words.

I did not even want you
to 'give me away'
on your only daughters
wedding day.
Escaping abroad
escaping feeling ignored.
You lost all rights
to hand me over
to another man
that would protect me.

You never got that right
did you?
Couldn't even protect me
from yourself.

So I sometimes think
about your health,
you, drinking yourself
               to
                    d
                      e
                  ­      a
                          t
                            h­

Not sure how much more
your old and bitter body can take

and I wait* ......
this was a real rant written a while ago, unfortunately it still applies today!!  Sorry it's a bit morbid but he's not a nice person.
Inspiration comes
in many forms,
it can be stroked
from well-chosen words
or from clairvoyance,
vivid-images sent
across the moonbeams.

And cloaked in darkness,
I lie alone,
rising
to your sweet descriptions
of the morning sun,
certainly not obscene,
but dreamy-like.
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