Shrouded by black, in every corner and every crack,
the pitch of the room keeps me secluded.

I don't have to focus anything, everything’s moving, shifting in the shadows.

I am in the dark, and I like it here.
It hides my shame, my tears, and my pain
i like it in the dark.

Whistling a tune
Whilst the ocean waves good bye;
Forever stuck in my own mind.

My thoughts are too loud,
deafening even,
Like an eruption in my skull.

Lonely:
An ocean waving both good bye and hello.
Pointlessly waiting for a response.

what is there to do,
besides- sleep -nobody listens anyway,
So like the ocean, I retire as the moon rises:

slowly,
I,
creep,
back,
into darkness.

It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break

I just want to lie here
but you signal a new day
I try to shut you out
in every possible way

I pull the covers above my head
I bury my face in the bed.
I clamp my eyes closed,
yet you make me sleep in throws.

I will not wake to a new day
as hopeless as the rest
I do not want to see the sunrise
please just let it set

I do not want to wake
just to see my hands shake
just to see my soul break
I have nothing of this day to make.

Please just let me lie here
as the sun streams in
Please just let me cry here
as the sun streams in

I often ask mie friends, “ Are you okay?”
Because for me “are you okay” can mean a lot of things like:
Are you okay? I’m here to listen you.
Are you okay, because I care for you.
Are you okay,
Because I Love you.
Are you okay??

I am a musician
And a poet
And an artist.

I have the ear
And the mind
And the eye.

Which has qualified me to say,
Your heart and mind and physical design
Are beautiful in every way.

I look at the moon and think of you.

The amount of messages
I compose and then delete
would almost make you wonder
if I was just talking to myself.

this loneliness it speaks

it seeps into the atmosphere
and creeps into my lungs

and i'm drowning
gasping for air

trying to read
between the lines

before the words
disappear

and i am consumed
by the dark.

"why are you writing
poems and prose?"
asked a guy out of nowhere
while staring at my pen

"to breathe."
I answered with a smile

for writing lets me indulge
with metaphors and similes

it is my escape
the key toward my fantasies