Some nights,
Am the fallen star,
with too many wishes
hanging upon it.

Some days,
am the wilted flower,
which has seen too many winters
and too few springs.

Mostly I am the invisible presence
that never quite learnt to show itself.
I have watched too many people
and know too well the bitter scent of pretence in the air.

They will pretend to,
see you,
know you,
love you.

Only for them to,
hurt you,
leave you,
**** you

Life is a party some said
but no one warned me
against uninvited  Guest.

"Love is blind"
I wonder:
Is this a warning...Wisdom...
Dare I dream with my eyes open
Am brave enough
To allow your voice to guide me
When we both cannot see
What others see
When they look at us
Walking through the labyrinth

And who is lost
Who will lose
Who will come out
Who has the thread
Who's Love is wise?
Who's heart can stand
To embrace the Beast
To lose itself completely
Stepping into magnificent
Immortal, passionate Tango
Turning the Beast into Artist
Labyrinth into Castle
Where Love is just Love
Free to be as it is
However it feels
We'll never be lost

You have to go through the storm
Before you can see the rainbow.
Please stay and experience the rainbow with me.
Don't ever let anyone make you think
That you can't make it through the storm.

My family
I no longer know
At self-destruction
I have become the pro
I am at the lowest of lows
I am the Farrow
The black crow
My phone does not ring with a hello
Never been invited to the summer chateau
That still exists from long ago
I have  no mansion in escrow
I do not suffer from tennis elbow  
The money I borrow
I owe
I am at my lowest of lows
I am alone
No one to call my own
So many I have known
But yet here I am alone
Many relationships I have blown
Weddings at the alter postponed
Maybe because of my tone
Which I do not condone
Now all I know
It is real
My fate
Is going to be to die
Alone

Again the fist unfolds.
Fingers unfurl red
Petal blossom of a rose.
Scent of a broken nose,
Stain shed on shaven heads.
Kings with no crown nor throne
Lay prone in whitewashed beds.

Thorns in their own sides,
****** in their own right.
These manicured monsters
Cry a challenge unto the night.
Marching on through kebab dreams,
Weeks 'for we speak of Halloween.

She
        Shouldn’t

Be

           Mine

But

        I’m

Glad

              She

Chose

              Me