The ephemeral beauty of a bloom.
Is cherished because it’s gone too soon.

Petals weaken and colours must fade.
Falling to earth whence it was made.

Light shines upon thee though tears fall like rain.
Find peace for blossoms in heaven forever remain.

The universe got smaller
as my mind expanded out
The limits of imagination
endless in redoubt

Each flash the moment changes
passing light that rushes in
The cosmos but a blinking eye
—when out beyond the rim

(Dreamsleep: September, 2023)

Grief has a lexicon that
I’ve spent a period of
hard times seeking it
I gained nothing but an enormous
failure to devote myself
to its complete literature,
The perfect Salvia Plath is
patting on my cumulative sores,
admitting that it is my right to
file a grievance against my chores,
work, and daily unfair routine,
as she said that she used to be
so wicked; writing all the day
and forgetting about studying,
she said that I had gotten such a
black-and-white soul for
almost uncountable centuries of
self-wars,
Dear Nicole: She wrote—  
Whether you are a believer or not,
You dare to be the
ninety-nine hundredth savior to
the definition of our nihilism.
Sincerely yours,
Sylvia Plath
I closed my eyes and
bleakly enjoyed her poetic
admission that I had faked it
for a while to
keep my victories beating
against all the brightness and
naturality inside of
my pores,
I’m not a happy person;
I belong to sorrow.

there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.

He is my chiseled kissable slicker
My tender, inventive enchanter
My five-star flourishing dream guy
The brightest finest diamond
That enlivens and mesmerizes me

He commands me with his hairy fiery entirety
Saturates every inch of me
With his sexually stimulating shiningness
I succumb to the crunkness
Of his monster pumped-up thunder

I crave his memorable venerable handsomeness
Dream about his clean-cut confident charm
His active dashing attraction
He tames and inflames me
Speaks my name, drives me insane

Entices me with his insurmountable slang
I mantasize about his bright biteable buns
Drunk on them, lusting after them
Hungering to press my fresh lustrous lips on them
Discover his inner world
Of maximum masterful magneticness

Enter his ardent idyllic forest of dreams
Devour the hotness and softness of him
Stroke his thick milk stick
Play with his massive lickable *******
******* him, engross him

Let him ram my mouth
Astound my jaws, make incredible epic
And pleasurable love to my tongue
Make me want him more
Explore his peerless universe of muscularity

Bob on his **** rod, slob on it from side to side
Show him the fierce hungry beast within me
I can’t resist his top-shelf aggressive heat
I love the feel of his thickness in my mouth
How he flexes his heavenly shredded physique

Make me hella weak, so deep into his delicious, addictive sweets
My smoking hot trophy, my glowing
And imposing Romeo that controls my homoness
He is in a class of his own
Flaming high-grade enegagingness

And as he pumps my mouth
I check out his powerful, towering design
Noticing how close he is to a bold explosive crescendo
I **** harder and faster, cherish every moment
Let him hijack and smash my throat
As he busts his thick creamy load all over me

I went out to find
Some value in me,
So I sold what I had
For little a fee.

My eyes for a penny
I sold to some fools,
They're blind and useless,
Mistook for jewels.

My lips for a nickel
To the sweetest sin,
So they'll know the love
That has never been.

My ears for a dime
I sold to a lover.
To hear sweet nothings,
And silence uncover.

My hands for a quarter
I sold to a ghost,
So that she might feel
What I've wanted the most.

Finally my bones for a dollar
I sold to the earth,
But as for my soul-
There was found no worth.

For us,
the older generation
we took pictures and videos
to remember
The seasons of our lives.
To share with generations;
grandchildren, children,
Our husbands and wives.

Sadly, as we get older
We don’t remember
our old lives
As time grows colder
The memory fades
the reasons we capture
the moment..
The names of the people
in the photographs
escape our recollection

Before it’s too late
we need to
write
at least a paragraph
  of each picture.
Before the memory is lost
from our mind completely
and then they’re just people.

These little paragraphs
added to your photo album
will create a lasting
picture book memoir

Generations
after you were gone,
Your story will live.
Even if you were never
rich and famous,
did something extraordinary,
Such as;
paint, a masterpiece, right a symphony
the point is you lived!