With these tears
also wash my dreams away
I don’t want to think or feel

i’m clothed but i’m bare
i don’t wear my heart on my sleeve
my heart is sewn into my eyes
so i can try to lie
but i can never hide

everything comes out of me
these thoughts and feelings
for anyone to see
in blood
in tears
in sweat from fear
even the air i breathe
tastes like broken dreams
and tells you everything
i could never want
you to know about me

~MN

I’m not going to lie.
I’m making this up as I go.
That’s what I seem to be doing a lot lately.
“Winging it”

I had a thought today however, that’s another thing I do a lot of.
Thinking.
Thinking too much really.
And then thinking about the fact that I probably think far too much.

I suppose this is where it starts,
In my mind.
You see, he said something to me and it started as a tiny thought.

Just a whisper at the very back of my subconscious.

And somehow it turned into a tidal wave, drowning every happy thought that came before.

That one little thing that he said.
I can’t imagine he could ever have fathomed the chaos that followed those four little words.

But I seem to be prone to twisting and turning a word, a sentence, a conversation.
Spinning it into a lie that quietly breaks my heart.

And he will never know.
He will never understand.
How such a small sentence caused an entire mind to fold in on itself and give in to hours of sobbing.

It’s a strange thing.
To feel something so relentlessly, to allow it to destroy something so beautiful and new.
Recognising your own self as irrational and yet giving in to that one small thought and almost encouraging the destruction.

Well, here I am.
Alone.
Staring with burning eyes at the remnants of the storm.

And those four words still won’t leave my mind.

I wake and find myself in love:
And this one time I do not doubt.
I only fear, and wander out
To hold long parley with a dove.

The innocent and the guilty, met
Here in the garden, feel no fear.
But I'm afraid of you, my dear.
There was a reason: I forget.

And I by shyness am undone
And can't go out for fear I meet
My poems dancing down the street
Telling your name to everyone.

The lichen peels along the wall.
My conversation bores the dove.
He knows it all: that I'm in love
And you care much and not at all.

I shall stay here and keep my word.
Glumly I wait to marry dust.
It grieves me only that I must
Speak not to you, but to a bird.

**Written by:  Dom Moraes
Dominic Francis "Dom" Moraes (19 July 1938 – 2 June 2004) was an Indian writer and poet who wrote in the English language.

After I saw their lifeless corpses, my vision went red.

When the blood cleared from my eyes, I was shocked to see that I've gone back to a time, to a world where you were still alive.

There is a strange
Tingly sensation
In my stomach
When you are near
And when you speak to me
Or touch me
A sensation often described as butterflies
But they are not pure enough
To be butterflies
Because I know you don't feel them as I do
So they are moths
Moths
Because they are crowding your light
Moths in my stomach
Flying up
And up
And up
Through my windpipe
Choking me
And trying to reach you
And your blinding
Fluorescent light

I miss you liking the names i called you as

If you want to know
what is happening
to the world,
don't just watch
the news every night;
watch what happens
to yourself
after watching
the news
every night.

I wish to be a mockingbird

To imitate perfectly
singing at the sight
of a flicker of light- right on time

To amaze and never once fail
to carry a perfect tune
with just enough joy
harmonizing till noon

A melody already heard
yet new and unique

A master of imitation
an artist within
following a yellow streak

Every chime and song
is voiced peculiarly
not a hint of hesitation

Moving it’s body rhythmically  
it never doubts
For it knows which direction it shall go

I wish to be a mockingbird

To imitate so well
to be cherished
because I am
because I do
without fully being myself