What is wrong with dark blood?
Black, I might say darker that port wine
I often watch as the patients
take their last breath
Some of them tried so hard to catch it
But, for some they just let it go slowly
with a few moment of puff:

I looked left to my coworker and
We knew what those looks meant:
Dialysis will most often be short term

There are moments when I  would walk out of the room
Just craving for an imaginary cigarette,
A sip of beer, but I often settle for a refreshing
Glass of coconut water from the husk
Costly, but it’s worth every penny.

Life is a complicated status, no attachments, no buffering
So lets us make amends in a letter and post it to you
Or hide it in a hole in a tree;
Even burn it and toss it the air

I guess my imagination is intense,
Always seem so inspired, and
As you know my words is cheaper than usual
I am a word seeker, a self-made poet
a thinker not a talker….  Like the statue
The Thinker Monumental
1903… Auguste Rodin(1840-1917)

One loves my friends……..

Today, I felt like if I was were searching for myself
I felt like I was on a crowded boat floating
And this one passenger who kept getting
Up and making the boat leans to one side

I could hear the voices of terrified passengers yelling at him
To sit down, before he makes the boat collapse or even
Him falling overboard: the logic behind this is that some

People want money, but do not want to work hard
For it….they want water, but do not want to fetch it
They want fire, but do not want to chop the kindle
Their wish is to go to heaven, but afraid to die

Why am I surrounded by so many pea-brains?
Why do I feel like I can do better by myself?
I think that it is time for me to jump overboard
And swim back to the mainland

Secrets

Having left my thought in years they
Continues to **** with my body the canvas
Staring down the saddest moments of my life
Is my imagination getting ahead of me?

When, I was a child, I free a bird from tangle cords
Does its offspring, remember me?
Has the bird taught them anything about mortal pain?
especially ,not to build their nest in low pear trees

Secrets, continue to haunt my body the canvas
Every fortnight, when my soul seem to be at rest
Interrupting my dreams, with updates off past event

Not so hidden memories anymore, optimizing my life like an app
Like tiny dots of nested blackheads
Tiptoe to the surface, from deep within
Fighting to survive, just to be seen before sudden death

I shall pluck you secrets, from your darkest place
Without leaving a trail of blood on my body of canvas

I want to write a poem as long as California*

Nope, I want to write a poem as short as his *****
As short as a stump: When we think of bravery
Right away we think of the soldier, the hero:

When we think of his behavior its reflects on
His upbringing that influenced his character
The mouth that eats salt and pepper
Would thirst for water: it craves the attention

When I think of eating  some fishcakes,
I immediately think of the bones
That sensation of something stuck in my throat, then sudden death
They is an action, and a reaction
I want to write a poem that is going to outlive the pecker
But as trended as hate crimes…………

When I see you after a long day
Seeing, you don’t make things any better

a cup of peppermint tea a dash of milk
some lines of poetry in my head,
a sudden loud burp, and a grasp

But in my silent voice, I need not
say what is on my mind:
my mood swings , my physical arousal
I need to come to grips, with the real me

I really do not love you: I might like you,
but I am not In love with you…
I am the rose that open in the early morning,
but by sunset I close my petal from the world,

When I see you after a long day,
Seeing you doesn’t make things any better
I just want to say a quick hello,
And a long goodbye..

You may not believe it, but I have tried,
To come to terms with this thing
Called forgive and forget,
While reaching for the tissues box
So what about my hidden scars?
My daily reminders, my mentors
I have tried.. But they taught me to be
Strong, and believe that out of bad comes good

Maybe I ought to tried, a *******
To see if I can came to terms with that too..
With me, myself and I: what a fantastic dual

I love me: and I, was fondling myself.
My evil mind, my impure thoughts
My labor of love: I did try

Poetry writing has taught me a lot throughout the years
I can be original, but I would never master the craft
But I will have a voice of recognition: My human voice

To him who is in love with me
You speak a language that I don’t speak
A language; for the fool who believe

You have a voice of gladness and the smile of insults
In my past, I wasn’t good enough then
And I am not good enough now,
with that being said a hidden beauty would blossom at
the right time:

Coming from your wildest fantasy: you came off
Like one of my most famous nursery rhymes
The pied piper of Hamelin, the joker the sweet talker
Sad images, broken promises, those days have been gone,
Of our fondest memories there were none,

Many a night in the breathless darkness,
in that small wooden house on top of the hill
I still remember that still voice, which had numbed me
I had lost all faith in the human race:
To link my past with the future, would be a **** up illusion:

Like cycling backward up a mole hill with a loaded gun
Forgotten languages need no symbol: any refills

nope!

About him who think he love me,
You speak a language what I am not so familiar with: