My mind has since run out of options
And I have to contend with the reality that you're not here,
Laying next to me.
The reality that I won't see you for another few hours.
I hate waking up to an empty bed.

Teeth that sit on her lower lip,
Dark sacs under her eyes,
Black ******* of yellowing *******,
A heavy set smile,
Slim short fingers,
Beautiful fragile feet,
A cup packed ***,
And tender patches.
The disappearing remains of a great battle won
Teary glazed eyes.
Just the way i like her.
I wouldn’t have known these if I didn’t try.

Whilst you were faithful
The sky stayed blue
The sun shone orange
And the moon stood bland
Then she lied
And lived under covers
Relishing every mistruth she uttered
Reliving every moment she deceived you
But it was a shame
Because you could have walked barefoot
Across the glass shards of her previous embittered pasts
You were willing to live beneath the light
For her.
But human beings hate having to owe anyone
And they hate having to live confined lives
And so she threw it all in the bin
And opted for a life in-between the sheets
Then things fell apart
And suddenly, she realized that the regret she felt was not of the things in the past
But rather, of the future passed
Of the things that could have been
And not those that had not been.

Achia,
That's the name of my town.
There's a path surrounded by yellowing bushes that go green in autumn,
Brown in the harmattan,
that joins Achia to Jato-aka town.

At the head of this path is a junction
You'll notice another path to your left here.
And that our own path is to the right of it

I call it our own because that's the only path followed by the villagers.
The other hasn't been in use in recent years
You can see the undergrowth,
Bent and unrepentant,
Daring you to trample on it and watch it regrow

Everytime we use the right, i always wonder
Where would you lead me to, Left?
Are you like many of our life's (in)decisions,
The unexplored choice?
The one that time will eventually erase?

So I've decided,
That the next time we get to that point
I'll take the road less favored
And see the quiet secrets that it has had to maintain over the years.
And i hope that that will make all the difference to it.

I should have known better
To feel what I feel.
Everyone suffers,
Living is pain.
Death, the final punctuation at the end of this sentence.
At times,
Emotional extremity can seem like a resource,
An active requirement.
Something i need to understand my own life,
My poetry and life's choices.
So, yeah, I think of the pain all the time.
But I never blame anyone for my present or past circumstances.
I believe that at the time, everyone did what they felt was best,
This thought-landscape changed my point of view.
Hence, I believe you can manage your sorrows,
Manage your sufferings,
By living in the fullness of life
And being true to yourself.
Or so I thought.
How, how did this happen?

11:42pm,
It's hot and sweaty in the apartment
So i decide to take a walk.
I throw on some slacks and some slip-ons.
Grab my headphones and my iPod.
I'm leaving my phone behind.
I get my car keys then realize that i wont be needing them.
Where are my room keys?
Oh, there's a light on my phone.
Who's texting me at this hour?
I check and it's her,
I'll tell y'all bout her later.
Yeah, yeah.
Her message: if you want to go heaven, take my hand. (There's the hand emoticon attached)
I swear i am ******* marrying this girl.
I throw my top off and dial her number.
I guess I should stay in and skype with her.
Sorry guys.
I guess we'll go on that walk at some other time

Don't let anyone make you feel that you're a nagging being,
Simply because they keep doing the same things over and over again,
Simply because you keep complaining about these same things, over and over again.
Do not let anyone make you feel small and insecure for refusing to be the quiet type,
For refusing to accept their numerous exes still being in the frame,
For refusing to accept their need to always be around the opposite ***.
Do not let anyone take away your joy and self-esteem simply because they cannot rid themselves of their own fears,
Of depression and loneliness,
Their need for acceptance and company.
Recognize these signs early and walk away,
Set your goals and never let anyone make you feel like what you want is impossible.
We can all enjoy peaceful lifestyles if both parties in any relationship,
Be it a casual friendship,
Respect each other's opinions and acknowledge that they both have to compromise and curb their excesses if they want the relationship to work.
Never let anyone drown you in their mess
Because they're used to living that way.
You're not,
Trying to save them will only take you deeper into their shallowness.

I am disappointed.
I am disappointed with the way i treated you,
I treated you like you were human,
With love, respect and compassion.
You see, you don't deserve any love.
You're a lost soul that has refused to be found,
Even when you find you a compass,
The only thing you think about is how to break it,
How to mess it all up.
So no, I am not disappointed at your actions,
I am disappointed with the time i wasted
When the signs were there,
When it was evident that you were a loose canon.
To forgive and move on
Is all that i owe myself.
I hope you die heartbroken and unfulfilled.
Cheers!

It's just like you told me,
The horrors of your dreams come true
Flooding my timeline
My days are now efforts to avoid drowning
So tonight, i'll nose dive into the hurricane.
There's no place to hide out here.
Both our hands are filthy and no one will touch us.
But tonight, i'll hold you close
And we'll fall asleep to escape our plight.
We'll live in our dreams, if only for the night.
If we could fly,
Then we'd fly south.
Away from everything,
Everything That threatens our happy future.
Pictures of dead decaying dreams.
Framed photos of this moment
Floating atop the mass dump of the times
We wasted.
The times we failed to spend in each other's arms.

It is not enough to fall in love and be at a standstill.
It isn’t enough to toss a coin and wish that it lands on its tail.
It is not enough to spin the luck-wheel and hope for a big cash-in.
You have no idea what the future holds for you.
Do not try to control it,
Let loose and let the fun in.
That is when the creativity starts to dance around you.
There is never a better time to do things than now.
There is no present like the time we’re in.
Surrender to uncertainty,
For it is an invitation to human will, unexplored.
For your last days must be filled with happy memories,
Blissful recollections of a story, a status quo.
Never should it be recounted by your graveside, tales of you unholy.
But may it be thought of, and numerous nights of candle-wax spent
Thesis of you as life’s alembic, the needed conduit,
Conducting friendships at will; and love’s delightful dawn
And ushering in the mellowing yellow of day.

I was just trying to leave something behind.
I broke into his house yet again.
I laid on his bed and smelled his socks.
The smell of old, moldy feet.
So I took a **** on them.
Oh, I was just trying to leave something behind

Tickle my *****
Whilst you ****** with my shaft.
I like how you smile up at me,
With that twinkle in your eyes,
The sight of naughtiness in its fullest form.

You're a cruel lover!
You **** me till im dizzy
Then you keep on
Even when i've passed my threshold.
How i think, "hey, i really love her."
When you swallow it all and lick your lips after i've ***.

The way your tongue swirls around your plump lips
As you begin to tease me back to *******.
How without uttering words, you ask me for another round.
It's been a forthnight since we first met and i have lost count of the seeds that we have spilled.

Could you show me how it is done?
I can't seem to find it
You know, the places that are spoken about 
On the blues' records we listen to in your apartment. 
Beautiful life of innocence,
our beings formerly benign. 
moments later
My darling, did you feel any pain just now?
Or was that a cry of joy?
Would you like a glass of milk?
Or would that remind you of suckling babies 
Too soon after we've (spilled)wasted them?

I am a boy With a man's desires;
Trapped in the nothingness that is my existence.
Ask no questions,
Tell no lies.
The law of omertà,
The golden leak through the dark clouds.
Truth versus honesty
Genius versus insanity.
The fear of being average versus the fear of the arrogant.
I've fallen,
Once, or maybe thrice.
I've never admitted to doing so
Because men don't like to talk honestly
And putting your business in the public's eyes
Is a crime.
Ridicule becomes the order of the day.
So ahead is the only hand I deal.
Like the stage plays of time past,
What you see is all you'll get.
I am the bronze head,
Age is nothing to me but a few brown patches,
Anew once polished!

(in honor of 16shots by Vic Mensa)

humans :  dec. 10, 2023.
                         subject X
                         wavy hair, African descent.
                         command issued: bow down
                         return: subject X fails to conform
                         return: subject X fails to bow down.

subject X: Resist
                  Resist
                  Resist

humans : Subject X seems to have rejected        
                         our psych training.
                         return: conversion to slave failed.
                         inference: indomitable spirit 
                         advise: imprison subject X          immediately.
                       new orders: We have a rebel.  
                       I repeat: we have a REBEL!

Meaning of Requiem: A mass for the dead.

Winter's bidding;
Deep snow here, muddy pavements there.
Then, a procession of Roman Catholic members.
The big cross, the hymns and the dress codes are a huge give away.
The all black is a sharp contrast to the white snow covered country,
Or maybe it just serves to complement it
Like those little black poker dots that make white shirts appear natty and casual at the same time.


I struggle to watch the procession from above.
My office is on the third floor and I'm out for a smoke break.
I don't smoke, I just use that to get away from the drudgery that is my work.
The procession below reminds me of my co-workers - drab and solemn, all at once.
May the dead never have to confess how they truly feel about the burial rites that we perform at their funerals.

...

I was out till late last night;
Another citizen in the district,
Another observer minding his own business.

the foreshadowing of the christened.
the tears of a beginner;
shoulders sagged,
Dark purple tinted bags under my eyes,
Swollen sinuses,
White parched lips,
The results of incessant weeping,
My only expression of profound hurt -
The fate of the pained;
The pain of an amateur;
Tomorrow is certain,
If only we will make it there.
Or maybe we will!
Yesterday is but today;
A continuation afforded us.
A continuity without guarantee,
With continuity, our only ally…
Today I cry,
I soak and bath my flesh with heavy, warm tears.
Tears of events past, of years long thought forgotten.
But I come to a close end.
I have seen the dark but now I must step forward.
For come the ‘morrow,
My tears shall be my greatest rival!

We were two kids just trying to get out,
nothing was what it seemed.
In all my dreams,
You were that singular constant
or as it turns out, that constant variable.
Your love was beautiful and distant;
But the other dreams meant nothing
if I couldn't have you.
For I am nothing without you.
Привет, привет.
Скажи мне кто твой любимый!

Everything else that I want,
I have.
They all think I have it all,
Tell me that they think I'm cool.
The pain I carry with me.
The emptiness that is slowly becoming a part of me.
The hole only you can fill.
How we used to laugh that your dad chose a German male name for you.
Где ты моё сердце?

The two-letter word for futility.
If the world didn't treat me unfairly,
If my wife hadn't left me, 
I wouldn't be a drunk.
If my father had worked hard,
I wouldn't be suffering today.
If, if, if.
What if you stopped if-ing and you sought to carve out your own niche in this world?
Just what IF you chose to be a better human?
What if you refused to let your past control your future?
Just what if?

And so I cast a forbidden shadow over her beautiful nakedness.
I was the one that took,
I got everything I ever wanted.
"Want everything, be contented with a few,"they murmured behind my back.
I didn't have anything so I took all I could reach.
I took so much from her that she couldn't give me anymore.
And then I let her go like a trash bag about to be dumped into a waste yard.
she called and it always went straight to voicemail;
She cried her heart out to all her friends and they all called me morbid and foolish.
They told her that I wasn't man enough for her.
Then she got the call and she instantly knew why.
Mom called her the morning that I died.
She told her about my illness and handed the letters I had written her after that night.
Somehow, I hoped that she'd understand.
I didn't want her to suffer like I did on that hospital bed,
My deathbed.
Where do you go when you go quiet?

Six years and I still shudder
I would close my eyes for a minute and see it
I remember the metallic taste of the silver ware
The agonizing muddying look of the concoction
As it swirled around in the poorly washed cup

I really doubt I would have minded much
You see, the water was too much
The cheap chocolate flavored powder too small
It made me think of Oliver Twist
Of the grave injustice on mortal men

I still have nightmares about the kettle
The way she would shake it with a vengeance
And turn it carelessly into the cups
The waiter serves me my coffee and I almost scream
I can see her trying to get all cups to be even

I suppose all of my nagging would be void
If we didn’t get to see the undiluted contents at the base
The way the black residue stared back at me; daring me
No matter how many times I tried to convince myself,
I believe that chocolate should not leave residues

I stare at the cup in front of me
It has gone cold whilst I reminisced.
It is all brown and smug
I wonder if this is how cold coffee looks
I call the waiter concerning the bill

My brain is messing with me.
I swear the chocolate drink winked at me.

1,
Are we to speak, first day of the week
or are we to await the third day of next week?
these little monsters that weigh heavily on my mind.
monsters that grow larger at night.

2,
Stumbling words at the bar,
empty glasses,
the unappealing smell of ethanol.
these monsters threaten to shatter my reality.

3,
Beauty blue eyes, my order of fries
splurging tomato sauce,
layers of sour cheese atop my order.
I drown in my own honesty.
...

His was like that of a sponge
As he swirled his warm, moist tongue inside of me.
Erasing the past,
And soaking up the present.
Making me whole again and ready for the new future.
It was like the great flood of the Biblical times;
Built up emotions like a valley charged with dynamites,
I exploded and the flood gates opened;
And he smiled at me,
"Your ******* are soaked, will you like to go another round."
I tried not to smile but with him,
It wasn't far-fetched.
He made my ebony-toned cheeks blush.
He slid back before I could muster up the courage to nod my head to say Yes because I didn't trust my tongue to loosen and veer towards speech anytime soon.
How he made my heart throb!

This is Tina, she's my kid sister.
Over there is Joseph and Paul, they are twin siblings, our next door neighbors.
Next to them is Christy, blush she lives two streets down the street.
We are playing WHOT in my house.
Yes, Whot.
It's a card game that most parents won't let their kids play;
My dad included
But he is at work at the moment.
Dad is very strict.
Whenever he is home,
My friends aren't allowed to come over unless we are going to study, and under his supervision.
Suddenly we hear his car honking at the gate,
There's panic and turmoil in the living room.
Whot cards are flying around and empty Oreos packs are being thrown into the trash bag.
Empty juice cups are being taken to be washed in the kitchen.
There's an avalanche in here and the result is orderliness.
By the time dad steps in,
We're all settled around the study table,"reading."
Oh God, no!
There's the 20 Whot card on the table.
Dad has seen it and he is coming over.
He has a scowl on his face and I know that look; we're all getting a good beating.
The last time we were flogged, Tina wet herself.
Dad comes over, he looks at each one of us,
Then in his deep, baritone voice, he asks:
"Have you eaten?"
My shoulders sag,
I am defeated.
Today cant be April fool's day.

Suppose I had stayed in this town or lived in another city,
Imagine I had travelled further or not so far from here,
suppose I had stayed in Benin or gone to Greece,
or that i was the same version of myself in Hong Kong.

Suppose that I was buff and my brother was skinny,
And he was the bookworm, and I the wild one.
Would we have ended up being close knitted or would we still be unmeeting parallels?


would we be the same or different?
Would we have switched our  identities,
Would we have become the other's mirrored image?
Would we,
Raymond and I?

Put it like that, and I know
that we would not and could not.
Through all sorts of similarity, we cannot
reach each other’s goals.

The light in our lives comes from the same star,
and we’re left with friendship,
Even as the shadows of brotherhood and kinsmanship lengthen each moment
and the old one, of rivalry, fades into the night,
We're our own identity.
Unique in our small ways
but similar in our general choosing.

i have repeatedly lied my way to the top.
I am nothing and I have nothing.
want nothing, have nothing they say.
I have wanted it all and I still have nothing .
I can make up events that never occurred and time itself will have to try to remember if she skipped such moments.
I am a blizzard of deceptions
with no plans to slow down anytime soon.
and the best part of it all,
I ENJOY being this, a fraud.

I had to leave you
So I could prove to myself that I can be a go-getter.
I made something of myself and it doesn't seem to sit well with you.
You're drinking with my enemies and telling tales of my little beginnings like they're yours to sell.


I could have stayed and let you ruin me,
I should have stayed and masturbated while you watched and spoke to your other lovers on the phone.
I would have stayed and let you keep feeding me,
But I'm a very proud fabric,
Softeners can never weaken my fibers.


I could have stayed and been unable to write this message to you;
I could have pegged my life a repeated error-message and decided to give up;
But I realized that you desperately wanted me to do so,
So I walked away broken so you could have your happy ending.

So this is my story -
My life's tale.
I am a strewn, temporary divorce seeker;
Fierce when the missus asks for a penny,
Silent when she sets food on the table.
In the winter, I complain about the cold
But in the summer, I complain about the heat.
When the missus asks that the leaking roof be fixed,
I simply laugh and set out to mock her every action.
But this spring, pneumonia has caught up with me.
The room is flooded, the mosquitos are livid and the fleas are my most loyal acquaintances-
Asleep while I'm awake, awake and ******* fast away at my blood while I'm asleep.
The missus has left me.
I am no longer a temporary divorce seeker.
I am a sad, lonely, bitter nobody.
To keep the tears away, I lay directly under the dripping roof.
As the rain washes away unending flowing tears,
I become aware of my condition.
Condemned to hades, long dead by the pages undone,
My only hope is that it be without the cruelty that is rain and spring over there.

black or white, the ideology is often grey!
lost or abandoned, chosen or forgotten,
runner or drag-racer,
the empty bucket,
the data forms,
the Pyreness of their love;
the cry of an unbroken heart;
the little laughter of an innocent one,
perception abound, intelligence incorruptible
gentility, a mistaken identity.
the roaming panda, the separation that is youth.
it's both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply.
time makes more converts than reason;
and the children suffer the wrathful inklings.

Some people are into strange, really into it.

So I had my fair share of spikers, the kind that are into strange.

They thought of Me as a tool, a new territory, waiting to be harnessed.

The go to guy for weirdly scrambling.

I longed for someone, someone to touch and to call my own; someone who won't leave me.

I didn't realize I was conjuring up exactly what I wanted,

a disaster, a high magnitude tsunami waiting to sweep through my life.

Waiting to wash away all that remained (all that I held) dear.

A tsunami that would ruin us all.





It certainly occurs,

taking with it, souls uncountable.

Insignificant to the whole, irreplaceable and heart wrenching to the few.

The result of my wistful wishing,

a dead black cloud hangs above, heavy and misty.

A waiting jar about to pour out its contents, be they bitter or sweet it knows not.

Funny, as the hearse walks me to my resting place, all I see is black, bleak and dark.



I tarry by the corner, listening to the waves splash with a whiplash against the rocks,

I look down to see how the people I knew are faring without me.

There are tea parties and a lot of ambience.

As my flesh lays there, clothed but bare to the coffin's hard-feel;

too cold to feel these things I felt,

too dead to even take notice of the crickets squeaking just above my grave,

the incessant annoying whispers of the nocturnal dwellers, shallow and loud,

alive in the moonlight,

I wonder how anyone could ever rest in peace.

The regret of the mourners,
Eons of gratitude not-shown to the living.  
The false happiness of the greedy,
The unknown joy of contentment.

You were alone,
But not lonely.
Another was lonely and alone.
You both craved for more.


Now I hear the hurt in your laughter;
Now I see the pain in your smile.
Now I see the courage that you fly;
And I hope that one day you will be alright.

1: “could you not pick your nose in front of me?”
2: “I'm not picking, I'm scratching.”

And then, utter silence.
The hourly routine of the sitters.
Warm and clear or humid and foggy,
their day always manages to be bare and cold.
With their unpleasant sets of ashy, unwashed heels, broken through the years, the numbers untold.

Watching all that is theirs.
For a benchwarmer is a proprietor of anything that keeps abet, his deepest fears.
The greatest fear, failure, being the most aggressive,
jabs and hammers on his itchy, small, frictionless small back like an overturned adhesive.


For once upon a memory so distant ago that its credibility is askew,
Were men who had dreams and hopes, to awake to the feel of the morn’ dew.
Men who, have long since settled into their nichey existence.
Men who were once the go-to for persistent consistence.

The lighting of streets' corners -
Even those corners that hitherto were dark and unwelcoming.
As the sunset bleeds
on the city's disappearing silhouette.

The shimmering traffic;
The blares of multiple cars as they try to rush home.
As windows smile brightly to passersby.
The return of Santa Claus!


The holiday seasons,
Winter to the snow laden,
Harmattan to the arid lands.
Chilly on all sides.

The warmth of the fireplace,
The joy of the days to come.
The jingles of merry bells.
The bright lights of Christmas trees.

A reminder that all of humanity can still be happy.
That there is still hope.
That we can share in each other's joy.
And always be there for each other.

Stuck in an ending timeline;

whispers of love, the humourless cheer.

Taunts that appear to be laughing, at me;

a commoner's jeer.



I saw you,

then I wanted you.

my want became a need;

and my need is now the focus of all my deed(s).



What else is left to say,

should I mourn my bereavement

or laugh at my own foolishness?

do i love or let this ache i suffer for you eat at me forever?

Simin
Different doesn’t necessarily mean better.
Your violence, a misconstrued cry for attention and love.
Every road, no matter how long and expansive, leads to an end.
Your ignorance is only feigned bliss,
for the certainty of failure is a known warrantee for unrest,
the illusion of peace.
The demonstration of confidences shattered,
Like withering plant stems.
The misunderstood, the figurative unbeliever,
The needy, abandoned like leaves buried beneath the white of the winter.
The only answer to our extensive quests? Ding, ding, ****.

Ive stared at the flashing lights
As cars sped hurriedly pass
below the deck of my balcony,
Like I didn’t exist.

Ive awoken to the smell of indian spices,
As my neighbours cooked away chirpily.
As their voices filled the hallway,
Like I wasn’t there.

Ive stared as people crossed the roads
As the lights went from green to amber
As the cars failed to halt
Even as I stood, rooted in the middle of the road.

Ive slit my wrists,
In the hopes that you’d notice me.
As I cant think of nothing else but you;
But you pass by my side every morning, like I do not exist.

So im seated here,
Boats being decked
Fishermen going home to roast and feed
As I prepare to leap to my own demise.

Needles and syringes;
Heroine, my beautiful medication.
White robe, blue belt,
I was loving my profession of alcohol and drug indulgence.

Pipe ready,
my growing shadow, aided by the lighting from the burning flame below,
silently watching on;
“One hit and I will be perfect,” begs my ****** soul.

I have watched the moon every night.
Witnessed as she comes and goes.
Atimes, she is full and bright;
at others, she is nothing but a waning dull curve,
travelling leisurely across the sky;
Her face, a dire one,
filled with laughter and mockery
as she wonders what went wrong with me.
30 nights and 12months of 11years,
I too, an answer I have failed to find.

Last night, there was this darkness,
and all I can remember is the music that accompanied it.
Dark themed and suicidal,
Yet, it is the closest I have come to solitude in so many years.
Tonight I am back again, bent over my last dosage for the night.
“Dosage.” Indeed!
The moon is not in sight.
I wonder if my friend, if she is one,
Has forgotten about me tonight.
But there she is again.
Maybe she isn’t taunting me;
Maybe she is as confused as I am,
Or is she also lost?
Why can’t she seem to find her way home?
Oh the ramblings of a somber mind.

I am a man with a heart that offends
with its lowly and greedy demands.
Such a waste, your beautiful face.
How I have wasted my throes on your head!


So can we be friends or a tad bit more, sweetly,
Before this façade ends?
For I love you more than the world can contain
In its lonely and ramshackle head!


I’m holding my breath.
Nodding as my last minute counts down to one.
And when I am dead, come sit by my stonehead
My fossil shall rot happy in the sun!


What can be said of your heart?
Do my memories keep you awake?

Season of love, or so I was told.
Day of Saint Valentine, spurn my sorrow;
Dozens of red roses, bouquets of blood.
But you’re drunk as a horsefly.
Claim you’re an oldie, but only a kidult with an early retire.
Climb on the mattress pad, ruin the moment,
you could have easily slit my throat!


What’s left is only bittersweet;
I think only of the best that we could have had;
The borders we could have hiked;
And the babies that we should have had!
Now I’m cold and afraid, willing it all away.  
What’s the point of writing these poems
if you’ll never read them?

Since I was old enough to speak,
i promised to love you till the end of time;
and now i'm praying for the end of time to come quickly,
so i can stop loving you.
Why?
because i dont break my promises.


Some part of me got lost in your apron;
Where you hid your cigarettes.
No I’ll never forget, cigarettes lit,
pots blackened by the thick smoke from the stoves.
Your majestic pose over the cans as you churned your latest recipes to life.
I just wanted to be like you.

Now you're there,
as fragile as a worm in a brine pool.
Laying in that hospital bed,
the white sheets stained by your spews of black blood.
The doctor said your lungs have given way,
I still cant believe that you're leaving me.

Driving Ms. Daisy
Absolutely drives me crazy.
Many a driver have come and vanished by noon.
Her cruel words are nothing but her ****** armour.
People hate her,
and she appears to love it.
Petite old Ms Daisy,
seems like she’ll forever be alone.
Today she asked of me to drive faster,
“I want to feel the wind against my face.
Take it up a notch”, she said.
“12miles/per hour,” she wailed.
Snub the rooster and wax the pole,
driving Ms Daisy is slow.
Really slow.
At times I fear that the machine may fail,
That the engine may even stop from being so frail.
Taking Ms Daisy someplace is like going nowhere,
because you aren’t moving enough to arrive anywhere.
Yesterday was the worst day ever;
her constant yelling and biting remarks
that only aimed to infuriate.
But Ms Daisy is always classy.
Her proud air of 16th century British Royalty.
Even her perfumed handkerchiefs spell eloquence.
But still, one day I wish she’ll suffer a heart attack,
Or maybe a mild stroke.
But then I wonder out loud,
“Who else will hire me and pay me this load?”
I may moan and rumble
but I am forever stuck with Ms Daisy.

the lanky mortician with wryly looking fingers, oh the poor boy.
The hospital asked me how the body should be cast.
Such a funny thought to wrap you up in white linens,
your favorite colour.
Before I say goodbye my dear Eugene,
"Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?"

I can hear you asking, "James why do you cry?,
Make the most of your life, while it is rife;
While it is light."
Before I watch your flesh go,
Shall we look at the moon, one last try?

Take All of me, keep less of you.
Tried to trace your shadow with my worn out shoe.
Tried to see things through your eyes, what an empty view.
The very darkness of others’ shadows, yours, an outline was never in view.

Just when I want you in my life.
You hug me tightly and stab me with a rusty envelope knife.
Asked you to tell me if you want me in your life,
Guess this bleeding is a tale for the gathering at after-life.

Surrendered All of me and you still didn’t come through.
Now all of me think less of you.
Now all of me crave even less of you
Still funny that all of me should love you.

Some men are not meant to be happy, they are meant to be great!
Normal is overrated,
And true happiness, the subject of many a debate.
As far back as man, or be it extra-terrestial, the concept, outdated.

Some men will rather starve than be called fat or pale.
Some men will rather be killed than bear witness to a  false tale.
Some men will die alone, and others will die with their loved ones at bay.
Some men will try to be different, but dead bodies all decay.

All through history, Man has sought to make his life easier;
To get a lot more comfortable, by any means, quicker.
He has sought to be forever in his youth;
To seal within himself, his soul like a selection from the old juke-booth.