The tragic air of someone
you love,
Expels the fiery and watery
deaths,
And instead attracts a much
simpler end.

Missing the first light
night of summer.
The birds never fed decide to go
someplace else.
Left alone in the last snowfall of my
first year.

No more early mornings where
we don’t even see each other,
And when we swapped positions for the
goodnight,
It marked the beginning of
the end.

I know this may sound sombre but it’s
precious.
You’ll leave behind so much, if only the
other life would
allow your possessions.
The books most of all, I don’t know how
but I shall get
through them in my first year.

The heels are the ones.
You can’t go on stage without heels,
You’d have to be mad.

But she is mad.
Mad that she’s bound to this world,
With the voice of a siren and the heart of
a rose,
She gets pulled in too deep to make any
recovery.

But she’ll get out.
She’ll rise higher than each time she falls,
Begging the songs to manifest with
beauty,
And to forever be idolised,
As she has idolised her whole life.

Someday, there will be no
memory of my mother.

And the day shall
come, where there will be no memory of me.

Would they go, towards time
in space?

Should our memories rise
up, to join memories of ancestors past?

To be held in the air, to
sing amongst cousin, aunt, friend, priest,
memories of others.

Those flowers
That ****** me 
On the table 
Pink and green against 
The brown
That table stand
That stood before the curtains 
Of fust and weight 
Rejects the calm and 
Curls too harm and help and hand 
All but mess. 

The serenity but misses my and her life gone by him
the flowers that ******* ****** me,

Hate on those tables that host a meaner guest than mine of
Which do not exist of your.

The flowers 
The ******* flowers despised me
**** and shipped from **** against my mind 
You know you don’t feel me yet you still observe 
Like a parasite feeding on space between seats but flowers
****** me more
Than 
Your table clash 
Down

I’ve spent the last few years perfecting my
speech,
Learning to emote eloquently
Like leading the rapids through stones.

I refuse to feel without meaning;
The water doesn’t cut through without
force so
It doesn’t gush through at once
silently.

Yet I stumble over my words,
Tripping so I lose them forever,
Oh but I know they were words of
use.
But meaning isn’t something to pass on,

It is to transfer
An energy that has no form yet such
force.
Rising from the feet to envelop the
Curses from our mouths.

Like water, words can ****.
Pulling sailors under in such intense
ferocity,
Hammering down on their chests and
invading their hearts.

There’s so many things I want to but will not do in front of you *******.
                                No you don’t deserve it,
It isn’t handled within yet outside alone.

                                Mobbing and torching the whole way home, swimming.
                                Trembling in anger,
So much you’ll vanish and suffer yet recall.

                                 The kindness comes from their throats
And the face is the highest facade.
                                 The unwanted affection of strangers is elevated,
When they have knowledge of who you are. 

                                 What’s the use of spite originated satisfaction,
If it doesn’t quench any thirst or curb any craving.
                                 Like a bird ******,
Or any revenge.

                                 My real form is the poems,
The layering an example of my ever extending souls.
                                 But impossible is to be shaped so perfectly by creators,
That these are not perfect themselves.

                                 Instead, vulnerability,
And magic!
                                 And my god I use my my my far too much,
The only way I know how to **** is to **** through my heart. 
               
                                 And **** har d er th an e ver t h a n yo u kn ow y ou c an, 
Though these broken letters I ramble.
                                 Never again,
I’ll never talk again for I am speechless.

The voice deep inside my ear
Releases an abundance of noise,
A constant battle of sound lures
War to my bed.

There is no blockade for
This year long masterpiece,
In which the viewing makes a man tremble
In his descent to real earth.

He hears what is truly there
Beneath the earth yet so above,
Screams and drama shake the waters but
You must shake my waters to escape.

                      

Another bed holds sanctuary
A sacred place to push out the voices,
Oh so terribly violent is my head
An internal part but never letting go.

The stairs are more like home
I can thrash my head against opposing walls,
Only to have them reach out and pretend
Something is just a part of us.



A real rush
A real stagnant noise,
What can reside in such noise?
What could withstand such a beating?

It’s worse than any abuse though
It’s weaker than any true reality,
Is the skull so fragile to let something so savage in?
Do the walls see what there is or immerse themselves in other reality?



The reality.
The reality no one sees reality.

But the reality everyone feels reality.
The reality that connects us all reality.

Relatable reality.
Hopeful reality.

Wonder reality.