Apollo watched as Icarus fell into Poseidon's waves,
some say they even saw Apollo kiss Icarus's wings
with his sun-soaked lips before he fell.
A boy fell in love with the sun not knowing
how bad it burns.

~

Don't fall for the golden boy,
He looks so sweet but tastes like fire.

~

He had the breath of a thousand stars in
his lungs;
But you can't reach the sun at the bottom
of the sea.

You left. I know.
My friends tried to soften the blow
but I turned a blind eye,
hoping I could save my
heart from being torn to shreds.
There are no regrets.
Or so I keep telling myself.

I don't want to know
why or how or
when you left,
knowing it'll cut deep
and I'm just not ready for that.

Remember when I wasn't even
interested in you at first but then
I fell and you caught me mid-air
and I've loved you since?
I loved you before and I always will.
Even if I'm hurting, still.
You'll never leave the messy crevices of my mind.
For you are so beautiful, loving and kind.
We're not likely to meet again
but I really hope you'd catch me one last time.

-m.b

Breathing bodies won't hear me cry
and so I started singing to the sky;
About you. Your smile and kindness,
how are people blind from this?
The smoothness of your stalk,
the richness of your tone when you talk.
The delicate way of holding your
stick of nicotine between your fingers.
How you seem to fool everyone
that you're pernicious but there's not a bad bone
in your body, my sweet.
I don't see it when we meet.
Cause when you speak I see stars glimmering
and warm waves crashing.
The softness of the breeze
during a 5.45pm sunset, swaying trees
whispering good omens for hidden,
lost souls. You breathe in
life and exhale an aura of wisdom,
masked by lackadaisical freedom
of expression. They don't read between
the lines to unfurl your hidden dreams.
I could go on and on about you
but they don't see the real and raw side of you.

-m.b

One of the sweetest Greek gods out there;
a soul so kind and rare.
What he lacks in physical beauty,
he more than made up with talents and loyalty.
Zeus and Hera threw him down the mountain
but he's fated to be an Olympian.

Let me tell you a thing or two
about his determination and skills too.
Faithful and love you, he will.
He may not say it but he'll show it with his blacksmith skill.
Working hard day and night;
to make you a gift like Apollo's Sun, that bright.
Made out of stars, so massive you like.
He handpicks the best ones for luck.
Forged in the fire with the greatest details,
hammered with perfection, just like in the old tales.

Why must they turn away for he is ugly
when he made you weapons that made mortals flee?
O' Aphrodite, don't you run with Ares tonight.
Remember how your husband's gift locked you tight.
Hephaestus is kind and forgiving
but with his gifted hands, looks can be deceiving.

-m.b

I noticed that people who says "I hope you're okay"
or "I hope you're doing fine"
to other people are the ones who've had it rough.
That they know how it feels like to not be okay.
That they went through somewhere dark.
That they don't want other people to go through what they did.
That they want people to be happy and not anything less than okay.
And that they really hope other people are fine.
Nonetheless, it's a lovely reminder, though.
Even though they weren't okay once, they're better now.
Life goes on and it does get better.
So I just want to say;
"I hope you're okay"

-m.b

Past midnight are made for
People who can't sleep

The girl in room 120
Is nursing a broken heart

The boy in room 237
Is wide awake, thinking of his ex who slipped through his fingers

The girl in the shower in room 405
Is scrubbing her hands, trying to calm her nerves

The old man in the lobby
Is listening to jazz music, having a flashback of his golden days

They are all restless,
Thinking of ways to get a good shut eye

But the happy and contented ones
Are fast asleep, dreaming of tomorrow

Past midnight are made for us
The ones struggling to control the chatters in our minds

-m.b

You told me to stay away
But I was blinded by love, I stayed.
I should've left on the first day;
Oh my, it's too late.

Now I'm caught,
Struggling against your web.
Like a fly being captured,
Awaiting my death.

How do I always get ****** in?
Why do I keep giving in?

-m.b