.       What can you do, fight being you?
        Who can I be, if I'm not being me?
      Where can I go if I don't belong home
      Where can i turn when I feel so alone.

I cannot confide, I have too much to hide
I cannot push further what's deep down inside, I protect you from me and the troubles I bring I won't weigh you down I won't let you drown.

I will not let you share the worries that I bear, I will not let you see, the cracked doll that is me.

You cannot break the broken, you can't live in the past, throw that memory away, you cannot let it stay, oh I wish I had the power to change every wasted hour, to knock down this growing tower under which I fearfully cower, in my ball of self regret.

             
                    I can remember:

                Tears that I have shed.

                 Lies that I have said.

                 Pain I have inflicted.

              Oh how I feel conflicted.


But know now this, for it is true, for all the things I can't undo, I'd never regret loving you.

What does happen in the night?,
where restless youths beg for a fight,
where women with all dignity lost, will sell you their services at a cost,

where men will pay for their hunger to sate and tell their wives they're coming home late, where knowing wives are sat at home, waiting by the telephone, hoping he has done what's right, but that's not what happens in the night.

The children cower in their beds, the fear of the night sat in their heads, imagining monsters, causing fright, but that's not what happens in the night.

The children do not know, why mothers eyes are red, why father is not home, tucking them into bed, but father is still searching for that which will excite, for this is what happens, in the absence of light.

how many injustices I have been complicit
by fact of country or silence
how many deaths of another's spirit
by holding back my anger
how many children robbed of their childhood
by buying the cheap laboured material
how many open mouths empty
by my own greediness
how many?

It will do its best to hurt you, twist your emotions, break you financially, mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. It wants you to suffer. To break you before it can 'make' you. Snared between its gnarly teeth it has no remorse. Until the very end, it will bite in and grind, chewing on your patience until every day is simply the same and you beg for mercy. Recalling memories like postage stamps to a bygone era, days fold themselves away into neat envelopes, ready to be relived both now and never.  

Those who are sensitive know the score. That life is a game that sometimes they don't feel like playing. At times you win, at times you lose. The thrill of the ride is in the journey; that first rush of life that flows through your veins and down the drain. After that, routine is a mundane affair that will **** you if it gets the chance. By keeping you breathing.  

A victim to circumstance, you find yourself trying to take control where there is none. Frustration sunsets kick in and scream for resistance. But still, the routine. Average life, average dreams. Mr and Mrs Grey only become free to express themselves sexually as every other form of creativity is strictly banned. Colour an illusion, playing with love. There is shyness. Uncertainty where there should be knowing. TV drama. Break-ups. Celebrity divorce. Iraq. Iran. Paid for wars. ****** and delirious children. Emaciated women. Sexuality, a given. Robots on stage. Narcissism all the rage. Fear in fashion. Outrage but no action. We parade our pain online. Wax and wane. Reliving youth, former glory. And all the time we wonder where it ends. Begging for another story.

Is it real or a fable?
Dare I question the existence of myself,
my friend's reality and my
lover's willpower
his father's dignity and my own flaws
when passing times get tired and my tears weigh endlessly on their shoulders
Repetitive roads leading to ends
that I am not prepared to reach
Yet, those close to me are approaching death
and they greet her with open arms.
Apart my soul rips, depart they must.
I recognize their pain, they accept their fates
and I am still
here.
I am still
breathing.
I have this  blood
and two  lungs
and thousands of  dreams
that come alive in my dying sleep
I promise to resurrect
the loss you have endured.
With my life
you will live on.

YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR OPTIONS OPEN AND I DON'T BLAME YOU
I WOULDN'T CHOOSE ME EITHER

When his intellect attracts you more than his physique
And that his knowledge nourishes your thirst to acquire them
When the search for some brain food goes beyond the physical and create mental and energetic understanding
Staring at me in the eyes that he thinks innocent that I'm
He repeats to me that he is too old as I shall say as the blind and novice he thought I was

i'm not worried
about tying any
fraying or
loose ends

just take me back to
where i started
meet me up
in sundance