i reach out my hands for an embrace
it's just another wasted case
arms extend, only to shove
there's no love

i wonder why my love's displaced
like a bird that's without grace
wings defend, against the dove
there's no love

i look for another heart to replace
it's out there somewhere lost in space
eyes pretend, to look above
there's no love

the mighty buffaloes still roam these plains
not in a natural way, but one controlled by man
whatever is offensive, we just change the names
whenever it's necessary, we change the genetic plan

life is so perfect on these hallowed grounds
not in a lasting way, but in the way we choose
whatever sounds inconvenient, we change the way it sounds
whenever we're dead and gone, our children pay our dues

i saw a dead man today

how creepy

it was a real eerie thing looking at his eyes

his mouth

i wondered how he died

did he want to die?

i poked and prodded at him for a while

i wondered if he knew i was there

was he watching me?

did he have a spirit?

was he completely gone from this world?

he was so cold and stiff

did he feel cold and stiff inside?

or did he just feel that way to me?

i splashed water on his face

could he die again?

am i killing him?

yes and yes

i saw a dead man today when i looked in the mirror

I gave you my word,
Wrapped it up in cellophane so it would never lose meaning,
Enveloped in the kitchen draw where you placed for safe keeping.
And now when you read my poems with another preserving your touch
You'll realise you had all my words-
One was not enough.

A bright sun heated this ground and we richly sowed in fertile soil.

Spring was full of possibilities, which we now enjoy in summer produce, so luscious.

Ah, as tasty as sweet melon and as fresh as scent of cucumber love is.

And we have seen that the bounty we receive is equal to the worth of our toil.

Every figment of my imagination has become
etched into the forefront
and it no longer hides in the back of my mind-
It is a painting amongst a wall I no longer own
every pigment of my thoughts for you has become
nothing but a dark shade of black.
You are nothing but a dark shade of black.
I let you re-paint me into something you'd like-
I let you take my hands and wipe them clean
as you painted me brand new ones.
I can't hold on anymore.
You were always a perfectionist-
who never really knew what he wanted
all you ever knew was it had to be perfect.
But I will never be perfect enough.
I have been struck by your razor tongue
as I take the mirror images to my own wrists
thinking I will never be picture perfect again.
You were always a perfectionist
but I am no Monet-
though I am just as beautiful
I will never be your work of art.
The pigments behind my eyelids
will eventually be filled with light again
and everything will be turned into
the shades of yellow I have desired all along-
you will no longer turn me blue and black
with the words that leave your red lips
I will not be your masterpiece-
I am already my own.

the only way that he could say bye
buying a red rose and watching it die
dying to find some other way
weighing his options to live another day

he couldn't help but to feel like a heel
healing was hard and the pain was real
reality soaked him like torrential rains
reigning over his will to remain