Old age
It comes on like a
Typhoon
Hurricane
Ice Storm
Tsunami
War
A natural disaster.

Stumbling
Bumbling
Down on your knees
there Buddy
Humbling.

When I was 12 years old
One Round World
A photo
Elderly folks standing around a Piano
"And they used to call it rocknroll"

Way way far away
here we are now
encased in
memories and mortality.

Grief has a lexicon that
I’ve spent a period of
hard times seeking it
I gained nothing but an enormous
failure to devote myself
to its complete literature,
The perfect Salvia Plath is
patting on my cumulative sores,
admitting that it is my right to
file a grievance against my chores,
work, and daily unfair routine,
as she said that she used to be
so wicked; writing all the day
and forgetting about studying,
she said that I had gotten such a
black-and-white soul for
almost uncountable centuries of
self-wars,
Dear Nicole: She wrote—  
Whether you are a believer or not,
You dare to be the
ninety-nine hundredth savior to
the definition of our nihilism.
Sincerely yours,
Sylvia Plath
I closed my eyes and
bleakly enjoyed her poetic
admission that I had faked it
for a while to
keep my victories beating
against all the brightness and
naturality inside of
my pores,
I’m not a happy person;
I belong to sorrow.

another note,
another stunning shyness;
you made it glow
like the sparkles under the water,
I’m fully interested in every word
that you would speak,
embrace your poetic mind
devour it ferociously,
my blood is beating inside my veins,
yearning to burst out of my body,
to hunt the sweet honey
that gently covers your golden pores,
if I Were Tinkerbell,
I would definitely pray every single night
for being the one and only Holy Siren,
That will insanely chase your soul
to inflate your hunger
with all the temptation’s tricks
for the sake of swallowing all your sins perfectly ;
disinfecting and archiving them
into our fairytale files,
Darling,
I love you to the point
that I used to crave being thirsty for you.

his fragrant palms,
Filled with marshmallows and ink stains,
I’m tracing the sugary world, brimming with such a poetic lexicon between his entwined fingers ;
Those Fingertips that I dared to crave
Love, pain, thirst, and beautiful hunger,
I dare to suffer, you won’t.
I care to inflate the romantic havoc, you don’t,
My tempting beauty is rooted in your psychosis, I’m nothing but a complete masterpiece of bleak jellyfish, blindly diving into your seductive ocean.

There were black and white balloons that rose into his beautiful, colorful soul. He kept their Helium safe, glowing within his incredible sympathy. My poems are floating for the sake of love and longing. I’m the grayscale little paper boat that merges with his bright-colored ocean.

The world suddenly becomes blurrier
Like presence begins slipping away
I'm guessing effects are shifting sides
Took one hit too many today

Slept on my dreams far too long
Changed the way perception blooms
Erased gleam one high at a time
Painted me as dark as the shadows in my room

Or just chiseled away my armor
It's so hard to accept the face beneath the mask
Where has the old me disappeared to?
The question in my chest I am too scared to  
ask