We lie there under the universe
Letting it consume us
You make me feel invincible
I even saw a shooting star

Your words pluck on my heart strings
Like birds playing on violin strings
And I let the world cave in on my chest
As I let out a deep breath

So when I looked across at you
After you made me feel this way
What I didn't expect to see
Was you looking to your right

At her.

Stop trying to remember his scent, he smelled like summer and reminds you of the time he made you laugh so hard, you snorted out milk on that dead, hazy day.

2. Don't waste your day trying to decipher what colour his eyes were, it'll only remind you of the galaxies and constellations that you once saw in his eyes

3. Stop trying to retrace the shape of his mouth in the middle of the night, you'll choke on your tongue trying to taste the mint he devoured seconds before pulling you in for a kiss

4. Stop reliving the times you clasped hands together, the glass plate will fall off your trembling hands.

5. Burn this list, admit that the galaxies and constellations shining in his eyes were wilted, the one in yours are bursting with fire. Remember on the dead, hazy day his laugh sounded like nails running down a chalkboard. Remember when you kissed, the weeds growing from his mouth entangled the roses blooming in yours.

Realize that one day, another boy is going to come and plant daisies where he left behind thorns.

I envy thou, artist.
You glide across the page
creating the very image
I have wanted to make.
You show people the world,
the place you wish to see,
the man you wish to be.
You portray well, your all.
A smear of colour,
a blot of paint
is enough to turn the demon to saint.
All with a mere stroke.
Hence, I am in awe
of the power you hold,
of the artwork so bold.
Yes, I am in awe.
And this is why dear artist.
This is how
I envy thou.
Envy thy gift. Envy thy talent.

I nip your soft bud
ever so tenderly
during my nightly visits
to make you open your eyes,
and blush, I love the flush
spreading on your cheeks
mademoiselle,
                     but you bit
my probing lips lovingly hard,
it gave me new ideas
that you didn't expect me to carry out
in presence of morning mist, curious
that peeped from outside
the limits of this quaint pond.
I love the honey seeping out
without any effort from my part,
I am a blue beetle that loves
to smear yellow pollen all over.

Look! your buds aren't soft now,
*****, they have become truculent,
if they want to rub me wrong
do you think, I'll back off?
I am game for a tete-e-tete,
better now, than later.

A beetle that find cozy warmth
within the purple folds of your petals tight,
every night; being a lotus
you should know what I seek,
let's get it together, single-mindedly
warm, fragrant, cuddly lover.

She's in deep sleep
rests her head on my shoulder

I hold it light as treasured keep
years rewind to grow less older!

you say put on your specs papa
you don't see the screen
you don't see the page
don't seem to see anything these days

come boy when you are my age
you don't need to see the screen
you don't need to see the page
for they're by now all
tilled
filled
spilled
and you say to yourself
son I don't need no spec
for them now I can make remake
after countless read countless write
this mind tell me
I need no sight
for outside it's all empty
and inside
they deeply hide!

son when you tell me
I don't mind
for surely the times
would make you find
with all planted within
you wouldn't need to see the screen
see the page
*when a father of my age!

my poetry lives through my tragedy.

my wonderful accomplishments a world of #fuckitupanywhichwayyoucanandwhenyoucantdontworrysomeoneelsewill
­
its a new word for my creative soul.

life is good and the poetry bad.

something everyone should aspire to.

not me.

i live in bittersweet notions

novel novels that live and breathe alternate realities

my realities, with just enough tilt to deny it convincingly well.

ive had the gamut of pains and ills

spared just a few that I still in some twisted way feel ungrateful for.

my hand crafting what my soul denies

my soul suffering my cruel intentions of self demise.

and all for what?

a revelrie in my  hidden thoughts?

an appreciation of my unique set circumstances?

a combination of wordss and thoughts, feelings and contexts peppered with an acute irony that defies psychological definition?

my words are my life,

my knee **** reaction to what i miss most;

the feeling of innocence,

of righteousness,

the world before the seduction of evil,

before the awareness of deception and cruelty.

the safety ive lost,

the horrid deeds done in the name of innocence

and the defiled love that stains my soul with its constant attacks of dark beauty

these are my tragedies

these are my wordss

what else is there,

but wait for applause?