Caught by your eyes, when I fell for you,
Struggling in painful, I didn’t know what to do.
The sunlight faded leaving me burned.
Sweet hallucinations,
Force feeding me candies.

Trapped amongst the void,
I don’t wanna call this home.
Submerged into media and fakery,
of the make-believe lives.

Thud! Thud! Thud!
Several years have gone by.
Just like me you panic out of your mind,
So impatient, so ill-mannered.

I stared at the fabric, covered in gifts of grief,
Every breath is a struggle I make.

Vulnerability and sensitivity,
forgotten in my memories,
left to decease amongst my bitter mind.

Optimism can be a solution for a lifetime,
happiness through virtue and materialistic belief,
yet this bittersweet taste won’t leave my lips.

Writing of a virtual fantasy to take over,
while I screech at others to remain realistic,
it’s foolish to believe it’s only an idea – not a dream.

Entrances of desire can be discovered on trampling triumphs,
I wish to wear these heels of hope towards the platinum kingdom,
yet must I tear away the typewriter to write with my fingertips instead?

Embarrassment discovered through emotional outbursts of immaturity,
apologies scattered within forests of no sounds, reverbs or life itself,
leave me in both a desired yet painstaking isolation of romantic fantasies.

Mind reading is impossible to the ignorant egotistical individual,
assumptions lead to the destruction of blooming lotus flowers on a tainted feeling,
for honesty’s beauty is desirable – only under management of the mature one.

For the mindset of two cannot be replaced through absent-minded behaviour,
through words of the time, dreams of past lives, an ocean of hope mixed in with sour taste,
the skies show illustrations of words collected throughout time – not our goodbyes.

Reliability hurts us as it cradles our childhood vices,
dreams blurred and forgotten while the nightmares crept.
I gaze at all my friends while they begin to count their prices,
bags of dust, unsaturated gazes follow - I haven't slept,

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles.

We feel empty inside as we stare at our devices,
an infinite hoop of dazed talks as the night grows and I wept.
It's what we get for making sacrifices,
I had a golden opportunity and I overslept.

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles,
weakened wrists, deprived energy while I tighten the ribbon.

Smooth warm skin cradles you so,
The cracked lips are hardly noticeable.

When you start as an artist, people assume,
that talent begins when you pick up the pencil,
how wrong they were to think that beginning,
was the beginning of my artistic thought-process.

Every bricks texture on the wall, appealed me,
the textures feel different, it's strangely addicting,
when the television light flashes into your face,
media inspires, media creates.

I was born with a wire attached to my brain,
but I can still unplug and refresh myself again.

For art is all around in different shapes and forms,
whether you agree or not - I love it all.