Born into life, without questions, born to a period not knowing what it is, life laid out. Stirred and mixed with stronger overtones of melancholy. Ambition from mundane, a desire to fit in, to be noticed. Born smiling. Twinge.

There’s fear and loathing,
influence measured, as much of success.
Blink and you’ll see the same,
for when open a pair of eyes up. Smile and it will be reflected. Cry, it won’t.

Undefined vanity.

Land of freedom.

Breathless soaking, mist on glass. Violet haze. Fashion as veils. Trends of distractions. Attention, a threatening murmur. Contemplation of reckless emotions. Upturning awareness. Affection wanted. Castle. Inviting gentle poetry from poets that lived hard lives.

******* to one's inner-self. Spades.
How to make redemption on being born? Making an amends,
born into life, opening fire, slightly jaded, it’s not what anyone thought it is.
Charming like gold. Bleak inside. Placing random value. Moonlit dreams. Rustling silk wishes, isolation presence, always alone, gleaming out, as to say that creation is more than anyone could possibly bear. Weighing one down.
The fullness of decaying hope, producing perfume to poems.
Crossing over the duration of one’s natural life. Attempting to pardon the bitterness inside. Though it clings to my soul with dear life, yawning it causes, laying to normal daily
living,
freightful
torrent
fragile
in
common
ways.
Threading malady. Originality always on cue to be tempting, at times to feed, an incredible lust. Everything becomes vivid and heightened, sounds louder, heat rose, perception becomes acute. Avoids eye contact in hope that one’s own inner-life is not noticed. People know the face, barely remember the name.
Innovation is in the aroma,
master of one.
Fate and destiny seems to want to marry.


Maybe it’s a shift of culture, viewing glass, a new dogma.
Noticing the afflictions of life, attaching not to limitations,
the clarity of mind can destroy much of the illusions that seem to float by,
where the youth seems to vanish,
regret builds.
Monotonous now. A fling. Poetry played over jazz.
Burning underneath desire, hanging over, like a bending flower head. A fear strong. Being unsure, questioning, pushing people away, an whole affair, an entire loss.
Collecting old memories of joyus particular moments.
Making attempts to hold and feel a content life, dripping into something, one expected or wanted. Just mercy now.
Voyage
Starvation
Servitude
Burning
Sun
Cold moon
Gathering
Around
A
Fallen
Star
Chanting
For
Romance
Like
The
Kind
Of
Romance
All
Those
Poets
Seem
To
Know
In
Intimate
Ways

Craving against to revolt against the life born into. Knowing at the back of one’s mind, one has
to revolt against the hesitation that one produces.
A manuscript to another tragedy. Expressions of fears, played out on stage. A grandeur melodramatic gestures. Saturating over earth. Cry more? Why for?
There's fortune in freedom. Effort is a must. Courage is trust with oneself. Horror inside. To do, it’s like its been tried before. A certain manner in one's own grace. Self-made beauty. Alluring. Everyone wanted to know, everyone wanted to, always pushed away.
Flashing eyes, widened and still,
mouth closed, clenching firsts. Cursing missed opportunities. Alone at home, safe and yet failing.
        Fascinated with Utopia. Calling out to poets.
        Quenching the fire.
         Asking for passion that flares and continue to progress.
Argue with self-worth.
Entangline with self doubt.
Staying mute.
Do i dare recite poetry to thee? Breaking out on impulse that keeps motivating.or just continue to loathe over unfulfilled wishes. Tomented to be locked in my own stillness.
For I’ve heard the garden of eden contained paradise.
Truth in beauty, it’s beauty because it holds truth.
(knowledge variable)

Freedom a burden with load, pressing on shoulders,
poetry cannot tame or teach passion in wild tones. To
gain oneself, to lose another. Mystical wisdom that on
purpose collides with reality, producing illumination.
Poppy seeds and sunflowers. Fireflies dance with the
moon’s silver. Evading the inner self, spilling forward.
Profound elevation, risking a profound hurt. Colours
in romance, music to the neo. Leaving behind memories
of joy and forgetting all-else, on the account it never
to exist again.  
(knowledge variable)

Loving, without being loved. Realizing oneself, with poetry.
Solitude without wanting it. Yearning for more in intimacy.
Private conversation in one’s inner-world. Learning from
dead poets. Hopeless and envious. Perfect without being
noticed. Throwing one’s love game. Soulmate invigorates
and charges one soul. Poems written, to be noticed. Knowing
how to love, without poetry teaching. To have that contentment,
that meaning, that reason to both live and die for. Two must
be brave enough to jump into one’s other private world,
while the process destroys everything that they had worked
for. The experience makes up for poetry lacks and the life
lived of being hopeless, isn’t romanticizing as it’s portrayed.
(knowledge variable)

You say you hate everything about yourself,
But I find myself lost in you.
Even if I'm nowhere near,
I always rush to pick up when your call comes through.
I only want to write about your voice right now.
Because when I'm flooded in the dark,
When I'm weighed down by the toxins in my heart,
I forget everything the moment you start talking.
It's not really how it sounds, or what you say...
I can't describe it,

It just makes me feel this way.

Comforted. Soothed. At home.

I could listen to you go on all day.

I could name all the things I love about you;
Your eyes. Your smile. Your wit.
The way you always feel things so intensely.
The way you don't know when to quit.
But right now...I only want to think about your voice.

It's the only part of you I can have.

I look up and search the leaden skies

observing all of its fury

shapes of concrete destruction stare down at me

my heart grows sick

my anxious mind prepares for the fumes

that pollute our precious planet  

I watch the angry faces and their fast paces

trying to disguise myself

I hurriedly follow

and just for a second

I feel like one of them

but my legs fail beneath me

and I fall deeply into the grains beyond age

until I close my eyes and remember

that I am so far from last November