Charles Bukowski once said,

"Find what you love and let it **** you"

Have you ever submitted to something and let it willfully abuse you?

Get lost in the mirror, stare deeply into the depths of those irises, are you the same you?

Do you notice a difference?

If you can't see as clear as day that you grew two,

Hundred feet spiritually and mentally

Then it's time to think critically or rather better yet think simply.

That wasn't the type of love that is true.

I often dream of a faceless queen. We own a small apartment, we laugh, we drink, and spend our time creating art within the four walls of a small room on a large bed. We’d go out with the sole destination of adventure. Make memories together and build a bond never to be severed. I often dream of a faceless queen. One day I hope to wake up from this dream to a Queen, with a smile that’s not so faceless to me.

I’m reaching out to all with a love of writing poetry to collaborate on a project I’m working on. The more the merrier! All poets will be tasked of telling “A Poetic Tale.” Poets will be given complete creative control on the style of their work so long as it fits in the broad structure of the project. If interested or know of someone who is, contact me and more details will be given! SERIOUSLY THE MORE ARTISTS WE GET THE COOLER THIS WILL BE! YOU DON’T NEED TO FOLLOW ME TO BE INVOLVED JUST MESSAGE ME AND I’LL GIVE YOU THE DETAILS.

This is the story of A boy whose name is unimportant, and to tell this story we'll have to go back in time.

To Samantha, A name which left foot prints  in his mind so enormous that he oftentimes could only remember his own in portions.

See? Such a name is why this boys name is so unimportant, and as for his story? Well we'll have to go back to a time where in his mind, a sense of time is precious and rare to find. Even his sense of mind is torn to portions.

Yet another of the boys increasing misfortunes from Samantha, and her foot prints ever so enormous.

So when the boy decides to try to go back in time to recall the crime which left him oh so distorted, when a robber bearing Samantha for a name rushed into his endorphins. To a time when his cerebral cortex was a door, and a name was its door henge.

He says;

"To tell this story of mine we must go back to a time when- well... when the colors first ceased to shine"

My only talent is breathing

Your only talent is leaving

Talent as leaving me
breathless

You stole my only talent
now I'm talentless

Yet a talent kept
a talent with pride you possess

You got quite a talent for leaving

I lost balance when you left

I lost talent when you left

I just wish you were leaving my breathe

But I'm a talentless mess
you're leaving with my talent

I just want one last breathe.