In the pursuit of happiness
I found you,  but somewhere I lost me
You set my heart on fire
You set my dreams free
I loved our little chatter
I loved your every little thing
But now that I look back
It all just leaves a sting

I never realized when you drifted apart
I still kept holding onto the string
You crushed my little heart
And all I could do was sing

Sang the songs of my pain  
Sang the songs of my screams
I never knew it was all in vain
It was all just a broken dream

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

i just wanted you to know
that I've been reading your poems
your stories
your heart
and I too
bleed for these words
like you
and I hope
you read mine too
when your heart
seek for words

Im a broken soul
Laughing and twirling
Under the stars
Of the bleeding Heavens

It's kinda cool how when life is normal
rainy days make me lethargic and unmotivated.
But when life is hard and I'm struggling
rainy days are the greatest comfort,
as if the earth is crying with me
saying that I'm allowed to feel it all

Fold me like you always have,
Run your nails to set the creases,
Shape me to the form you crave,
Bend me into the art of your wishes,

My form forever yours to toy with,
I conform to your will and desire,
Expose my surfaces, above or beneath,
I will always be there for you to admire,

I can be flexible or I can be stiff,
That depends on what you want,
I am here to help fill your rift,
The one who says you can when you can’t,

Craft that which you seek of me,
I am but your art, your origami.

At a desk, coffee sachets rest.
Long-life milk harbours
white dreams of expiry.
Shuffling in his forgetful nest
a grey man blinks
at the intruding light.

Americo, do you remember
your antique power,
that opened like a rose
on the walls of Hiroshima?