The word cycle comes from how things revolve around,
Hearing the echo trace the edges of a sound,
As it circles and rotates, then finally rebounds,
Shifting the uncertainty into an assurance that hounds.

I am a half chewed apple you can trace back to a tree,
A three-way split mirror with 3 broken versions of me,
A silence you can familiarize with an epiphany,
That what's inevitable has no other ending than to be.

Circumference, border, assigned seating.. are all just names,
The ink ran out when I tried to curve the sphere I became,
No matter where we run the beginning has us trained
To sniff every pattern, till the cycle is ingrained.

Do you mirror the person
you resent
by time?

The ****** in your head
getting both your
shoes intertwined.

That you become them,
the more you
rationalize.

...

I lost parts of me,
the more pieces
of you I gained.

I learnt to hate myself,
your thought process
had me well-trained.

I am the eager intern,
you are but my
narcissistic boss.

When the promotion hit me,
I socialized, with
the intent of loss.

I gathered people, the way
you gathered my
awe-eyed interest.

I left them mid conversation,
like they were
uninvited guests.

My certificate of achievement
said, I learnt
from the best.

...

Do you mirror the people
your resent
by time?

The ****** in your head
getting both your
shoes intertwined.

Is that why my hand
is bleeding,
shards ashine?

I'm a square trying to fit inside a circle
All my sides are bruised,
My story is now a rip off,
Cause my original one didn't fit the mold's strangle.

I remember when I was just a small circle,
Falling through vessels,
Gushed at by my inner circle,
When I adapted with the world I grew right angles.

Back to square one, I iced all my bruises,
When one almost healed,
I Found my old self,
today's leftovers, and me in a love triangle.

In the depth of winter,
the splash of cars,
Mud collecting
in the leg of my favorite jeans,
I wrap my jacket
around me tighter,
And the let it hug
my frozen torso and fraying dreams.

Starry night playing
on each of my eyelids,
A whimsical fantasy
unlike the fog in my skies,
Oh how predictable
the end of the road,
Yet scary the ruffle
of the morning after each night.

And I can't help
but radiate this coldness,
That stirs the passerbys away
as they shoulder past,
Ice continues to collect
under my fingernails
Who'd wanna shake hands
with those glacial hands?

I plead with the rainman
residing in my head,
And write to the clouds
leaking inside my eyes,
We can't keep warning
people of our weather,
Whenever they set foot
near our arctic pride.

With a sigh, I curl
one hand over the other,
Letting them
lone companies hang,
For most people winter
lasts four months,
But for me, I never knew
where it ended and I began.

How do you feel things lightly?
How do you let them pass
To separate all the layers
To let a full breath last?

Cause there are no peripheries,
No borderline were we separate,
I'm smothered by this weather
And I'm so entangled in its fate.

I tried to tread lightly,
To pull up a glass screen,
But when I close my eyes
My mind can't unsee what it has seen.

The more I try to run to the shallows,
The more selfish that I feel,
A traitor fleeing from the huddle
Where all the wounded kneel.

Hands moving in accordance,
Words uttered with no meaning,
A mismatched figure trying
To make her condolences more appealing.

In this bed of water I lay wondering
where the leaks are coming from,
But does it matter, now that the currents
have made it past my wavering front?

So how do you feel things lightly,
How do you let them pass?
To allow for you to address
Your own crumbling castle of sand.

●●●

With uncareful watch of the hours,
The night spreads like threads unlinked,
Drawing a comparison about what’s more frightening,
The stillness or the sudden shift.

Laying in a still motion picture,
A million frames of the same fear,
A tailored Bermuda triangle where
Life stops but the arms of every clock disappear.

And you’re left stranded,
With the anticipation of every wrong scenario,
So for today you’ll munch on anxiety for dinner,
‘Cause the face of every tomorrow scares you.

Oh how little you can do in those early AMs,
When both of your hands are cuffed to your insecurities,
And the night is there like a watch guard,
Standing between your panic prison and clarity.

And when desperation comes to join you,
It tells you tales of a monster that preys on time
“Never sleep.” It warns. “It’ll take you to those intimidating mornings,
It will leave you without a dime.”

When all of those night friendly emotions gather,
And drench your gut in their cold foreboding,
You, too, become a silent watcher, dissociated from your body,
Awake, asleep, floating.

Your mind says goodnight with finality,
Not willing to futher succumb to the night,
In the morning you’ll find you some superglue,
To hold together your broken promise to always take your side.

Hello, The Inspiration Agency?

= Yes, Ma'am. That's correct.

- I have a complaint, sir.

= Do tell. Anything we need to inspect?

- Oh yes sir, the material you're sending is too complex!

= Would you like a refund?

- Oh no! You said I should write with no regrets!

= Then I don't understand...

- I would prefer a lighter tune, something happy or simple.

= Oh but we're running out of those, would you like some romance?

- No please, none of that, I'd rather write about Rick turning himself into a pickle...

= But those would get you the biggest fans!

- Couldn't care less...

= Well I'm afraid there's nothing here we can do...

- You could fulfill my requests!

= Careful, ma'am! We could only send your orders once in a blue moon!

- No ... no, sir! Please hang on!

= You're overusing our customer service hot line.

- But everything is going wrong!

= I'm sure your writing is just fine...

- But it's not! It's too depressing, even I don't get it!

= Miss, I'm about to hang up.

- Then I don't want your service anymore! Not. One. Bit.

= You sure about that? Okay, our services will officially stop.

- Sir, no! That was out of line...

- Sir?

- Sir! NO!

...

The week goes by,
Your attitude
the ***** laundry
I get to go home with,
I open the washing mashing
The drain
inside my mind
And for a second I wonder,
And the thought coils
and spirals,
Rotates with the wheels
of my mind’s washing machine
Would the stains you left –
From your lipophilic words
Adhering to the seems of my skin
… ever be washed out?
Or will this thin cloth –
Thinned by my tendency to forgive –
Not see better days?
That it’s only a matter of time,
Before it’s time to recycle it,
Hop onto this cycle
And give you back
the attitude
You ever so generously spilled,
I don’t recall a bigger dilemma
That kept me awake
even on mondays
When all the laundry was fresh,
Than this one.
Do I become you
to you,
Or do I show you how
to be me
to me.

We speak in future tense,
Dreaming of the land of cream,
Where pollution is white,
And we're employed to dream.

If tomorrow had shoulders,
The tendons would be adorned in tears,
From the weight of the expected,
The pushed back promises that are insincere.

We're asking tomorrow
To be the battle wound we've never had,
The battlefield overcome by green,
So we shut our eyes, and turn our backs.

Sitting around the circular table,
Heads strung down with the realization,
That you have to come to terms again
With how temporary everything is
How the beginnings are only a means to an end.

The lamps are all shining bright together,
A rare occurrence for the living room,
Only adding to the seriousness of the situation,
The need to focus on what to do.

Wishing your hand was wide enough
To carry all the right decisions,
So that nothing could be out of hand,
Nothing could cross the peripheries
Of your man made plans.

You look up through the ceiling
And your heart does all the talking for you,
With every jab and every ache
It writes a paragraph with pure anger,
But then you plead with everything at stake

And with the first stripes of dawn,
You're pulled to your dark cold bed,
With pillows like rocks floating on water,
And covers that suffocate your body,
To close your eyes, you're just not ready
Not ready to let it go yet.

Dear future self,

On a scale of one to doormat,
How prune are you to accept?

And have you been proven wrong,
Or is it still the worst you expect?

Have you learnt walking the line
Between pessimism and optimism,
Or have you lost your wits?

Have you made yourself lasagna,
Kept track of your ***** laundry?

Eating enough green,
Or still lazy to get up when you're hungry..

Is time as life altering as it sounds,
Or plain old yesterdays that represent nothing?

Have you bribed your lucky stars,
And found that perfect timing all of a sudden?

Are you even still writing,
Or left the platform for greater poets?

Still doing things half-heartedly,
Or finally filled the gap where the lines are dotted.

Have you witnessed a miracle?
Washed yourself of your ever present dissatisfaction?

Acquainted the many selves that you are,
And finally released your thoughts from their abstraction?

I know there's no finish line,
Or at least we won't be here to behold it.

But I hope you're far ahead,
So you can slow down a bit.

Shall I dwell in a blob of paint

Something so fickle...

With flailing arms I'll try to swim

in something so little...

Colored and indigenous 

My thoughts will trickle...

And in this petty vividness 

My eyes shall twinkle...

Till I create a river so infinite

So I never again feel belittled...*

●●●

Divide the moon into two halves,
You'll find inside a million lamps,
Also cut the heart into two halves,
You'll find inside blood and valves.

Romance is trapped in a Shakespearean novel,
He buried it under the centuries with his shovel,
And the modern fast pace modified the human brain,
It's only a repetitive pattern of falling in vain.

Juliet has a husband, he's older by twenty years,
He's never home, she's always out shopping new fears,
Romeo is jobless, searching ups and downs for a key,
He heard life starts in the aftermath of a dream.

The old witch sitting in front of a glass bowl,
Now broke and retired, all her cookbooks are sold,
And the wolves are out, ruling the woods,
Magic's density in the air, isn't as high as it should.

So plug the stars out, pluck all the electric flowers,
The universe is now running low on power.*

● ● ●

Your need is a knife,
Sometimes a chainsaw.

It cuts at my shoulders,
The bones in my arms,
Some days it's quite greedy,
Wanting a share of my soul,
Dissecting a chamber or two
of my heart.

You eagerly want to drink my sanity,
To dehydrate me of any positivity,
Till life seeps through me and into you,
And osmosis makes us even,
Two distorted figures with no aim,
That's when you can sleep.

I'm afraid we can't both reside
in my fraying body,
You weigh a million unsaid words,
And my spine isn't strong enough
To keep pushing us through
your derailing paths.

What are we doing stifling flames,
Taming the wilderness with acceptance,
Handling life with kitchen mittens,
Following a bone to where the currents send us.

We live in a river doomed to have one shore,
And all the boats sail to infinity,
Only when the drought hits town
Do all the sailors part for the sea.

Art became something we're used to,
A design where every brushstroke has to fit,
Bold colors feel like salt in your coffee,
Cause they make the reserved eyes upset.

So every candle smells of forgiveness,
An act of worship for a new excuse,
You might wake up tomorrow or after 90 years,
And see that this paper can no longer be of use.

It's okay,
It's alright,
You have yourself,
Just like you do
every night.

You're at your worst?
Well so be it...
They didn't see
that your hearts unfit?
Then
so
be
it.

You hold that heart,
and you tuck yourself,
Command your breaths
To fall into context,
The world will be there tomorrow,
And the day will fall
fom your hardened grip,
The landslide will come to curve,
The drought will leave
no tears to shed.

Even if you have to be the ocean,
The sun, the moon and the land,
To walk yourself to the last shore,
You've got yourself to understand.

You can be that push of courage,
You can be the one to soothe,
Nothing in this world matters,
Not even this heavy weight of blues.
You wanna bet?

You're at your worst?
Then so be it..

Some saw the stars,
Their foreheads napping on the wall -
The great divide -
Where ignorance stands tall,
A sight unseen,
Is the world on every other side,
Where the dust molecules
Accumulated where life has dried.

In an artifical lake,
They thought they crossed oceans,
Blue skies reflected on puddles,
Static movement mistaken for locomotion,
While tides of sewage water,
Swallowed all the greener pastures,
Famines eating at bodies,
Growing up into a natural disaster.

Some flipped the same page,
Their universe knew of nothing past the sun,
Orbiting around themselves,
Isn't that how the big bang begun?
The less they fed their minds,
The rarer it ever asked for more,
When you've been living in a white dream,
It's hard to believe the existence of black doors.

We're in the same solar system,
But their bodies are alienated,
With muffs on their ears,
To keep out the winter their hands created,
But as our fears turn into expectations,
They'll be able to hold them then,
Reality crashing on our roofs,
The wall won't be heard of again.

I'm an empty vessel,
A reflection of you in me,
Clear the fog that's my mind,
Then it's your eyes you'll see.

I let the water pass through,
Erase the memories I once had,
So I can no longer taste nostalgia,
Only the salt and it makes me go mad.

I used to write and I used to read,
But now I'm an empty vessel,
I drink in the waves you surf,
and spit them in a sandcastle.

And quick to drown me is the sun,
Recruiting the days against me,
They string me along for weeks,
The longer the day, the less air to breathe.

I'm an empty vessel, so transparent,
I let the wall have a more powerful image,
Disappearing into the landscapes,
So my unwelcomed thoughts will be omitted.

It's your eyes you'll see,
Cause for god knows how long
I'm closing mine.
I shall dwell inside this empty vessel,
If you glimpse a sight of me
Just make make a sign.

You don't know how much
I want to be honest right now,
To show you my hands
covered in ink and charcoal,
Take you to the untamable waves
where I bargain with life,
And sweetly tell you the tales
of my intangible ghouls.

I can imagine you'd be appalled,
your features cringing,
But maybe I don't dream
of fearless knights,
Maybe I only want you
to be the youngest of flames,
To reflect all my unfinished
and unedited lines.

You don't know how much
I want to be honest right now,
To give you the sails
of my titanic drawn on paper,
I'd wear my dullest of my pearls
with their rusty chains,
I just need to borrow your third eye,
I don't need a saviour.

And both covers reunited
With me in between,
For once
it wasn't claustrophobia
that I felt,
It was pure ecstasy,
My mess gathered,
and swept under
the small masses,
That are the yellow colored pages,
Carrying the scent
of something ancient
yet eternal.
Chasing every line,
Like it was my sole purpose in life,
To follow them until I was lost,
Derailed from my walk,
And that's where a far more
fascinating journey begins,
Right under
the brushes of fiction,
Where anything was possible.*

● ● ●

Blue lighting embracing the faded linen of the couch,
We grow flowers to keep life flowing through this house,
Because planets only collide when it's the end of the world,
And the clean tile floors know that peace can't be disturbed.

The last we amplified our voices on one another's frequency,
The year sparkly white lighting hung down from trees,
Naivete of youth counting down to the far unknown,
Missing the fact that it will then be identities to mourn.

And down with China plates we inherit this folklore,
Bolt your windows and hide from strangers at your door,
Cause opportunities are nightmares you should avoid,
You see, you're only a half waiting to be adjoined.

In search for a wall to cower under its shadow,
The sun is never kind to lone figures with no one to follow,
So it won't matter if you mend this vacancy with cement,
No one will see past the frame, wood doesn't comprehend.

In the late hours of early morning,
Precipitations of the day before,
Lay there like caked makeup,
On a face waiting to be deplored.

The sun makes for a good shadow,
Blackening irises, making optimism crawl,
Then when the night arrives,
You see black spots on every wall.

Your soul develops a stutter,
Hiding away in the side of the moon,
Loneliness is not a disease,
It's a cure for a remorseful afternoon.

Down with every gulp of too sweet tea,
Every resentful thought is fighting to win,
Every second hand image
You see in the eyes of a foreign set of limbs.

You're yearning to wipe the world away,
Just to mask your green footsteps,
And when nobody's looking,
You'll bury all those versions of yourself that you've kept.

Tonight, as I flip through the world in the fog of the sky,
My brother's coughing beside me, rolling onto his right side,
We're pulling the bald landscape over our bodies of dust, 
We won't be dreaming of fairytales, just of a home to trust.

We drank too many tides, the sea is spilling over our bodies,
One day when our hearts explode, our names'll rhyme with casualties,
Along the tribes we race, at a young age hard we learnt,
That the longer we wait, the more of our memories will be burnt.

It's in black and white, the digital world they're fussing about,
We're in one cell of this universe that seeps no sound,
The clatter from the battleground rivals our ringing ears,
My dead mama said, boys were born to laugh at fear.

Through mirrors of smoke, I think I see distant planets shine,
I write to God everyday, can you patch the holes of mine?
At a tie in this war of peace, they bow down to the lion in the cage,
It'll only ever be a means to end, even our corpses will be estranged.

They only ever see eye to eye and claws to fangs,
Under clouds of fire, me and my brother will dance.

They say for a girl, sentiment wins over intelligence,
They say God gave her a heart, that'll be her guidance.

A man with yellow teeth, growling words out of a cigarette,
His lighter burns with each of his stares, he chuckles, "Oh why's the lady upset?"

He shows his son the world where only those devoid of emotion make it home,
His daughters are allergic to sunlight, he's building his son out of stone.

The fight has one face, the companions of the moon scarred by the night,
A man hides his dirt under a black suit but the lady shall wear white.

Because when she'll look in the mirror she'll see her mother,
And her mother will see her grandmother, hands wrinkled from serving her brother.

He said, "As your father I love you, but as a man, I'm meant to push the wheel,
Ask him to patch the holes of his socks, and what he'd like for the next meal."

Because sentiment wins over intelligence, isn't that how it works?
Make an extravaganza about respect, but only her heart it concerns.

And as one last word of wisdom, her mother taught her of vulnerability,
And warned her about how minds work, how they become a liability.

A table with shiny mahogany wood, that's where she sits,
She's having this conversation with time as it passes in seconds and splits.

And her name became an insult, one that dignity frowns upon,
Her future a ghoul, it's mere thought something she's running from.

It was amazing how they decided to diverge races of humanity,
Creatures shall live as predators and preys for eternities.

I am the greatest poet alive.

In my body, I am the greatest poet alive,
In my continent, I am the greatest poet alive-
Yesterday, I was…

Today, I am the worst poet alive,
Because I know that yesterday
I was at the peak of my poetic diffusion,
Inspiration stayed the night,
and greatness happened to have occurred,
So yesterday, I was the greatest poet alive,
in my population-of-one continent.

Today I'm just a jealous bitter soul,
Cause I know I wasn't good enough
for inspiration to stay,
Today I know that inspiration fears commitment,
I resembled everything appalling,
I was desperate and needy,
So inspiration left me for another poet
without a second glance.

Because inspiration doesn't want to be
chained down to the grounds of monotony,
A room with four walls is all I could offer,
And it needs a castle where it can trespass
to the wilderness of the sky any time,
It needs the freedom where it can soar
above and look down
in fascination at the array of poets
that it has touched their minds and hearts,
Because that's when inspiration feels alive,
When it can see the power that it has diffused
into their -now- luminescent hearts,
A picture depicting a sky adorned with stars,
An earth adorned by poets that never sleep.

Today, I'm heartbroken because I know inspiration will never be 'mine'.*

It will continue to break hearts, then come back,
And I know that I will continue to accept its apologizes,
Even if they weren't uttered,
I will make one up inspired on spur of the moment,
Because without it I'm nothing but the worst poet alive,
In my body, in my population-of-one continent.

And when the days click and the words rhyme,
The world isn't always forgiving of the greatest poet alive in my population-of-one continent,
Because my poems are me,
And I know that I'm flawed,
I have bad hair days, my nose isn't pretty,
sometimes there are bags under my eyes, and I'm not always the nicest person,
Sometimes my appearance is disheveled,
Just like my poetry,
Then some days I spend the extra ten minutes in front of the mirror,
I care for the details,
And some days people actually like my words,
those are the good days.

And today, I am the worst poet alive,
Because I don't have hope,
Inspiration didn't leave me a note before it left,
It didn't give call me and said I'll be back in a few days,
So today I'm the worst poet alive in my book.

I've cleaned my mind though,
And threw away all the disposal pins
where I burst the bubbles of words that sound ridiculous,
I also folded away all the negative feedback
that my cerebral cinques have given me,
Hopefully inspiration might want to visit the greatest poet alive … tomorrow?

All of her friends are reflective surfaces,
She is every verb, adjective, and noun,
Complimentary conversations as greetings
The words bitten will come back to hound.

Inspiration is the greenest form of envy,
By means of law, canvases should be handcuffed,
So that her every tide is a tsunami,
And the world shall fill their glasses till they've had enough.

Mountain rocks depicted with precision,
Her neck meets the outer layer of the atmosphere,
Her fork digs into words of appreciation,
A yellow smile beneath every crushed veneer.

In the jungle of artists striving for life,
Her nails are red wax tearing at every masterpiece,
And on every name she climbs ahead,
Till every deer is scared of her remorseless teeth.

Perched between two islands, I stand
Praying the world will trip over my hand

The soot emerging from one side gave a speech,
Earth is towed around the sun with a thin leash,
So we bite at it like aliens trying to preach,
As if we're better off alone, so we'll take a part each.

Ignorance hollered from the other side,
Man can dissect his body and breathe his pride,
New laws of the universe are getting employed,
One more step from cannibalism getting justified.

And we believe the man with the white teeth,
The water is muddied, their minds must have leaked,
They make plans to pull the ocean from beneath me,
So I hold my breath, and pray for one last tree.

But as they run along the map they don't coincide,
Mace and verain, one hand was black, the other was white,
The plans they made to cut in half change to just one bite,
And the loser is the one who uses the letters of Unite.

Now the water is full of dynamite and grenades,
A thought that started with a heart ended with a *****,
Knives hovering above the dying grass in wait,
Only one ***** mouth shall eat the whole cake.

And perched between two islands, I stand,
Watching clawing sharks marring the map.

A filthy legacy passed to the ones yet to come,
Though the sphere they're juggling is long long gone,
With stale rivers, grey skies and bribed suns,
What is it we're fighting for? A world fit for no one.

I'm watching dreams coming true,
Hoping I might get struck by the lightning,
Or make a deal with the perfect timing,
But here I am standing in a downpour,
And my feet are getting muddied to the sidelines,
Walking backward to avoid the spotlights,
A ghosted smile to applaud,
The mugger of my drafted thought,
Making a home out of recycled art,
Afraid of the finish line, afraid of the start,
Watching dreams coming true,
Rockets launching out of the blue,
And all I speak is rewind,
Cassette tapes losing their minds,
Saying oh I could easily be that,
With lazy arms and folded hands,
Oh I'm so sick of sitting back,
Watching dreams coming true,
That every shooting star feels like a back stab,
Lost in the preproduction of a daydream,
This paper is my stage, the spotlight is the moonbeam,
Till one hand slips open the handle,
My door being open to the world is more than I could handle,
Every word is shaky, every feeling more like a scandal,
As if the world is about to end the next day,
I try to grab everything that comes my way,
As if I could balance two minds in one,
Open the next page before the last is done,
Juggling too many identities in one person,
Nothing is enough, haven't yet found the best version,
But they're fagments that don't match,
Maybe I should start from scratch..
I'm watching dreams coming true,
Hoping I might get struck by the lightning,
But it seems like there's no perfect timing.

Gradually I'm losing interest,
Negotiating and bargaining
has ****** the energy out of me,
Every one of my reasons
has been worn out,
And the wind's wrath
has taken everything in its path,
What is left is lost
under masses of dust,
Excuses why the world
is on autopilot,
And we should sit back
And watch it burn,
Because it will burn
Whether we want it to or not,
My mind asks questions,
And what I'm met with
are not answers,
are not reasons,
I'm only met with white noise,
The sound of walking feet,
The sound of closing doors,
The sound of an empty well,
The wheels rolling,
And people sleeping and waking,
As if we're meant to learn
how to walk on this thin rope,
And never do more than breathe,
How am I supposed to sit down,
and persuade myself
that tomorrow I will try again,
I tried yesterday,
And I tried today,
But I'll always be painted
pink
and submission
in their eyes,
And I'll always be painted
"third world"
And "underdeveloped"
To the passerbys,
And sadly every color of those
is permanent.
I may not be the only one
with a breath left,
But the others who gave up
on their lungs years ago,
They're trying to mute
our sound of breathing,
To fill our lungs with soot,
To  mummify our sense of being,
To push us under the wings
of what is morally accepted,
The morals that are trending this year.
And I know it,
That eventually we will recede,
Just like history tells,
And just like I am about to
bow down and look at my feet,
And brush another crude comment
under the carpet.

Why are all the colors becoming one shade,
The lighter and darker tones merging into one,
Same stare worn by different faces,
It's as if they have found yet another sun.

In the heat of the fight, the same thoughts are chanted,
And when they run out of paper the silence is amplified,
The voice of reason becomes a recording,
And the sense of right and wrong has officially died.

And when they turn their heads in that direction,
Why does that make the luster so dull?
Last night on the newsfeed, the minds eager
to grip their north as they scroll and scroll.

So the hearts turn to embellished stones,
A chameleon for when the medium is just right,
At the point of a finger, they turn to mush,
But at the absence of it, the eyes say an ignorant goodnight.

I'm aching to scream it, the human in me is still alive!
But sometimes I see me too, walking backwards down the hill,
Everything has become so tasteless,
The days predicted, the opinions formulated like a pill.

The waves are mad,
They run like phantoms
Throwing the rocks off guard,
While they cling onto the shore.

As if they're avoiding the morning sky,
The sun smoking a burning cigarette,
Still fresh like a poem yet to be
written into the world.

I'm trying to prolong this solitude,
My mind like a used canvas,
Rummaging through the right thoughts,
To cross this stale river,
But they feel like repeated brush strokes.

Never like those birds,
Free with no calling direction,
Every word feels measured;
Not as bold as the ones
the water spoke.

Why does this wet paper
- a landing area for
the stray water drops -
Feel like an open coffin
to every newborn idea.

A sardonic joke played by inspiration,
To lead those unused words
to lay frozen in an infinite winter,
My need to create
an unanswered plea.

Maybe one last look
at the vastness ahead,
That could lead to another story,
Just waiting on the other side..

What would it take
to guide those scattered waves,
and patch this gap in telepathy;
To get this writer's block to resign.*

● ● ●

Eyes like it simple,

shrug

Just when it reaches that imaginary threshold of good,
It's overcooked.

shrug

We don't want interruption to our sleeping thoughts,
We just want a good night.

shrug

Eyes like flaws, eyes are the mothers of our young hearts,
They search for flaws, 
For reasons why they raised their kids better,
So they can smile to their neighbor and say the most superficial compliment.

shrug

So eyes just want to read a few words,
To convince the hearts they're leading that that's just what life offers.

shrug

Because when they train them, that they shouldn't trespass around a wider scale,
They will hate every masterpiece with a passion,
Sidestep it,
And pat mediocrity on the back.

shrug

Eyes like it simple,
... Oh but they don't,
They are the best of liars,
When it comes to shrugging.

Far behind, where the moon turns its back,
We dream till it becomes prohibited,
We set the sails and watch empty bottles
Swim through rivers, only the dead fish inhabited.

We wake with a scream that gets drowned,
In the rattle made by feet willing to just walk,
Engulfed by the depth of this tunnel,
Where voices fade like words written in chalk.

Hungry eyes watching backs laying in the luxury of their chairs,
Black clouds following every peacemaker,
As if we're doomed to breathe different airs,
Just a penalty for the damage we did to nature.

If it's true, every person is a product of his environment,
Then watch us burn with our hopes accelerating the fire,
And with only ruins surrounding everyone of us,
To exist is to be prisoned, so to die is what we shall aspire.