People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some **** thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.

When my heart starts to sound like broken strings and my blood lose its dancing rhythm and my eyes start to look at each other funny

When the sound of your broken  promises coming like a nightmare and when i lost focus and didn't know  which way to go

When your broken strings are discovered, when your I love you starts to sound like I hate you and revealing the fake you

When you abandon your broken guitar strings and try to play a violin and you find that you're not good at it so as your stupid games and lovers  start to reject you and the only thing to blame is your foolish heart full of shame

When my heart start to sound like broken  strings and the only thing to focus on is healing my wounds, when your music is nolonger appreciated

When honesty comes like a whisper and the truth over flood all your lies and you remain tied helplessly, when the only thing you can play is yourself

When true love runs out

I hate love songs because they always remind me all my mistakes and all the guilt I hold inside

I feel like my love for a person ain't enough everytime I press play and they remind me how useless I am

They bring out the weakness in me and turn gold into coal and leave a hole in my heart a thousand feet deep

I hate love songs because they remind me of broken promises that I failed to keep and all the instructions of falling in love I failed to read

I hate the lyrics that always prove me wrong on thinking I'm loving right and to show that there ain't any reason to fight

I hate how love songs are sang because that's how I spend all my sleepless night alone and just holding my pillow tight

I hate love songs because they make me realise thousand things when I'm thinking I got everything under control

I hate love songs

I have been away for too long
In a solitude, burried with remorse
For I've lost a very close loved one
And the situation got worse

I prayed to be taken away
For my life to end
As soon as possible
Coz nothing much was left to mend

Tears rolled down my cheeks
To stop the negative thoughts
Got taken back many times
To untie the invisible knots

Voices got into my ears
That ached to explode my temple
Closing my eyes eveytime
A picture painted, to resemble

It's you, O'mum...that I can't get over with
Life seems, more like a lego
Feelings that can't be put into words
Every bit pierces through the core

Your smile, your beauty, your essence
Has all been captured by this heart
Now, in troubled weak times
Another scene peeps as an art

How will I ever, comfort myself
That now I am all alone
None that are left by my side
All have fallen and gone

May your soul rest in peace
Exactly, a month today
Missing you heaps in this crowded shell
Hope to meet you, someday...


©sim

Love
Is what
A patient
person Portions
throughout
The day

Lust
Is what
A glutton
Ravages
In one
Sitting

My body somehow knows
The grief tomorrow holds.
I ache and throb
But I cannot sob;
The urge to cry
Stings my eyes.
My feet drag heavily
In the depths of this valley.
Every year without fail
I remind myself I am too frail.
"You're strong without the numbers,"
Yet I was too weak to pull you from your slumber.
Each March 22nd
Feels just like the 1st end,
When your heart stopped beating
And mine started bleeding.
I'd skip this whole day
But I'd miss the chance to say:
I miss you, lovely little hurricane.
It's all I can do to keep sane.
The smell of mint
Hurts just a hint.
The skinny jeans and hair bows
I could never disown.
I wear your effect  
On my forearm *****.
The pain of loss is akin
To etching you into my skin.
My hands shake with cold,
Though not as cold as a headstone.
Oh, how my body knows
The grief tomorrow holds.