I was clipped at birth,
         never meant to fly..
Only to crawl before I walked.

Shamed to crawl on the filth
        of those below me..
never wording, only splurging nonsense.

But when I learn to crawl,
        I leant morality.
Morality was my chain clinging closely.

And I learnt I fell from nowhere,
             to a point of a momently breath.

Glad that l lived in the now,
                not the extinguished breath
of what had already faded to nothingness.

Every thought is
         my guardian angel,
when I ever think  
of contradictory roads..

I walk upon the ropes of
           life's consciences
learning that every motion
is my eventual life line or fall.

My principles of morality
       will echo on every verse of
my life. Its a yes or no or maybe..

We're only as weak
as the chain
                that holds us together.

For what ever is brittle makes us weaker
                                 and it is better to break,
being  reformed in a more stronger form.

Never let others be your weak link,
                           let them break.
    And you become stronger than you were before.

Make me an enemy
and ill whisper praise
upon your corroding
                           morality.

Even though I smile,
           its an illusion
of my fermenting anger.
    Always boiling beneath a surface.

I know you think your
            the centre of everything,
but your a black hole of everything
                     that swallows you beneath.

I'm memorized by the echo
                         of your passing,
burning so brightly before
            you were extinguished.

We all have a moment to burn,
                      before we extinguish.
But were always brightest before we fade.

Nevertheless we have a singular moment
                        to burn for those
                 that need us before we fade gently.

Were all stars fading,
             but some keep us burning longer
just because of there words.

               Where here because of them,
even though they have faded.
              They still illuminate us brightly.

Tasting his lips,
              distinct like sour milk.
She tasted his undeserved
aroma of ill fated discretion.

Never trust one
who tastes like
              wilted moments,
only those of fresh blossomed intentions.

Imaginings influenced
       by cords of a harmony
we hang our emotions over.

Symbolism of ever melody
           breaths on our reflections
of the days musing