Our memories are woven
         in those closest.

And the stitches only become
                        faded over time.

But even though never forgotten,
       we see there pictures.


And know that we were proud
          that they were sewn into
the memory of all that we remember
       That there memory is worn well.

If I were just one word,

               I'd be simply  

                             "me,

I may have tripped
            over my own feet.

But at least when I stumble.

I know its my own steps that
                      got me here.

Laughing that the shoelaces of life,
               made me dust off..


And not watching  my step,
           but make sure if I do

trip again

its my own fault.

          And not someone else,

getting in the way of my walk.

Even though the candle  

                 Burns brightly.

There was no warmth.


This wick has been cold
                       For more time,

           Than others know.

My wick burns negative,
        My light is cold against

The realities of life's burning
                    Ambition.


I want to be warm,
      But even though I'm bright.


My flame holds no furnace.

           Just embers that are cold

I will rest when death
kisses
        My soul.


And my windows,
    Cease to look

up a view.


All will be quite within,
          As I am gone,


and my shell no longer fruitful,
               Spoils


over time.

Words are a sail,
   
 that is either
     Greeted at the port of others.

Or shipwrecked on the rocks  
of
    ignorance...

Hope is a candle in
        A
hurricane of darkness,

But against the storm,
                A
             light ignites brightly.

Hope maybe small,
      but it will always burn


brightest when we think
                     it is gone.

I could never swing from a 0..

   cos I'm always plus one,,

I'm never alone, the weight to much to carry
to an early grave,  

                    if I ever thought of that moment,
   they'd be my wings giving me flight.

I'd hang on for the breath on sunrise knowing
             that there is a new beam of balance.

That id not be dust,but I'd be a fresh breath
                        on the new day.


I'll neve be a zero hanging limp,
            as im always plus one.

Which the all of you breathing me through
              each daw, knowing there is more

to keep me going, even though I'm low you keep
                   me flying high enough to float


and not fall where a hang alone, silent...
    

   Know I breath each dawn and I'm never alone.

We are beggars asking for scraps,
                  but our words are unheard because we don't
                   collect forged notes that never mean much

But hollow forgery's.


I will only give those worth the reading my cents
                                                                ­           of truth.


Never false notes that seem worth on the outside.
                          But then you truly try to spend ,
knowing there merely worth less than the paper
                                                                ­        there wrote upon


Cant we read a wet piece of in for its worth.

                                          not for the forgery that

collects on the venom of who liked it before because they
                                       viewed you without even a constructive


comment...

                    What I misspelled that, hats off thanks for the

constructive comment, not the book of consequences,
                that flowed from a there, to a their?
                         yes my English is my first language,


but what I made a mistake but you want to witch hunt
                    my ****, burn me on the mistake of grammar.

what I misspelled that, ooow,
            I had a few beers but my muse kicked off,


and this is what I wrote, chill we ink. W elove what
          we do, a release, a channel of anger.

           For me its just my hobby, I like to ink what ever

falls from my finger sometimes I'm like  of the limit,

    but I still drive my words, even thought some swerve,



you understand where I'm coming from.

I saw the sunrise through a keyhole,
      opening every possibility to

a new day.


Unlocking the potential
                                           of what opened
                                                   before me.


Remember its to the door that yearns forward,

                            but the keyhole.


Opening new possibilities that were once locked,
                                                         ­               before you.


Always look though keyholes at sunrise,
                        for they show you the possibility of





                                     what can be unlocked.

You were my crypt kepper,
      Always standing over
                  My lonely heart.


I passed, but you were the one.



            The only chime in the bell,



That beat every time you were near.


     But I was always a murmer,
That you could hear.

            And even though I was


Lost too early.

   You were travelling my path,
           an echo to what I was following


                   Which was you.

Life is a suicide
                    Note.


For when you die,


                Everyone reads

your last words..


My last vocals read by anothet would
            invite

       All those I hate.
Just to tell those greedy **** losers



          "*******, your broke,

#money grabbing mother *******...

Then those I love those I respect would be watching it live,
       Giggling thinking dark sense of
                        Humoured ******....

I love you all, but those hyena *******

      Can choke on my ashes...

You were

the one
              wish


    I wish I hadn't wasted.

As some dreams turn
           in to nightmares.

nac ouy taht sdrow eht eraweb

read, for what is the world if not confusion.

dnA you t'ond want ot get eht wrong egassem
      
                           to what your reading!!

Pillow fight moments,
          as a snow storm

of feathers

                       coat the room in a allure.

                     Weightless
snow ball fights ensue,

                tickling those they gently grace.

                         Parents walk in,  
stillness as the last feather descends.

Then laughter,
                as mum & dad do pillow

                 snow angels on the floor.

Tie me up with lies,
        gag me with half trues..

Handcuff me to your heart,
                      swallowing the key..

But no I can escape you


                                   at any time.



But I like to see you struggle, to keep
                                    me under check.

Who is the prisoner,


                                               "I know its not me,

Our thoughts are mist
     that in time will clear.

You just need to let the sunrise
      and evaporate the doubt  


that hangs low.

For dewdrops will cling
      on the beauty of positivity,

and life cherished,


knowing there is a new day to live.

In a world of

     Perpetual turbulence.

You were my
       tranquillity.

Talc snowstorms,
      Footprints show there voyage.

        Artistic canvas of scribbles,  

On my newly painted wall.


Children the adventure  
                of imagination.

Lovingly exhausted parents..

Your eyes


      We're the pools


     I swam in
every morning.

Between the


                          "I love you,s,

       Is your smile...

Silene was your betrayal,


      And every tear screamed


                                      At you.

I didn't know you anymore.

After I ate,

You...

     I asked for a napkin...


You slapped me!!


      At least I finished my meal.

In a room full of I's


        There was only one you.

For what was before  is a question unknown,
        but we shall not bow to fear
        and the misguided reverance of


                                uneducated gods.

             For the universe existed before them and so did man.

One day we may find answers,
         but not within false wanting.
     We must reach for the stars
and search ourselves.

Not to cower in lack of knowledge
                       which we do not have yet.

We were never meant to be
                  kings..

But pauper's begging for scraps
                off mother natures plate.

Remember she is the one who feeds us...

                            Poison her,

and we feed our demise..

Perfection is an illusion,

           imperfection

    
is
   the best way to be.

As who wants to be breakable.

If we always look back at our mistakes,

  were never looking forward.


           And realising that
                    to learn,
we must always  strive to walk onwards
                                   and leave our


mistakes in the past.

Death always wins,
                be it a subtle kiss
                        in to oblivion.


Or a slow caress into an inevitable
                                conclusion of demise.

But all will lay silently,
             we will breathe a last breath

upon the road of solitude as all
                     walk alone into deaths exhalation.

Then there is stillness and a static
                                           nothingness suffocating
  

us in to an unfamiliar future of breathless anxiety.

Each word is a sandpaper syllable,
    And ever breath Is a knife sharpened.



                     Between both all are cleaved,
                                and each part is divided



and consumed when spoken.


                      we will never heal when both
                    


  are motioned upon us at once.


                                       We are cut

endlessly between ourselves and
                           only time can heal us.

I was swollen in
  the whirlpool of coffee
            
                           hangovers.

Tsunamis of headache
                                  neglects.

But when the waves of coffee beans
               collected on my shores



I trod upon them, crushed and slowly
                               roasted under repeated waves.

And then they washed over me,
                            caffeine drops falling
               like rain on my senses.

When I was drenched,
                      calmness fell upon my mind,
                     And I was myself once again.

Yesterday is either a
                          regret.

Or a moment that
                      fills us with

contemplation that we

                 did something right.

But if a regret,
         we look into the
                  past.

So not to repeat the errors
that befell us,
       and brought us to the cliff

of which we jumped from.

Landing anew to the realisation,
   that we may jump.

But we will
          always land at a new point
                        of learning.

Ones worth is not the coin,
            

                              but the actions


that lead us to a better understanding
                                   of what it means to be human.

Morality is the birth of togetherness,
                      we are one but separately unique.

When chasing a dream never
                 run up the steps.

We should always tread
                                       carefully.

As dreams are only worth
                                chasing


if we take our time.

As nothing ever comes fast,
we may misstep
                            and miss the mark
             we wanted to land upon.

You were the flower and I the petals,
  but over time we dulled and the taste
                              was nothing like before..

           I lost each petal of affection for you,

till all that was left was a stem,
                void of what had flourished.

the stem a tombstone of consequences,
       a monument that not everything that
                          blossom was meant to last.

I drifted into tomorrows and you found
                         that you could grow again,


somewhere new without me.

You were my orbit,
         but decaying in altitude.

Burning up in my heart,
   I thought you were a falling star.

But you were just a flicker in the
                    night sky of my life.

On the shoreline
           I throw pebbles,

skimming them on
                years this love will last.


The one for you didn't even

           make it to one.


Sinking beneath a falling wave.


I walked atop the cliff top,
       you smiled and asked...


"Did I sink or swim,

I replied, "can a bird fly without feathers?

                          

                      It seemed like an eternity you flew,
but you had no feathers.

                I cried, as I put the note on the
                                          barbed wire fence...


She never knew how much I loved her,
but devotion is a fleeting moment..
         And she sank faster than any  rock

falling in the ocean.

And believe me I'd thrown a fair share of pebbles.

You still hold my heart
              around your neck.
Chained like you own it.

I,m empty without it,
          I never wanted you to go.
its like if you didn't


                                       want me.

But though I want to love again.

          I feel nothing, because you still
have my heart noosed around your neck.

Beating close to you, but you just squeeze it.
             And I feel pain where there is nothing
                                                                ­     to feel.

I'm a vow of silence,

                               that sings within.

Void less consciousness,

                 that grows between

the cracks.



Woven in bloodied tears,

              yet my features are
  parched like a desert wind.



I'm an illusion of self,
             cradled in the arms


of my own self doubt.

I'm lead lined
        but you always


see through me.


My secrets concealed
                beneath me.


But you will always
                   see within me.


I never want to hide anything
       from you, I'm lead lined.



But you always see what others cant.

Collapsing emotions
            corrode on my
          ****** perfection.

What was diminishing,
   now collecting in a cup
            of palmed hands collected.


I wanted to no that of your
               miracles,
                            that even
though tears fell,
you never turned

            those now memory to a wine
                         of hope...

Auschwitz was a million
                  tears choked,
but you never turned
a single tear
               to a vintage of peace.


We just choked on the tears,
     and we were a vineyard
                         of silence.


Each a grape that never reached
               maturity.

Instead we fell before we could become
              more that we were.
These tears are sour,
and the taste
                erodes every fallen tears morality.

I stood at the zebra crossing,

              looking both ways,
nothing not a whisper of noise.

As I took those steps like the
            beetles crossing it a million
times on album covers... silence...


No music, just blood red visuals,
  a kaleidoscope of regrets.

Then I awoke, daydreaming
towards the zebra of negative
                      and plus footsteps.

This time, times? I stepped side ways.
         but I got hit by a I think a bicycle.
I flew over me like a eagle, wings aloft.

Then crumpled on the other side of the road,
             alive but like a wounded animal..
crying in pain.

But me I was a void less crease of red smudges,
    painting the road a ***** crimson.
The white now pink with regrets.
           Like a paint brush thrashed everywhere
everyone was touched by my suffering.

But never the less, I once again walked
    towards my fate, not realising,
                        actions versus  consequences


add up.

But when I walked this well trodden path,
     I always looked left, right, even up...

Never down though. My shoe laces were untied!!

           This couldn't be my achilleas heal,
the focal point of my despair.
I counted the string knots, each unbreakable to this point.

looking down, I tied my lace.
                        awaiting this knot to fulfil
                                                    it purpose.
but instead someone tripped over me,

crashing to the ground, a heap of humility.

But then the truth engaged on me,
                       they were behind me!
I only slightly remembered a nudge,
but I thought that was the impact.
                Lost in the trauma of every parting.

It was them every time, I suffered because
of them. Who are you? why would you do that!
They just looked at me and said, because I can.
Getting up they ran, but fate knew this path well.

Someone had to take a fall, and so as he lay there,
          A heap of regrets. bloodied and smiling.

He said, I needed to change my fate,
                      but you tied the last knot,
                                   and broke the loop.

I just wanted to live, you were no one.

Then I looked at him, I am someone,
    I'm the one who watches you die.

Were one race the human race.

We all have a different sunrise
       and we all set differently.

Who decides how we awaken
and how we slumber.

Us,  
       its our life,
we choose what we open our eyes to.

And we slumber on the thoughts

                       of everyday passing.

A thousand strands of
       beautiful woven death.

Though they hang like
           silk nets holding


the suffocating twine of eternity.


Each one is eventually severed,
       and bleached filaments

gather below, static and devoid
                            of deaths adulation.

What was well kept,  is now
            discontinued echoes.


No longer the adulation of
           obliteration,

      just void less inconsequence.

A footstep can
     Change a
            direction.

A thought can
     Change a  
                mind.

An idea can
   change the  
             world forever.

I regret the singular second
        before this infinite gap

of beneficial significance.

But once it wonders past me,

   tragedy befell the passing as
          it died to its decay.
never being used to potential.

So solitary in relevance.

But everything withers,
                                some remembered
in passing, but most forgotten
within the seconds that have faded
                         so many times before.

A cradle of civilization
          where we walked proudly.

Now a tarnished echo,
         of what we stood


                                  tall from.


A light house of our birth,
                      which showed us

that no matter the distance,

the light always illuminated.
           Dimmed, but we know
            where we came from.


Let the lighthouse shine radiant.
showing  us that this cradle isn't
                                                         broken.

Let it shine brightly and show that Africa
is a lighthouse, a birthplace of humanity
         and let it once again cradle us.

For we were all guided from here.
          This is everyone's birth place.

Every tear I shall collect,
     But not one shall taint
                    The earth.

For I will mould every shard
         In vengeance

of emotion.

And when enough pain
           is forged cold.


The blade frozen in segments
            Of woeful  agony,

Then I shall pearce you deeply,
     So you feel the coldness

Of every tear descending down
      Tarnished cheeks.

   And know that pain saved,



Has a price worse that what
              Was dealt before.

Because tears have a price,
       Are you doing to pay...

Gather my
     Wasted moments
And bleach them.

So I can rewrite
    Upon them.


As time is a valuable
            Peice of memory.

And I want every
    Thought to mean
               Something.

Lights may dim,
     And the gaze may
                 Diminish.


But know
      that what ever
        Darkness  may


Cloud or vision.


That we will always see
    Brightest in the
        Dullest fraction


Of our life.
    And even though


We can't see the path,
   One will always be brightest

In our least aluminated moment.