Some like to daydream through life.

          I like to open my eyes and see
                  the negative & positive.

                          "We learn when we look"

But you keep daydreaming your rose-tinted reality.

Moments
        elongate
to forever,
            without you.

Emotion is
    the fibre
      loves
               weaved within.

We're  not
cleansed until  
               we've been *****.

Our environment
                     writes
our
      words for us.

You thought I was your dog,
bound by a leash, but even
though it was tight, I knew,
that time is an eventual release.

Pulling on me, etching of
fingerprints collect on a throat,
A painting of painful worded hued
like the leash was cutting deeper.

But even though I never bit back,
I was blighting that which kept us close.
Every time you pulled that leash,
always a moment further away released.

Your love wasn't what it pertained to be,
I was leached from our first kiss.
But now I bark louder as our vows are
scratched out as I walk out unleashed.

I wear the scars of your keeping,
but I don't hide them, I wear them
in pride of never been restrained by
another's  need to control my life again

I was richer on the street than
any riche who swung his wrist
like a pendulum swaying like
others owed them respect.

Throwing leaves of wealth at
us thinking we were migrant
gardeners picking, cleaning up
there garden of smirking pity.

But while they slumber in sheets
of old slave mills. I have gratitude
that my sheets are full of my pain.
Full of tears, on cold woeful nights.

I collect myself in dignity of living
below others feet, but my riches are
what I've learnt, that put me higher
than any would be kings or thieves.

Words are that which  empower me
as I slumber on clean sheets of syllables,
weaving into my dreams. Then woken
by a librarian letting me humble my mind.

This place is my castle that never falls,
where I have risen higher than there feet.
But still I gaze from below, as I do not need
a castle, the streets are my pages this I speak.

All that oppose your thoughts
      are not always the enemy.
      But rather a point of learning
      that can open pages of
                                     deliberation.

For if we do not attain every corner,
       and only look within one
       then we will never grow.
       but always be truthful to your own  
                                                subjectivity.

I am a handful of sorrow,
            & a tear full of joy.

I am a heartbeat of anguish,
       & a singular beat of happiness.

We are all a reflections of opposites,
        & yet a representation of neither.

Opinions are like the wind
               Always changing direction.
              
Subjective on different breathes.
         Everyone slightly
                    different with each breeze.

For there is no free will,
         if god knows all,
             if god sees all,
for if he knows all
                     before birth
                         and after death.

Then it is he who led your path,
and your sin is of his making.
                  So he who stands high
                  is lower than thee
for has sinned against his very creation.

Every step is the canvas beneath our feet,
                                            when we pause,
                               we look back.
Seeing the picture
that hasn't fully been concluded.

And again we brush our feet on the earth,
                             hoping to finish that day
with either an enjoyable colour of our motions
                             or a master piece of remembering,
that will hang in our minds for a lifetime.

To honour
           ourselves
      we must exist.

For without
             purpose
       of being we are empty.

But life is the
                aspiration,
       for we only endure one.

Live it without
               the shackles
        of others, we alone are free.

Empty vessels
            sailing in the deep,
    there is no light

Only a barge of nothingness
         rivers of tears,
sinking it beneath the earth.

I think sometimes my thoughts
are hijacked by a ventriloquist
hiding within me.
as words that were only syllables
                      speak out of context
yet I know I didn't wish to say
it like that or did I really?

I'm misinterpreted because I say
it as it is, I blame it on the
       ventriloquist sulking within.
Freeing words expelled over distance.
My mouth closed but words heard escaping out.

Then I speak,  
               I don't really care,
               I say it as it is...

I wonder to the bar and see lipstick
tags holding on to lonely sticks.
A stirring of moments, melting pots of
relaxing reflection they called it dove.
As your worries fly away with everyone
you have, and then I'm served and done.

Collecting my shuffling skills to weave
the ocean of others, our drinks we've
been able to keep from sinking on others.
Thirsty friends awaiting our return, like
maidens on the shore, smiling a dislike
for a wrong drink brought. acting childlike.

But he holds no argument as butts lay
static. We were the sailors escaping the spray.
Telling them of our journeys and sights seen,
mouths a gasp at observing a beautiful scene.
A number taken with but a glance of smiling
eyes and with a drink brought clearly willing.

He knows that is for another time, as the street  
we surrender to. As hunger outweighs sweet
perfumes enticing friends to anchor away from
needing mates. Aromas perforate a needed outcome,
handing over spare change to fulfil a nights hunger.
Laughing as were old, never wishing we were younger.

As wisdom teaches that a fish may swim,
but to much of a good thing can end in a whim.
So one must always leave a little in a glass,
for we need not want our slumber to be on grass.
Awoken in our beds slighty misty eyed but
a nice number in the phone and in my pocket a peanut?

A bag of melancholy emotions collect
within empty features, secluded & vacant.
No tears ever weaken this collection
                            of barren reflections.
Only whispers escape, soundless gestures.


It collects from distressed abrasions,
                 to smear upon its outer visage.
Always motionless it wonders the
surroundings to celebrate the humour
                     of its desolate existence.

A child wonders closely, asking if
    this creation of lost collections is in
need of chloroform smiles.
                 it looks and hands a rose,
its leafs embers of its mourning.

Smiling, this miniature silhouette,
slashes out at the one who parented it.
              Cleaving what was smiles,
now carved features smear a face of
sullen smiles, as like the petals falling lifeless.

Tears flow like rivers, the contortion of
happiness fades when the last petal erodes
       a motion under hidden gestures facilitate  
this happiness to see such butchery of innocence.
But it is short lived like always, paper frowns collect.

The reminders we set on life calendar,
        to show why we live for this moment.
As if we were unaware.We may forget
                       this is the moment to live,
      not the forget me not's.
        That a lights gone out,
being our own,
          and the days we counted on are bare.

We set reminders to ourselves to make sure
                               that everyday is precious.
That we awaken day-today knowing its a page
that turns on the calendar of our existence.

"Remember we are only pages,
                      and everyday they turn or were empty,

I always wear black
  when I walk around,
           wanting to be ready?

For death when it slyly
    collects me footsteps,
          taking my last horizontally.

Needing to be prepared for that
         moment, when I fall,
I want to look good on my deathbed.

If death wants me to pass,
        it'll be dressed in what I'm
             slumbering beneath the dirt in.

Never kneel before another,
           always rise like the sunrise,
to bow to the sunset
                   only shows that's you
set to others whims..

Always rise,
              for we are brightest
                           at the dawn.

The photo on my dressing table
       will never hold the weight of
                                          my heart.

Only your voice lightens the moods
          of loneliness, even though
your here I need you closer than afar.

There are pieces of me that aren't
           complete, I cling to your pillow
wishing your head settled upon it.

"I miss you,

But you never answer back,
        I await your shadow to cling
to the doorstep and lighten my worries.


That moment ill cling to, never wishing
       to let you leave again, till the next time
you are called away   "I will always love you,

You raised me to rise above the
         shallow pills that are sometimes
caught in the throat of life's dry moments.

But when we swallow to many placebos,
       longevity is staled by us collecting
false remedies to  our problems.

I'll never do as my friends did and choke
on every struggle, clearing my throat I never
took anything I just rose above life's problems

A lonely maggot weaves within a skin
of plush thought. On the outside not
a blemish of appearances. But beneath
this maggot becomes a fly buzzing within
                                       confused messages.

Where one laid the eggs of woeful sorrow,
but the fruit still looks fresh, never showing
what collects below. Eating away at the
reflection that were pure, now swollen  with
                   discontent of noises feeding beneath.

"Seeing only the surface
                  never shows the secluded
           emotions rotting within a chamber of sorrows"

We are all zombies
          of the institution,
when will stop following
the others that walk through
life feeding of others misfortune..

Break the shackles of life,
               don't walk, run free.
Be yourself not a clone stumbling
on roads to no where..
      Walk paths that others fear to tread.

I'll never be solid with the fluidic
relationship of our evaporation.

I lapse towards you never wanting
to be without a touch, but I fall.

Why cant a embrace you without letting
you go, before we graze momentarily.

But in our sorrow a gleam of light shimmers,
and I linger between fluidic and rainbows.

I just want to fall towards you, but this is
a silent gaze never reaching you whole

I found chalk on the holding
of sky shimmers, then I composed  
on the blank spaces that where
echoes of what was drawn in
memories of yesterdays dreams.

Barren slate needed the imagination,
woven between fingers streaming
across an arborealis of creativity.
I am the drawer of dreams that
were colourless and now fill a void.

I outlined the slumbering's  of what were
just blank smudges. Now revitalized,
I'm within this moment, a collage of
colourful wishes that I created before I
look smiling, tomorrows imaginings drawn again.

She changed me like
        a used bulb..
But I hadn't gone out.

Never thinking I was useful,
                amendment of dulled glow.
I was useless to her needing.

Finding something brighter
              than something that
     had shined upon her from the start

Sadness cleaves
to malicious
              intentions.
Clotted grins seep,
          fuchsia petals
descending from smiling grins.

No ones gets the humour,
           as balloon machetes
cleave sorrows from faces.
    His smile drips from
           a joke not gotten
                      a jester of death smiles.

Buried before our birth,
             we're  grains collecting
beneath every breath.
             As we gasp within.
Am I worthy of every fragment
           collecting within a silhouette
of times shallow grave, I'm obscured.

Ashes of life permeate
       through shallow tides,
weakening as shores of
                   white undercurrents
collect stagnantly on white shingles.

Corroded within each grain
          that swallows all hope of
                                          elongation.
Life is a moment crumbling to an
inevitable ending, buried beneath times silt.

Woven smiles collect
              euthanasia on the ones
who cant voice through
                           desperation.

She collects the ones death,
                     tears upon.
For he pauses where
she shows empathy upon silence.

We all have a
             shadow
that never fades.

No matter the
                     light
we pour on it..

I'm just a man
               with a pencil
sharpening it.
For blunt words
        never mean much,
but sharpened words
          are smooth
on there understanding .

Life is always calling me,
      but I just put  it on answerphone..

"This is my message,
        
"We are shooting stars,
                          always falling,
"But I know she will capture me,
         before my ashes dim,

I will never answer life's calling,
             as I have found
it falling into her.

Scars are our tools
           to remember lessons.
Never let a cut repeat
           as it'll only cut deeper.

I tippexed over your memory,
hoping to cover
                     our good moments,
as well white washing the bad.
            Waiting for it patiently to dry.

But everything created
          leaves a shadow,
and i can oh so slightly
        still see you in my mind  
                                  and i cry.

I collected raindrops
                              as a substitute,
so that you never needed to cry.

I saved them in a jar,
to remind you that ill always
         collect you from sorrow.

And pour these raindrops out
so you'll never have
                 to see yourself tearful again.

Eyes that are open but collect no vison,
                     seeing only a narrow view.
With ears that hear all,
           but only listen to false verses,
that whisper nothing but whispers.
We all walk paths,
                     but some are but the same.
A repetition of where we walked before
                       as we follow ignorant steps.
A mind is free when not tethered by the
insecurities of others neglect to walk another path..

Limp effigies of childhood memories,
             still holding so many secrets.
   Woven within tattered tears,
                        now long since evaporated.


Now vacant, an amnesia of fallen promises
           that are retained.
                     But uninhabited threads,
          decompose beneath every dewdrop.
becoming  undone.

Abstraction of every glimpse,
                     woven within closed views.
But still they gaze on the entombed caskets,
       that have never been looked upon.

And within there is only broken reflections,
          that collect mute on the screams
of reverberated white room.
                            Where every thing is silence.

Within the silence of violence
            we are collecting our words,
that fall like tears that never reach  
         a point where there meant
                                            to mean something.


But with every emotion that collects
             only every silent voice.
   They scream within the void of nothingness,
as no one listens to the bombs caressing upon us.

Within every collection that falls on every
                            restrained voice that is void less.
          Beneath the rubble, of those who's blind anger
falters against those they have never vocalized words.

"But still tears of pain cry downwards.
             "silencing all with there silent voice of discontent.

Words are echoing through
the sins of a heart,
            but some are worth the guilt
of what may wash away on our reflections.

But with every fool there is a knight
       that has fallen for the moment of love
that shines his armour brightly.
Somethings were meant to glisten on a heart.

Occasionally a heart cant but listen to the
             hymens of what reverberates within
                   the echoes of every breath of love.
Sometimes emotions are a lifetime in a singular beat.

A million snowflakes submerge,
                             a blanket of life.
Now static,
      a grave of white
     hides its crime.
Until the forgotten are found, buried once again
in unmarked tombs of silence.
          Once again forgotten in a blanket of earth.

I am a butterfly of plucked wings,
          colourful hues ground up.
  Now I'm but a past life crawling
beneath where my beauty spanned
               the unending motions of life.

Now I see myself as less than before,
                               a scar of my reality,
I have pain of gracing my wings
in an existence that is past tense.
                     Yet I feel the anguish of every flutter.

I crawl, begging for this abomination
            of fates greed to just let me bury every
thought beneath a stillness of empty thoughts.
               Yet I gaze up seeing the whispers of
every motion beat down upon me.

Hearts are a metal detector to
the buried meaning of what
                      hasn't been found.
But what is needed in another's life.

Shards of loneliness embedded
            with gems of emotions.
Not precious to most but to one,
        searching a lifetime in barren hearts.

It may take a life time of searching,
           but when that motion is detected
no matter who it is, they are the treasure
            buried beneath that will find love.

Elapsing into cognitive repercussions,
               a thought never one to fade.

Always an afterimage
  burnt on to the psyche
           of delicate dewdrops clinging.

Within a consciousness
              that never  evaporates
just lingers in a reflection of it hanging

Like its waiting to suffocate
           but the breath of reality
                              gives it respite.

Even though we start anew
           to relinquish what made us more,
will leave us less..

To abandon one part of us
     removing  that which for awhile
                                made us stronger.

Will only leave us empty further on.
                Our strength is only made a shadow
by what shined a light on the parts that held us up.

Contemplating the visuals that attain
my perception I see
                           harmonious interludes
caressing the weaving of the dormancy
                          of my ever static motion.

My breath like a summer breeze,
smoothly expelled
                                upon silent avenues.
Never hearing  my whispers collected
within my twinges of slumbering grace.

Wilfully I  collect on deaths doorstep,
               verses of silence entomb me.
Every night I talk to the fading stars of life,
but I eventually awaken in mornings breath.