Underneath the floorboards, right around the corner

There's a devil in my house, he revels in disorder

A sordid merchant peddling portents as false as they're spun

Muttering curses, convinced I am worthless by his serpent tongue

Wicked words flickering like lantern light, my eyes and ears deceived

There's a devil in my house and he will not let me leave

Windows boarded up by memories, what sights I see bring little piece

A leather noose, an iron roulette; I'm tortured by tools of forfeit

There's a devil in my house and he'd sooner **** me than let me forget

There's a devil in my house with nothing more of me left

Unfortunately, the rain will continue
on for the next week or so.
Intermittent thunderstorms
all over the place.
Your dress drying at the foot of the bed,
your skin softer than the rain outside
next to me.

Lin-Manuel Miranda got up
on the stage and said
love is love is love is love is love is love.

and I kept my hand on my chest
and told you that I loved you
more than the sea loves the shore.

I will become a moon
in the hands of all this desire;
and you keep trying

to be the sun.

Light hearted when I am with him
Devastated when we are apart,
I am a dreamer; he is a lay backer,
Without a genuine heart, our love is
like a unnatural clip from noughts&crosses
hate destroy lives, love can bring it back together
However, what is left of my Love for him dies each day:

We are apart, because it is impossible to settle this kind of love
We never dance; we never kiss on the dance floor
Our rhythm never entwined, he had no rhythm,
So I never experience a kiss on the dance floor,

Feelings alters when replace by loneliness
Love bails,
when a marriage fails,
wishing and hoping that our love would
be enough to hold them
Unlike a poor man's flowers picked fresh from the fields..
Without adversity
Free for plucking, never got a chance to blossoms
my love for him was marginal:
However, nothing but  deep respect for him
a part of me will always have to choose,
so, I choose to be happy , I choose loneliness
before, confusing pity for love..

Your skin is a pastel melody,
Though you enrich my days
With a rhythm that is
Anything but monochromatic,

Your eyes a steadfast housing
For waves of gray-blue, green speckled swirls akin
To a summer storm just before dusk,
Thunderous like your will,
Raining refreshment like your essence,

Your curved pose carved in
In loops of my mind
You're always seemingly tangled in,
About where we will go to eat
This weekend, and
How many hours we will lay
Huddled up like hibernating cubs
In a nest we've built from blankets,

Winters no longer soaked with solace,
But now with the eager chance
To shut ourselves in,
If not only to enjoy the eternal company
Of two beings who love being with each other.

Now forever doesn't seem so nearly long
When I'm tripping over days
And sliding through the weeks
With you,

You make the cold days seem
Too brief in their presence,
And every day a little bit warmer
Than the last.

If my flesh could sing,
It'd bellow, it yearn in endless echo
For the familiar comfort
Of your fingers gracing over me
On a lazy Sunday morning
With nothing better to do
But enjoy one another,

For no longer am I
A man standing lonesome against the
Stiff gust of the present moment,
But a being who is only a
Malformed morph of skin and bones
Without the extension of myself,
The inner of my core,
The hue of all my colors,

The movement behind my dancing,
The alleviation to all my sorrows,
You,
For now, and for as long as I am me,
You,
For tomorrow, from yesterday, and all the years we dream,
You,
For as long as time tells and suns set,
You.

My *** drive would cause earthquakes,
but I can never find the time
to leave this place,
this bed-side lamp,
and away from poor attempts at rhyme.

Depression is a tired old topic.
But *** is forever at hand
to pin you down,
to win you round,
slinking off to the toilet in my dressing gown.

I know you feel a belonging
to the archives of music,
you drink in bed,
and sink on in,
to the restless call of another troubled head.

I will find restoration
held between your slender legs.
It is all we've got,
in this paradise lost,
in this sweaty reclaim,
to a feeling we'd forgot.

Going down is not an art,
but a way of keeping young.
How can you claim to love
what you won't dare to kiss?
How will you ever hear her siren song?

The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.

Hand-painted ceramic turtles
camouflage in flower beds.
I discern their faces
at a distance.

Blind-sided kaleidoscope-
work fatigue
versus
the first breath of morning
in the heart of April.
I am awake,
half-alert,
inertia bleating in my bones
where is the steady drum of mercy
where is the heart inside my home?

White blossoms fall
like Disney snow
cans of Stella at my feet.
Cardboard boxes  
damp and listless blow
across the lawn
and the silent street.

Amitriptyline
softens the edges.
A chemical reaction
that can never be
the Solution.

Spring is bleeding into colour
before my eyes.
I want to break the skin,
taste something sweet-

too scared that my timing
is not right.