These feelings I'm feeling, they're slowly building.
No matter how much I keep trying, It's still quite revealing.
There's something missing, I've tried looking.
I'm still wondering and thinking, what's the meaning.
Every time it's morning, I'm falling,
But I start questioning, Am I truly willing?
My thoughts starts speaking, I'm carefully listening.
Then again where I'm going, would I be leaving?
Or would I be staying, But where would this be leading?
I've tried believing, I've got nothing;
Something that I'm doing, Is it worth living?
Am I resisting, Should I be fleeing
What am I doing? , voices starts exploding.
Why am I still running, I'm not the one leading.
I'm just only hoping, it would start healing.
I'm still bleeding.
I'm dying.
I'm a human being.
So am I dreaming?
'Cause I'm still breathing.
Resistance is futile when I'm losing.
The truth is killing
Because no way I would be winning.

.
*your words formed in heaven
and then to leave
pained in hell
then to resist

on going, the way turned to bend
in the end, the end couldn't be seen
then continued to move,
that is to say celestial

words within too many words, make a wreath of the words,
maybe tell a fairytale,
simple words have lost in melody, tune
steadfast sight of the beautiful seen, mystic in the midst of the road

alone, then after alone, painted the portrait of thy
joy of life music,
weaving the words, craving a poetry
comes at a time, loss at untimely

maybe born in dreams
within too many words, a few perches into soul
to create forms, what an amazing ties!
ah, this poetry book has lost in poetry!
..
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Cyclonic is your kind of adjective;
I suppose I was born to love storms
like you.

I could never really keep my hands to
myself. Nor my mouth. Or my words.

I love you like hurricanes love destruction
and mornings love reckoning.