My dear, this is my admission of guilt, I never meant to break your clock hand, despite time being our best friend, that match stick we lit, trying to reinvent a bonfire, for the hell that only harmonize with us, I whispered bible verses to you, a hint that maybe you'll see the faith under my rib cage, but you thought I was sterilizing your ego, I've always let the tap in the sink run, believing the fish bones will swim, and we'll never have to go fishing, I'm sorry for depriving you the freedom of learning, I know we used to let open all books in the library, and let them stare us making love on the floor, hoping every moment was documented, I'm sorry for smoking at your dad's funeral, I know cigarettes caused him cancer, and your sisters adored my lunacy, oh poor girl! I'm really sorry, please come back home at 2am, I have fixed the clock.

I woke up this morning, and I thought I was in Bethlehem, last night I had a binge in Beijing, I remember breaking my side-mirror, in what seemed to be a steeple-chase, on the derelict boulevards of France, the finish line in Vatican, then made a toast with the dead popes, as the holy grail circulated, we sipped the blood of Jesus, in the process of my anointing, to be the Messiah of Poetry, and give sermons in Shakespearean sonnet, establish ministries, and surpass prevalent religions, till my ordeal they shall crucify me, on a fiery cross.

This is a poem of a brokenhearted girl, the girl who hunted butterflies, with her boyfriend tattooed on her left breast, holding a japanese quiver, every launch of an arrow was a beautiful shot, She had fallen in love with butterflies with broken wings, She had been striving to be the only colored fly, her boyfriend,
the only man who was sitting in judgement, was in conflict with the racing chariots, that rehearsed across his door every 4pm, every move of his was diabolical, then he thought....he thought about the envelopes that came with stamps, stamps that glowed at night and transformed to wingless butterflies, he had now become so suspicious, like the caricature of a man with gout, ****** would work,
this was the jealousy of a stupid boy, who never knew about the tender acts, the acts of shooting butterflies, the beautiful girl had been plucking the small wings, of the shot butterflies, and had planted them under their bed, and now she had grown two beautiful wings, her only dream was to fly away with her boyfriend, she looked herself in the mirror,
the moment of trying the new outfit, she looked like a giant butterfly, our poor boy, the child struck with anger, waved a dagger,
like a bird she chirped and flew away, through the window she was gone.

I am the son,
The son of a beautiful woman,
Who has endeavored to obey the law, the law of laying hold of her offspring, in the midst of high-pitched cries in baby towels, and sometimes the foolish laughters, as she washed me with baby shampoo in the warm waters, playful like a tamed cub, and yelling 'tha tha tha' like I never was to say 'mommy' one day, or like I was never to accuse 'daddy' for not bringing more toys, but crying myself to sleep became a mandatory option, demand for breast-feeding, demand for balance coins later, then she said I was to learn how to earn my own, I was made to believe going to school will make me own real cars, she said I was never to lay in baby baskets anymore, so she opened the door, then "Go my Son, be a Man"

I have always trusted you despite the burnt flowers that I saw. We've eaten together in lonely parks with broken spoons and we've walked on the same path that had no excuse but to let us make a move. The hurricane of troubles and tsunami of dissatisfaction that tend to sweep away our allegiance will forever remain cursed. And any finger pointing at the soul that holds the truth will doubtlessly be broken for the fear of expression. Fake people will always be like dead horses, more like written off ferraris. No rerun needed to prove all I'm saying is pure victory, and when I wake with the sun in the morning, I hope my words will radiate with the rays in a prose that will make you understand that I still love and care. Tonight the moon fell between my feet and I thought maybe nature was cracking a joke. Hand on my chin then pondered! I pondered like in my brain wild flowers were sprouting, then something like a plague, but with a sensation of a neglected wise notion which flashed before my cerebrum and decoded itself as wisdom, then in a shimmering technique took captive of my thoughts about you, then transmuted every idea to a loving feeling ready to be expressed in a manner that will never run out of style just like champagne to a ******.

I am a friend to all, so everyone is my friend, I've been to clubs, restaurants and malls, and everyone I've encountered is kind, through boulevards and freeways, catch me and my friends switching lanes, overspeeding on these dangerous days, cause I can sacrifice anything for my friends, going out everyday, because my friends don't live with me, then we get drunk together and cause havoc, we walk in the alleyways trying to mock the police, but they never shoot! And guess why? The police are my friends too.

My spine is broken from the burden of your ungrateful heart, I have shrugged shoulders to the girls who can walk into the kitchen, just to nod my head to the girl who waits to be served on the dining table, I have swam beyond seas just to drown in your heart, I have betrayed my credibility towards the streets I was raised just to    follow the path that leads to your happiness, I have chased all of my dogs at the gate so you can visit anytime, you remember when I found you drunk in careless hands at the club? Then I embraced all the shame and welcomed you in my hands, I no longer see the essence of visiting mama every weekend, cause I've always dedicated my time to you, I have lapsed the doctrines of upholding holiness just to sin for you, now all these broken promises, overflowing tears and unpromising future, you have caused all this because you are ungrateful, and before this coffee hits the surface of my cup, ill make sure this love chokes you and see if you are worth it.

My mind is clogged, it can no longer filter thoughts, I'm now like a living dead, I'm my own slave, you made a confession, you unplucked your feigned feathers and you whispered you were not an angel, you were the demon that never hurt, the phantom that would be my guardian angel, the demonic girl that needed affection, then I asked you, why me? You exercised your spell on me and made me believe I'm the true documentation of hell's beauty, oh demon, you have possessed me, you have confined me in these unbreakable cages, you want us to wed in the fires of hell, you want us to burn the bibles and qurans, break the crosses and crucifixes, then sacrifice the reverends on the church altars, now I'm seeking justice, I'm trying to call upon the holy spirit, I'm trying to imbibe the holy wine, and if God won't water down my distress with blood of Jesus, then the noose is the only option.

They've sold their souls in the midst of humility
and super-pervaded occult, they've sacrificed
people just to get that fancy car, and that
mansion like paradise, and all that glamors on the
face of multi-universe, they are living in the era of
self-aggrandizement, and more doubtfully
contemplate christianity, they moved a step
further to promote atheism, the concept of
humanistic thought have been overthrown, and
decisions made under the philosophy of
postmodernity, depictions of reality are mystical
and emanate from the dark prisms, their
conception of glorification is different from the
society's, therefore I'm hateful and watching as
the world slowly chokes itself to death.

My grandma planted a seed of joy, and it grew to be a family tree, but prior to the remarkable development, my grandpa nurtured the seed with wisdom, and every morning the foliage sprouted, with a promising colour of chlorophyll, unpollinated flowers danced in their purity, the flowers of kismet and blessings, as if haunted, bees never huddled, except butterflies like tiny angels, which anointed the stem, so it could grow longer and stronger, no whirlwind could sweep it away, the branches and twigs have become mature now, mature enough to hold the fruits, fruits endowed with wisdom, and I'm one with the gift of poetry, now my grandparents are seated, under the roots of the family tree, ensuring it's never faliing.

I heard your soulful cry, my queen of sad smiles,
so I painted my Kingdom yellow, your favorite
colour that siphon ecstasy from the channel that
plug into heaven, I tried to imbibe harmony or
rather sermon, you called it spreading the gospel,
I tried to be your surgeon, fixing your repeatedly
impaled heart under your broken ribcage, but
you termed me amateurish, so I besought poetic
justice, all these tears for you, and for what? I can
only translate my feelings in writings, now you
call it going Adelle, all in all you are a living
documentation of beauty and its manifestations,
and I love you.

The innocence of the sun in the morning, thick
clouds casting shadows like daylight apparitions,
civilians running away from intermittent drizzles,
religions conflicting in the mire of broken
promises, the fall of mankind in the dusk and
reviving with lucifer at dawn of enlightenment,
these are universal norms, we are overwhelmed
by strange powers from parallel world, and
commuting poverty into lust for money, this evil
life has hit hard, hard enough to cause spiritual
concussion, we are tamed, living life in a web of
hardship, the price of life is on a hike, now
mankind has to embrace spiritual benefits, to set
himself free from the redemptive suffering, chug
the holy wine, forsake alien gods and be worthy
of reverential praise.

The power responsible for our existence will never
ever be questionable, the prestige the creator is
smitten by has not yet hit the mankind's
conscience to wake him up from the obvilion
induced by misgiving that satan has impinged
upon man's psychology, the closest a human
kind can get with his God is through a prayer,
approbation every morning and evening is worth
it since life is a continuous miracle that happens
to the lucky ones.

The outlined shadows of angel-like apparitions, and I'm soaked in anxiety like the wingless houseflies,
Where can I find peace in the midst of hell and nirvana?
My soul is torn apart and my body a rigor mortis,
I feel the blows under the baobab,
Where is the Lord? Where is the God that sheds light? Where is the God that resuscitates dead souls?
The devil has ****** my spirit in the dark hole, I'm now groping in the murk with my dogged effort,
I have been a survivor of many months, of the battle between the devil and the many generations, the way to find peace is to rest in peace, No! And what about my mama?
The divine lady who enshrines his son with a prayer, this woman tells me of how coward the devil is, she talks of the galaxies and the Hail Marys,
But I'm not dead yet, she is the reason why I'm still alive, and why I should live to 72