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The simplicity of rhymes
freely flows
through the readers mind.
As simplistic words unravel
in an array of poetic babble
we channel
the memes of our muses.

No forced word can capture,
no college can teach
the aesthetics of laughter,
the glamour of grief.

The essay of brilliance
awaits in the zone.
The Muse and the Master
in the hearts of gold.
Traveler Tim
I don’t want to remember,
this last month of November.
Gouge it from my eyes,
carve it off my lips,
scrub it from my soul.
You see,
the moon rests high,
while the tides pulled low
and waiting for that change
merely hardens the soft blow.
Born in a cyber age
of this global disruption,
"What's your hobby?", - you'll ask.
I'll reply:
"Self-destruction."
he's here

and once again i fall slowly
light as a feather
gravitating to the river
to be washed away
by the peaceful flow
XI • VI • MMXXIV

︻デ┳═ー  

blood drips.
i can feel it on my fingertips,
i can taste it on your lips.

how did we get here?
i am drowning in fear.
there's no escape plan near.

they keep taking.
a nightmare waking.
we keep breaking.

the air is thickening,
gunshots quickening,
this is all so sickening.

blood pools.
genocide fuels.
american jewels.
* ♡ ⋆° ‘ * ✩⋆˚ ‘ *♡ ⋆° ‘ * ✩⋆
bad day to be a halfway decent person, huh?

i am so tired of screaming into silence. all we have is each other.

show up for people.
be kind, be good.
love hard.
always.
_

— The End —