Nails of the master’s reach...
No way out, no returning to innocence.
The bullied beat, the bullied beat...

Knife of the master’s heart we twist round -
Nails scrape for us... but it’s useless.
You are your own rose running, sweet one, smoker...
And they’re stale in their master’s keep.

Don’t need to keep the master beneath us...
In these vertical, breath-short windows, they are the beat-less...

And you stare straight through them.
Smash their hearts with sugar...

A life that keeps no secrets... far from the master’s weakness.

I’d like to find the words
to cut right through the muck,
but when it comes to you
you know that I’m just stuck,

I ready up the blades
and soap clean my hands,
to work toward the heart
no matter where it lands—

All the things—
We said—
Will forever be dead—

But I’ll hold on—
Instead—
You’ll always live inside my head.

My garden grows only beetroot,
They're all shaped like little hearts.
All got stolen by someone cute,
Outmanoeuvred all the guards.

But it is fine, she can keep them,
She can take all the heartbeet.
Her smile is like a little gem,
Just for her does my heart beat!

A heart so precious,
Its beat—relentless and ambitious.
There are no words to describe
How it lights up even the darkest of worlds.
I sit all day and think how I can make my rhythm match yours,
Like waves that crash against the shores.
I chase the love my heart implores;
Mine will only stop when yours ceases to beat,
Forever tied to your breathtaking heartbeat.

Overcast days
Grey skies
Skipping to my beats
Emotional high
Let it out
Breathe it in
Universal sigh
Back on track
Found my pace
Settle in
It’s about to begin
Beautiful Day
My my
Feeling alright
Nothing to do
Nothing standing in my way
Walking straight ahead
With my vibe
Immune to time
Flip the switch on my kit
Pull rhythm and rhymes
From the sky
Written by:
Timothy Charles Carter

It felt weird
when my heart
left its type
and fell
for a whole
new font
that read
differently

This soft heart I say, can feel like a curse,  
For all the times it soaks up the hate, oh, how it hurts!
As with each tear that I shed,  
It all feels heavy, heavy like lead,  
Till the floodgates burst forth in a verse.  

And I must tell you,

A soft heart is like a sponge, it takes every cut,  
An open heart: a vibrant marketplace; so never to shut!
But it was once vibrant and bright,  
Now it feels so dilapidated from fight,  
Yet still it beats on, as a true work of art.