Two women
One sobbing, one singing
Two women in one body
My body

Two women
Separate in emotion and desire
Separate by what they see
Out their windows

One woman
Sees nothing but good. She
Is kind and open and she loves continuously
She never stops giving and she does
Not regret it. Not a bit at all
She is a river

One woman
Sees the mundane and is reminded
Of he, the fire, who hurts her, he who
Kills her with his not caring
She does not distance herself, fearing she
Will lose herself too when she does
She is oil-
And she hates herself for it

Two women
One aching, one at rest
United in one vessel of flesh
A vessel at war with itself
My flesh

I saw lies
Behind your smile
And truth
Behind your eyes
The ones that sparkled
Now lost their light
And a wry heart
Withered under the weight.

galactic eruption
interrupts a stroll down the memory lane
linear meta brain
meticulously performing the act of
self restraint
selfless worships
now, lesser in terms of quantitative hints
the never ending path
that circumvents the colourless
conscience
it contravenes the limitless scenes of a liberating regime
trust plummets into the hands of perceptive fiends
taken in
taken instead of countless numbered pills
a train of exaggerated kin
tracks back to those with highly assumed authorities
amidst the group of avid anti-socials
vividly varied in opinions
from a sword to a pin
essentially assembled to speak against the ancient ones
a neoteric synchronization
scaling screaming lexemes
the scathed silk screeches
soaked in acid  
flamed till the ashes can be smelled
but never seen
seemingly insignificant statements
covert and pristine

You are a series of red flashing fabrics and I am a Matador thrusting myself into you over and over and over again

I know it is nothing but pain and embarrassment and yet it’s so natural to me to proceed with these actions

You are a red flag I can spot from a mile away glistening your sequins in my face and I cannot stop but ram my face into yours

I know you bring me no satisfaction and I know I will never win against you in these battles and yet it’s so natural for me to hurt myself for you

This ****** organism
Flowing with Lyricism
Endowed with Witticism
Maybe lacking in rhythm...
But not in favouritism
Look under the skin
Why the schism
What is the division
Needless criticism

Wait... did I just become the villain?

Poets constantly compare
saying “this” is like “that”

If there’s anything I learned from comparison
It’s how it can **** you slowly as a poison of  expectancy.

So, to put it simply,
You are not like anything else.
There is no comparison to you,
Because you are you and nothing else I could ever describe can come close to you.