A reflection is just that, colors and light colliding
A personal connection between you and the walls
Binding your soul to the very ground you stand
Bending light ever softly
Little shadows are your armed guards
They'll protect your mind in the dead of night
Revelations over the shadows, a tea party of silence
No sleep, no thought provoking answers
A meaningless existence that exists to have meaning
Thoughtless turns, sighs, unwavering eyes
Paranoia- the curtain surrounds you in dusk
Awaiting your awakening
The only thing that blesses your eyes is exhaustion
Slamming shut the doors that smokey glances feared
Finally, as dawn approaches, it is time to sleep

Sweet Morpheus greeted me
On the grand patch of risen grass.

I lie down for a nap
Feeling vitality seeping through the dew
Which kisses the blades
Every morning and night.

The cirrocumulus and their kind
Casually flocking in the sky
I see the shapes in their crevices-
Reminiscent of something playful.

I put my ear against the earth
Not really listening,
Flecks of soil graze my face
Like a massive comb
Grooming softly
With tickling sensation.

Suddenly,
A crackle heard from the distance.

A dynamite? A firework?
A flash of lightening aimed specific?
I do not know.

I do not know.

I throw my hands towards the clouds
Soliciting them to take me away,
Lift me up to join their somnambulism
Above the ground
Detached
Like sleep paralysis.

From up here,
Everything seems nice
Because it is not vivid
Nor intimate enough
For concrete judgement.
This makes it easy to romanticise.

Reality is surreal
Surreal is happening,
Set me down in my nest on a plane of human existence
I’ll sleep through the evening
Through the noon
And the screaming
I’ll imagine
It’s something I don’t have the power
To stop.

I’ll pretend
It’s the music
That powers the rain.

I’ll escape with the stratus
Dreaming
I was in a position
To make a difference.

These days, I resent the inevitable morning,
The perpetual lethargy
And the whittling reminder that the world
Has already begun.

I hate the mass of the sand
As I stride past daffodils and quills
And children who are so inquisitive in their innocence
And those who will never receive a meaningful farewell.

I detest my unhappiness
And my cheery neighbours who insist
That their mornings are so eagerly anticipated
And waste endless teary tissues at night.

I despise the mushrooms that have grown on
The grassy and earthy and sandy paths,
That no shoes have kicked them mercilessly,
For no shoes have crossed them in a small eternity.

I loathe the universal perception
That "love" has become an illusion-
A tired and worthless roar
Into the increasingly desirable abyss.

I abominate the abnormality of hope
And that those who empty their shallow pockets of it
Are greeted with a similar distaste
To the farmers who spread manure in the spring.

However, what I hate most is the relentless truth
That I consistently find myself comfortable,
Educated, loved, well-fed,
And bitter

And the fact that so many others do not.

Why does my heart crumbles into pieces of soul?
While you are sitting there, watching us fall?
Why does my body faints to dust?
While you admire your work turn to rust.

You are our lord, our savvier,
So why do you let us drown?
Die in the fake feeling of being happier,
By fighting for a crown.

The power of all things is in your hands,
So now give your children a chance,
And put this disaster to an end,
Without taking this prayer as an offence.

I believe in Humanity, do you still?
I hope you do, and listen carefully,
"Today is our day can you feel?"
We will be truly free.

Gave us hope, give us love,
Don't let us cry don't let us down,
Hurting our knees by praying from our cove,
This piece of Hell you still own.

Those verses is the pray of despair,
Those rimes are for bringing peace,  
In a world we have known fair,
Which is now blown to pieces.

How dare you reduce me to one race
how dare you judge me based on my birth place?
I may not be wealthy, but I am rich,
oh have I learnt that life can be a *****-
born to a Muslim father,
raised by an Orthodox mother,
but why I do I bother,
all you can do is smother
me with your negativity,
you won't understand,
that those two go well hand in hand,
I live in Slovenia, it all makes me Slavic as hell,
If you are willing to listen to the story I'm about to tell,
It all used to be one big entity
until they destroyed it, blurred my sense of identity...
So as a kid I was ashamed
'cause I didn't belong,
I couldn't be tamed,
my pride was too strong,
I was confused,
I didn't get it,
that three cultures in me were fused,
they made me hate it, regret it,
now that I'm older I can finally see,
all that **** was irrelevant, cos I am me.

I gazed upon a weary field
Where wayward seeds had blown,
And plots were laid and borders sealed
Beneath a golden crown,
And rising from a ghastly host
Of unkempt thorny briar,
On writhing mist a fallen ghost
Lit up a spectral pyre.

Cold shivered flames shot heavenward
Convulsing time to freeze,
The fertile land was drowned in mud
And clouded with disease.
Across the field a battle raged
Beneath an orange flare,
Old roots entwined as limbs engaged
And tussled for the air.

In eager rows defenders fell
Supplanted by their foe,
A mud draped rug of pod and shell
Buried the ground below,
And racing upwards in a spire
To reach Heaven's domain
They sought to steal the sun's bright fire
To use for their own gain.

Fresh saplings withered in the heat
That scorched the living soil,
And ashes rained down like a sheet
To form an acrid pile;
The sweet decay of rotting limbs
Pervaded like a shield,
As evening sang her doleful hymns
Across a barren field.

By Arcassin Burnham

When you ask me to...

Even I can't stand.....

When you ask me to stay,
Believing love is just a phase,
Bad memories I can't erase,
Tears running down your cheek from sorrow,
I have too much on my plate,
And you have a lot of baggage,
We're so good for each other that it will
Never manage,
Searched the world for someone like you
But failed to find the qualities that I
Souly desired,
I don't believe in you,
I don't put my trust in you at all,
We fall,
Then it's a mistake we can not admit it all,
Curl up in a ball,
Cry to the heavens,
There's no call,
We withdrawal,

And when you ask me to stay,
Even I can't stand the rain,
I've been suffering , I'm in pain,
Our affection are ripples in lakes,
Trying to see if you're okay,
Your giving sin a taste,
Of what's to come and where we stay
One more wish to kiss your pretty face.

Dry heave quietly in the back room it feels like I've been coughing up blood for years
Warm house cold friends the noise is distant
Nothing lines up like it should and I can't find the pen in my own hand but I'm writing
But I'm surviving
I am learning how to live in the midst of my own hell
Fragmented relationships spit venom over cups of coffee collapse and repeat
Self defense class on Saturday and I didn't sleep for two days
Paranoid about anyone who could be out to hurt me including myself
And I do
Put myself down in my own head alone
Quiet chiding that I didn't have to let go of the love I used to know
I am a delicate soldier sitting out on the roof till the morning
Trying to get a feel for the light
Trying to get back somewhere in time when my own skin wasn't the battlefield
And my stronghold was my mind
This isn't easy but it's fine
I'm not yours and I'm not mine
Even if it doesn't make sense
(Which it never does)
I'm a walking paradox
Confliction even in the cracks of my skin
The optimistic realist.
The tired kid in the back of the room shaking with fear and wonder at the weight of the world.
What a beautiful thing to live
What a beautiful thing to be
Even when it comes in waves in the bathroom I am learning to hold it right and save
Every ******* bit of life around me
Take the bitter with the sweet and everything in between
I'm just in between the end and beginning
And I'm doing just fine.

It's been a dark and ***** start to the year, and altogether
too many of my heroes are dead.
Too many of the old
villains too; those familiar monsters
are gone, replaced
by new and more appalling terrors,
as fear is rebranded for a freshly emergent demographic.
All the girls are much too young for me. Everyone
is too young for me.
When they speak, I hear
only static, like
the ghosts of extinct, pre-digital
TV screens haunting the
empty beauty of their
dead channel mouths.
In the supermarket, they've taken to
playing songs I like on their
in-store radio, wedged between
corporate jingles and adverts for
two-for-one offers on
hot dogs in jars, and I'm
so irrelevant I could cry.
I'm struggling with the world and my
own inability to find somewhere
I can be in it. I can't relax, can't
stop fighting against inertia, contentment
and any hope of peace. Maybe drugs
are the answer, but I think they'd just
make me forget the question.
I feel the cold, and I
want to sleep too much. I miss
my bad habits, but not enough
to relapse. I'm not
young enough or cute enough
to get away with
this much ******* angst.