Part I:
Sometimes I think
Your fingertips are
Engraved into
my skin
Because
even when weeks
Go by
and your touch
is absent
I still seem to
Live through euphoric
Memories of what it
Feels like when you
Kiss clouds into
My soul

Part II:
And on those nights
You creep into
My head,
you tend to leave
traces of your scent,
Your touch,
And your mouth
Which result in
Mornings after that
Are too often unbearable
To wake up to.

"The smile on my face does not mean that everything is perfect...it means that I appreciate what I have and what God has blessed me with" - Unknown author

" Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one that gets burned." - Budda

" Love is Like the Wind you can't see it but you can feel it"

"Life is not separate from Death it just seems that way"- Blackfoot Native American

Plato tell us
that
man’s heart holds
a restraint
whilst
woman’s will,
run wild
Quietly enduring, stoic;
in silent pity
it rejoices a relief
though other men’s
sorrows are to
pyramid  our own.

unbeknownst to this world
outsider looking in
absorbing, peculiarly
the arrogance surrounding me

oblivious to most
and easily ignored
for my skill is in books
and not in the well known

surrounded by immense talent
and the jealous meek
men that has learnt to walk
without having any feet

yet the stench of inequality
leaves a bitter taste
so easy to differentiate
the humble from the pack

more I pity the minions
wanting to be known
strip the fame and popularity
focus on them bare

will you still like the person
you've mounted in the air?

Is there such a thing as wholesome in Hollywood?
Is there such a concept as real?
I've heard the press spread your secrets and assume your thoughts
Do you trust anyone enough to share how you truly feel?

Do you travel the streets of the world in amazement
Or only travel because you must
Have you ever held a woman and wanted her soul forevermore
Or do you only chase after lust?

Would you say you're like a bird
Free to fly with the world at your feet
Or would you say you're more like a circus pet
Caged, awaiting your next crowd to greet

Do you ever think about a different life?
Do you wake up and wonder if there's more?
I find it funny how so many wish to be in your shoes
I wonder if they'd still wish it if they lived every day behind your door

All of you.
Where do you get off
making a name for yourself
out of the mockery
in fallen heroes’ hearts?
What’s in a name;
that which we call
"a genius"
by another label
would be found on the front page
of the obituaries.

And now,
what?
Where do you go from
the top,
looking down on those you
trampled on the way
with some false sense of humility?
How we perceive you now
is like that of a crime lord;
envious,
never aspirational.

Might as well
call it a day
and take note of the
fallacy
that is fame and fortune.

the piano softly builds
then he starts to sing

this boy that everybody hates
just singing

making us realize
once again
why we fell in love with him

his voice brings back memories
his lyrics drawing out emotions you wanted to forget

he sits there
just singing

making sure that we don't forget
him, this, and us