Sunday is for birds to sing
and to swing among vines of bedsheets,
for moving hair out of your eyes, to cry
in sadness and joy and feel the warmth of your body.
Sunday is for birds to sing
while we string ourselves into knots
and leave the windows open for spring
to carry the sounds of singing along

Some people are afraid of flying
out of fear of falling from the sky
but I've been falling for so long
with no end in sight
so you see,
when I'm soaring above the clouds
I dream of the plane falling down
because at least I know
I'll finally hit solid ground

my body begs for forgiveness.
a break, a chance to run away
from this constant pain.
i'm exhausted.
maybe it's better off this way.
who knows who's looking for me.
who knows what they'll find,
i've been lost inside myself for years,
so they need to watch their strides.

All the hopes and dreams I used to have
All the happiness in my heart
My will to live
All up in flames
All because of one letter
On a piece of paper
Called a grade

All my trust
My ability to love
My willingness to open up
The key to my heart
All up in flames
All because of one heartbreak
All because of him

My life, set on fire
My life, all up in flames

Can’t stop thinkin’ bout you
Here I am, making cliches
In my sweet haikus

mourning echo of despair,
I am alive but not in vain,
your hopeless touch of deaths of joy,
your wealth of thought, your tempting lure,
I am but graciousness and pain,
this is a wealth of deaths upon a death,
a purple substance of the paralysed veins,
a storm of flames up in the luring infinite,
the face of sacred, the embedded truth,
a love of demons and despair,
suffocated in the fragrance rain,
deep in the breath of time’s sexuality,
a murdered youth in luxury,
a hopeless, faint, exquisite memory,
the burning oceans in the pure dark,
the touch of lust, hypnotic mystery,
a breath so freezing on the mind,
the death’s alive and kills and reigns.