This life isnt marvel cinematic universe
Where superheros saving you from the villain
In this life, night time has become my morning
And morning time has become my night time
I am stuck on depression time zone
Where i wake up from nightmare to nightmare
Where my minds start to confuse whats real and whats on my mind
Where i cant find a button to silence my own thoughts
Where people stare's undressed me
How could they save me even if its a superhero movie
When the villain lives in me
Maybe i cant be saved,
Because pain has became my comfort
Because hope terrifies me

The bunch of roses you offered
I brought home cuddling them
To my blossom softly and closely

When I arrived home, I saw
The flowers were withered
The Petals were no more;

Remained were only the
Thorns of the long stems
Buried deeply in my heart
Promising never to leave ever

I blink and I am standing
I blink again and I am on the floor
I blink again and people are all around me
Is this life?

Are we always blinking thinking something good will happen?
And then when nothing good happens we get sad and discouraged?
I blinked three different times and I saw totally different situations.
Is this the bad or good of life?

I desire to smell the flowers that grow in your allies
The ones that colour the streets even in the darkest light
And walk the trail of stars your people leave behind
When their wandering towards new wonders
As they turn new corners in their lives
I dream of floating in your scent, that dances in the wind
Carrying culture, history, and your nature in its wings
I’ll dance amongst your voices, and sway with their melodies
The laughter will carry me to your quiet little streets
And somewhere in the silence I’ll start to miss my home
Until your stars will start to wrap me in your ethereal glow
And from then on along your yellow brick roads
I’ll make your love my home

as the stars trickle down from the sky
they take the form of raindrops
every time they splatter down on me
i feel every shattered aspiration
in those little splashes of starbursts
i feel them stab into me demanding to be set free

crushing a dream
is like ripping the wings from a butterfly
and then asking it why it can not fly

Well, I mean, do guys who drive hot, fast cars like girls like...me?!  That either remains to be seen, or laughed to scorn.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLII)


As if to what? my brother lo, fr'intents
Remembers what "his" name is, like'd avail,
Yes, all on "April Fools," and tells me, frail
Though any use is for that note, cuz sense
By dinner's revelation swears twas thence
Some bad joke I played on myself, sans bail,
Whiles how my brothers rate his car's detail
T'effect:  "fast, hot...stupid." O pretense!
So where I whispered that, "I'll know for sure
Tomorrow morning," sigh.  For was that true?
Go laugh at me, cuz I don't want in poor
'Scuse to lay dreams to rest.  I'm weary, to
Be certain, of this awful game; know fer
All that tis folly, but I want it too.

02Apr19b