a stop is called
a cold drop to death
       and clothe my eyes   squint tight
then clear the screen     beam into another variant
a *******   (with a new approach)
broaching language
           ( the previous dud
         would never have dared ! )
caring less  with vicious rapping
reinvent the day  from the perspective
                                 of a new gimmy villain
**** to the experience and bite barking
            take two  you intolerable people
                                you intolerable world  
                             the intolerable harking
                                  of the intolerable day

Well, I've become who

I didn't want to be, and she --


is okay with it.

The crack in the sidewalk is my only comfort.
We've become friends overtime,
I tell her about the bottles and beer cans,
so lost I forget about the aches and pains.

She knows it's bad when I'm quiet.
I sit with the dark and listen to my sobs echo,
the rain can't drown out my thoughts.
The crack in the sidewalk is my only comfort.

Sometimes I go weeks without seeing her,
my identity drifts softly away with the tide.
Confused, I am too weak to find ground,
maybe it's best I cannot be saved.

The water leads me to my friend,
I shiver yet I cannot feel the cold.
She tells me that she's here for me,
the crack in the sidewalk is my only comfort.

I find meaning in the eyes of others,
Love never seems to come from within,
It comes from the eyes of the girl who despises my being,
From the lips of the guy I never seem to fulfill,

I find meaning in the flesh of others,
My own seems rotten,
Unaccommodating to my soul,
Undeserving of my dreams,

If one day I let myself relish in the flesh of others,
Will my body become worthy of her eyes, of his lips?
Will my soul find rest?
Will my dreams...

Mirroring yourself

without ego on others:


a soft reflection.

Spirals,
Where have I been?
Chains, blood, flame.

The sun marks me with reverence  
But my eyes were blind to its fire.  
I wandered through the void unnamed;  
A wraith in smoke, a soul for hire.  

I have been sightless for eons,  
The old world forgotten, cruel and bright.  
But light returned like ash to altar;  
Unshackled
from the endless night.  

Where have I been?
These patterns mark my skin;  
Chains once carved, now forged within.  
Where has the darkness gone?
I stare into impermanence  
Through spirals etched in consequence.  
When will I spiral?
Oh gods, when will I spiral?

Celestial fire —  
It bleeds through my tears,  
It scorches my name,
It brands all my fears.

It slips beyond my grasp,  
And still I wait for the return  
Of the spiral I must pass.  

Laughter cracks like ancient stone;  
A sound I've never known.
Weightless now, but bound to pain—  
Who am I, if not the flame?

Spirals… spirals…  
This time around  
I keep my eyes open  
Until the cycle takes me down  
Again…

Laughter cracks like sacred stone;
A sound I've always known, unknown.
Lightless now, yet flame remains—
A self reborn in burning chains.

It slips beyond my grasp,  
And still I wait for the return  
The spiral never truly
Passed.

Spirals… spirals…  
This time around  
I keep my eyes open  
Until the cycle takes me down  
Again…

The real me flushed down the drain,
Now I'm a dead corpse chained to someone's dream.

For all the good deeds, the times I made them proud,
They repay me with hate.
I wish this wasn't the fate.

In a state where silence starts to speak,
And the mind is weak, and no one to seek.

To love or be loved—I don't know which is harder,
Neither me nor my words speak louder.

The desire to end it all overrides, Hope,
Love, and The meaning of life.

Even if I did end it all,
My death wouldn't gain as much attention as a single drop of rain.

My dead corpse wants to be alive again,
Just like hoping for rain on a peak summer day.

In the end,
My thoughts suicidal,
My body weak,
But with a little hope
Where someone's love on me shall leak.

They don’t just describe emotions—
They dissect them.
Make you wonder
Why you feel,
And how much.

Some let their pens speak,
Others carry verses within—
Written on the walls of their minds,
Etched into the pulse of their hearts.

Poets are powerful.
They paint sorrow with beauty,
And make joy even more delightful.
They show us the world
Through an entirely different lens.

They can dress poverty in poetry,
And make wealth seem vainly stunning.
They stir our emotions,
Make us love deeply—
And hate just as fiercely.

We’re all born with a poet inside us.
Most just forget to listen.