Creating titles, crafting lyrics
Working out the flow
Of words with occasional rhyme
Needing a pianist
But he's the only one

Hiding the purpose
Asking him to play
Hope to create a piece that flows
Or tell him
Create a masterpiece together
And share it
So, a surprise or a duet

The rest of the songs
To be presented
Writing no wrongs
All segmented
Overall;
Our story

Six pieces
Possibly new releases
For a new artist
Finally, something I shall have accomplished

So many things to do
Leaves dripping with the morning dew
Shadows long
Beneath the treetop
And I sing along
A lyric or two I'll swap
Just fix the flux

This verse needs repair
But as long as I'm with you
I don't care
About a silly verse
Or the color or the hue
In those eyes, I immerse

I hope to join a band
Here I hold your hand
Making you smile
While for you, I go the extra mile

For you
I won't give up
Won't back down
If I have one slip-up
It'll be not capturing you in words
I'm feelin' like such a clown
Messin' around
My feet barely touch the ground
As I fly with you
In the sky so blue.

- Jay M
January 11th, 2020

Rival - Ruelle


The tide is high
It's sink or swim
My only rival is within

Giants calling round the bend
My only rival is within

I won't let my demons win
My only rival is within
I will fight through thick and thin
My only rival is within

Kingdoms rise and kingdoms end
My only rival is within
This is where it all begins
My only rival is within

The tide is high
It's sink or swim
My only rival is within

On the castrated futuristic **** a jump had been executed. I witnessed it, he adjusted his boots, felt like vanishing, the leaving of pure prudence.

Nothing makes any sense when the revision turns into continuity. The dawn is inexpedient to the lousy recumbent and its prosperities. The unawareness has made it to the core, therefore, the nightfall passes its independence and unfairness to our own.


Oh! My irrelevant donkey, that one, to whom I've seen tumble down and not approaching a grip. To his uncovered castration had been given a hopeless drop of newly celebration. That the donkey responsible for the path, the vintage tumbril cannot allow him to surpass.

Suspiciously probable for the conscious well wrapped up in the voluminous indifference, a conjugated apathy choir with granted presence and simplicity.

For him, that was, the moment, the freeze, the calendar date, the burial, call it a day. Of this cursed sequence, uncertain, an emerged insomnia confined in a sepulcher of paranoia.

It has torn, that liberty of unknown. His frozen bowels, it spans, a recommended dealer, I now ingest the syrup, it has darkened a bit in this limbo. The glucose did not annihilate the glutton, enough insulin was more as to come to delicacy, the quadruple figure does not reflect with no lens nor ability.

A hanging genital, fully outworn, in debt to the swelling and proceeding bomb. The ****** hole has been closed to the visitor in roll. A relic since conception, sodden with my self-distrust, muzzled to the art of action and disrupt. Poor dehydrated, yet to inaugurate, an everlasting sedateness of demising absoluteness and abundance of self-reproach.

I **** you! You irreverent donkey, to a steady furore and irrelevance, quite a damaging endorphin. Your tutelage did never flood me with yearness, it had to disguise with this sugar barrel of stupidity and clenching. This untainted audacity will never lift a curtain hiding the unseen and revolting... thing.

The mentioned tumbril and diluge of fresh sweat, a dryed armpit but a head transpiring with a tiny leap. An immense extension awaits for the indolent sailor, outstanding intentions to be a renegade, but somehow those rails just... get to him.

Hallucinogens of the stepmother earth, it is time for the urged recess. Bell, bell! I beg you to blare. Esoteric prairies dance to the classic and strange macarena, transported plebs by European train, to Trainspotting it reflects. That turbulent, nostalgic and wondrous effect.

Oh! My irrelevant donkey, all you see and will come to see, will puff out as everyone ticks. Your indignated throbbing will pace as impatient as you may. Your pant for conclude, but also recapture will barely endure. Nevertheless, your undoing will bash up all you never cared to do and take.

Born to roam this wicked wild, 
You have so little time, 
So to and fro you wander, while 
A slave to heart and mind, 
Till Mother Earth and Father Time 
Both shrug you off like flies; 
To have a life 
You're gonna have to die

Though the stage may foster fame 
With every strut and leap, 
None but tongues shall bear thy name 
When cold begins to creep 
From the arrow in your ankle, 
Past the hollow of your thigh; 
To have a life
You're gonna have to die

You'll face spitfire and spouting rain 
That slowly drives you mad, 
As everything you gain
Becomes not but what you once had, 
You'll fall to earth down to your knees 
And curse a dumbstruck sky; 
To have a life
You're gonna have to die

Then you'll forgo your soul to go forth 
Gently down the stream, 
Awake asleep, asleep awake, 
Forsaking every dream,
With all that's false appearing true, 
And all that's true, a lie; 
To have a life
You're gonna have to die

And when your body, spirit, heart,
And mind are finally one, 
From lion back to mewling babe
You turn and all is done, 
For all must leave their burdens 
To pass thru the needle's eye; 
To have a life 
You're gonna have to die