A question that has so many answers.
A question that may be too difficult to answer.
But the answer is always “yes.” or “no.”
Never that “maybe.” That’s only in your head.
You lie to others because you yourself aren’t sure.
Maybe that’s why the question is so hard to answer.

Can this be how I worship?
Not through song, but word?
Is it still worship?

The god who I hold so dear,
Wishes to have me nowhere near,
He partakes me within his closure,
Yet veils me of his signs,
Alas,
Distain espouses within,
Where does he want me gone?,
When it's his earth I lay upon,
May I inquire of my cause?
May I know what I was?
For I do not find me befit,
The sea left to lie,
to dry,
A devil with no temptations,
Nor the urge to pry,
Like a fatigue who's tiredness is due,
I am content with loitering,
The only source of hope that I cradle like a mother,
Is the possibility of you,
But there is no love,
Only hope,
Oh how I long for freedom,
Like the bird that never meets the sky,
I have espoused within what is expected,
So now I am breaking because I was never in my hands,
And I learnt that the hand of god/People isn't very gentle.

I always loved a good mystery.
I just never realized how much I was one.
Do they even know who’s at home right now?
Do they know why that's a problem?
I always loved Sherlock Holmes.
But not even he could figure me out.

Are you a talker?
Or a listener.
I’ve always been both.
But I don't talk much at home.
I don’t talk much about it.
But I always sit there.
And listen.
While everybody serves their secrets.
Pouring them.
Spooning them
on to a platter.
I listen.
I might be breaking inside.
On my fourth sleepless night.
But that doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter?

I don’t know how to talk anymore.
About things that make me seen.
It comforts people.
To think they know me.
When really.
They don’t know anything.
I’m just a stranger.
Who collects their pain.
You talk to me and I lift that weight.
Tell me.
Do you feel lighter when you walk away?
Yeah.
Told you so.

So here I am.
Because I have nobody to turn to.
At the end of the day.
Except for you.
Who I love far more than friendships allow.
But not quite as a lover.
Who sees me as more than just a helpful tool.
Who understands that I too,
Suffer.
You just get it.
I just get you.
I don’t know..
But maybe you feel it too.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
This is love.

-Eat of the Fat.
But for why?
-Because you have to feed.
Drink of the sweet.
-But for why?
Cause your gluttony is greed.
-Save a portion.
But for why?
-Because your fruitlessness is nigh.
-So save a portion.
But it’s mine.
-Then all of them will die.

why so many people
are getting involved
in a breakup, they don't even know

Why not.
Not why.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
T̶h̶o̶u̶ a̶r̶t̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶l̶y̶ a̶n̶d̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ t̶e̶m̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶:̶
R̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ w̶i̶n̶d̶s̶ d̶o̶ s̶h̶a̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶a̶r̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶u̶d̶s̶ o̶f̶ M̶a̶y̶,
A̶n̶d̶ s̶u̶m̶m̶e̶r̶’s̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ h̶a̶t̶h̶ a̶l̶l̶ t̶o̶o̶ s̶h̶o̶r̶t̶ a̶ d̶a̶t̶e̶;̶
S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ t̶o̶o̶ h̶o̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶y̶e̶ o̶f̶ h̶e̶a̶v̶e̶n̶ s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶s̶,
A̶n̶d̶ o̶f̶t̶e̶n̶ i̶s̶ h̶i̶s̶ g̶o̶l̶d̶ c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶e̶x̶i̶o̶n̶ d̶i̶m̶m̶'d̶;̶
A̶n̶d̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ f̶a̶i̶r̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ f̶a̶i̶r̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ d̶e̶c̶l̶i̶n̶e̶s̶,
B̶y̶ c̶h̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ o̶r̶ n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶’s̶ c̶h̶a̶n̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ c̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶ u̶n̶t̶r̶i̶m̶m̶'d̶;̶
B̶u̶t̶ t̶h̶y̶ e̶t̶e̶r̶n̶a̶l̶ s̶u̶m̶m̶e̶r̶ s̶h̶a̶l̶l̶ n̶o̶t̶ f̶a̶d̶e̶,
N̶o̶r̶ l̶o̶s̶e̶ p̶o̶s̶s̶e̶s̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶a̶i̶r̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶ o̶w̶’s̶t̶;̶
Nor̶ s̶h̶a̶l̶l̶ d̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ b̶r̶a̶g̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶ w̶a̶n̶d̶e̶r̶’s̶t̶ i̶n̶ h̶i̶s̶ s̶h̶a̶d̶e̶,
W̶h̶e̶n̶ i̶n̶ e̶t̶e̶r̶n̶a̶l̶ l̶i̶n̶e̶s̶ t̶o̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ t̶h̶o̶u̶ g̶r̶o̶w̶’s̶t̶:̶    
     S̶o̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶ a̶s̶ m̶e̶n̶ c̶a̶n̶ b̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶e̶ o̶r̶ e̶y̶e̶s̶ c̶a̶n̶ s̶e̶e̶,    
     S̶o̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶ l̶i̶v̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶, a̶n̶d̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ g̶i̶v̶e̶s̶ l̶i̶f̶e̶ t̶o̶ t̶h̶e̶e.