My hairline is receding
my care line is receding
I'm a feline proceeding
up the wall to hit the ceiling
of what I've been feeling
which should have me reeling
but my blood is quickly congealing
thanks to this art I've been stealing
from the vault in my mind
that's guarded at all times
except when words on lines
crack the code's design
and redefine
what it means to be alive.

Between the freshly picked flowers,
and my never ending thoughts.
I found a place to leave my dreams,
So that when I find myself wandering,
Into unknown scapes of remembrance,
I can throw away petals that spell my name.
I’ll stand by the water, my hands full of flowers,
and I’ll throw them into their graves.
Knowing that one day when it all turns around,
They’ll be reborn and I’ll pick them again.
I’ll drift off to sleep and dream of the bay where I would let them go all over again.

Mental illness is rising
Psychologists' career are blooming
Social media is redefining
Making it a beautiful suffering

Sadness has become boring
Misery has become enchanting
Scar has become beauty
Grief has become engaging
Depression has become alluring

Emotions have become art
Heartbreak has become a heart-wrenching song
Pain has become poetry
and mental illness has become a edgy-trending label.

When did they start to disguise agony behind such beauty?

Your face is perfect,
Hides the reflection,
Of you hurting,
Despite your perfections.

You know distance,
Back by the wall.
I keep drifting,
Can’t hold love’s ball.

Your eyes sing of haze,
Mine cry out why.
No reason to fade,
No reason to die.

Your flaws are perfect,
Redefining wrong.
Only so certain,
Don’t know how long.

You keep me up,
I keep me down.
I want to run,
And never be found.

You may be burned,
Love hurts us all.
My love has turned,
Rejected its call.

after the last autumnal rainfall has washed away
the remnants of the hurtful summer past
and with it, any residual feelings of want or desire for you
this gloriously mixed with the diversion of my eyes
and recalibration of my heart's attention
i'm still left with this feeling of resentment
and betrayal at your hands
which once knotted so seamlessly in mine

it is from this deeply ingrained feeling
that i know with crestfallen certainty
that i will never call you a friend
no, but you will merely be faintly etched in my memory
as a blemish, a person that i trusted
only to have that trust forged into a dagger
and relief that i did not give you any more of myself
with which you could sharpen it

it is from this realisation that i am forced 
to redefine the trough of this wave called love
highlighting the lowest depths of emotional exploitation
where you expose yourself, bearing your chest open
to another, so that they can have your heart in its entirety
but you encounter the true nature of another's character

a character that you may have only seen glimpses of, if anything
but one that will form their final portrait
in that dark unvisited corner of your mind
for as long as your memory will care to retain it
for the only beauty in betrayal is the subsequent clarity that it entails