When the morning winds press on my cheeks I feel content but not full.
When I decide on something more my self-doubt alongside darkness overtakes my mind in a crippling spiral removing my motivation and adoration infinitely.

Yet whenever I encounter something fresh as well as pure to the eye it grasps my eyes for its beauty, for our standards bring us reputations but a lack of satisfactory.

When I notice the love within the air my heart beats in suffering and knowledge that I myself will not be sharing that moment as my spouse is away from my side yet it comes to my realisation that I give them higher hopes than myself which is what love is, isn't it?

I return to the mindset of an endless pain yet now I must admit to myself, will pain bring me any pleasure or just a lifetime of anguish?

For I stand alone but I stand with a smile, pride ruling over my side but a sin that is not sinful but simply delightful.

I wake up. Quiet. The sheets beside me are cold. The sun shines trough the dewy windows. I look down at my brown knees. The nail polish on my toes is falling off. I close my eyes for a second and open them again. I leave my bed and look myself in the mirror. My eyes are as blue as the ocean, and I’ve got freckles on my nose. My lips are dry, so I wet them with my tongue. I can feel the warmth from the sun on my thighs. It’s silent.
     My mother enters the room.
     “Who?” she asks.
     “I don’t know” I answer. She leaves.
     I look at myself in the mirror again. I look pretty, with my tan skin as a contrast to my blue eyes. An eyelash has fallen off and landed on my cheek, but I don’t remove it. I look away, at the sun. It shines again today. I miss the ocean.

Not often do I walk this path
As looking back I see no light
What others often call the truth of life,
I don't consider as delight

And struggleing back and forth I think
That maybe this no man loath
To look for somebody in life
To share the life ending moan

And maybe truth is just in words
And life considers it as dept
But walking back and forth I see
This struggle has no seeming end.

four thousand thoughts
trying to make sense of
four thousand thoughts

one simple meaning
trying to become
one simple meaning

constant chaos
trying to organize
constant chaos

thoughts thinking thoughts
thinking thoughts about
the thinking thoughts

stop.
but don't.

the beauty isn't always feel with touch
the eyes already knew
heart is sensitive
then ears can hear the harmony
from every single word of emotion

My paper
ached to feel stories of you
on its pages

yearned to taste the adventures
you had with my heart with every
curve of a letter

and craved to vicariously
enjoy the pressures of pleasures
on it's blank slate
every time
you trace bedtimes
stories up and
down my spine