from rough, tattered to freshly scented pages,
I've read words, applauded for ages.
No, they haven't touched souls,
for then graveyards would have been shrines,
of these wise, elite men,
who lived the life at deep.

Innumerable scribblings,
gaining shiny molds of clay that make good decors.
all life's struggle praised for literary skills.

Wonder is a poet's life.
The greatest poem of all times, his own life,
'cause he imagined his music meltings stone so hard,
but the truth lies far beyond.

We are devils, made of dust so rare
that rains so fragile
cannot wash it offshore.

I look in the mirror and I'm talking to myself
about how I can not let anyone touch my heart.
For you have gone and have not looked back yourself,
you threw my gentle heart into the bin. Tore it apart.

I wanted to shout: Love, do not leave me here alone!
Don't hurt me and leave traces of blood in my heart!
It doesn't matter that I once loved you, now you're a stone.
I resign. Maybe I wasn't a good candidate. I wasn't smart.

I was waiting for you for a lifetime, but was all in vain, for both,
in time you showed me your true face, by the way you kiss.
For I don't give away my spirit to whom makes an oath,
but to the one who'll give me a hand down in the abyss.

I looked in the mirror and all I saw was an error in two,
unanswered questions in different colours of a war.
If it's a monologue or dialogue, I'm not staying in the queue,
anyways, I don't believe in the beautiful Aphrodite anymore.

when i leave this earth
and everything i do is in vain
at least i helped with your pain
even if it was just for a day
you’ll never suffer alone

i want to grow like flowers towards the sun
paint me in the image of a
(daisy/water-lily/hyacinth/poppy)
so I may always bask in light,
kissed by sacred bees
I might be vain but I long to be beautiful and without a care in the world.

the sun-warmed dirt would be a lovely place to plant my tired feet
and rest for a spell, nothing more and nothing less,
to be a blessed child of gaia,
protected by demeter

Did God not make love vain in the first place?
Stolen my wings; my sacred space.

Did God not lie to us all?
To say together we fall.

Can we have time?
Because peace can only appease my rhyme.

What is with people today?
We act in our subconscious away from the fray.

Can someone just make sense?
Because what does not makes the world tense.

Only sticking around because I am a known freak.
To women I am not sheik.

Can someone just make sense?
Because this world seems dense.

Will I succumb to my fear?
Because away from this world I wish I could disappear.

People are starting to swerve as they steer.
What is wrong with people today I said with no fear.

i am a moth drawn to the flame of despair
flutter through the air
no care
for body
just the burning of my soul
the yearning to know
what it feels like
to throw
everything away
in hopes
that dawn is close
closer then is possible
that time flows faster
when you're giving your all
for the promise of tomorrow
where tomorrow is
worlds away
from today
and its sorrows
and that sorrow will someday
be a sweet memory to borrow
from when the joy becomes
too much to bear

i am a moth in a world aflame
it looks like hell
but apparently
hell other people
and i'm sick of feeling
sinful for feeling
the sorrow of my fellow
tortured torturers

they tell me i'm too hollow
that riding the updraft is no good
and being tossed about the firestorm
is for fools
and i'm as flighty as a feather
in weather unsuitable
to be out in
yet i'm part of this world
and to lock away my soul sounds
abominable
so a throw to the wind
to see where it goes
it might singe
but it's worth it: the sorrow

i am a moth telling myself i'm not
and blaming it on outside sources
but being honest shows
my woes are my woes
and everybody knows
their own

and i just speculate and spectate; trying to know my fellow moths

When you're immortal
all beauty is left to wilt
except your own reflection,
you can't help but to fall
in love with yourself.