Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
We always avoid meeting ourselves,
Morning alarms alerting us to be ourselves.

Talent extic, fossil buried in our bodies.
Watching it resurrect every morning,
To die again when the world look at
what we are and tell us we are not
And we believed.

When I come back home
I visited mirror again,
Words turned bullet,
What will I say happened to my face,
Why is my finger still has no ring on it,

What's the snow in my head, wait!
Am I aging or its just side effects of rejection,
"But you told that they can understand the man I am.

So why are we talking to each other again?"
TB Wayne Jun 2015
I want to drive

But to where?

I want to travel

But to whom?

I want to fight

But for what?

Without a dream my wants are empty.

Without a purpose my needs are superficial.

How do I choose a path if I don't know the destination?

Am I empty in a good or bad way?

T.B. Wayne
TB Wayne Dec 2014
Separated by two lives
Two different realities
The material world
And the world of inner peace

I have felt that moment of clarity
Where all is right in the world,
I have felt the pain of desire
The pain of one million heart breaks.

I want to be with my family
But this life is killing me,
I don't want to wake up
To this dismal reality.

I want to live a solitary life
One of much self love
With a calm and simple mind
To get me through the day.

I find it hard to be
The true and lovely me
Especially when I'm told
Who and how to be

I am torn between the paths,
These hard paths of love
One walk is very steep
And always filled with mud

The other is more uncertain,
Is it a path at all?
My fate is undecided
My destiny will soon call,

Maybe I will leave
Maybe I will stay,
I will take this journey slow
For my path ends bitterly every way.

T.B. Wayne
TB Wayne Dec 2014
The sky seems so dark

The moon seems so dim

The rain falls heavy,

On my tattered skin.

My eyes grow gloomy

I’m shy like the sun

I am never warm anymore

My day has just not come.

The sky does not open

The stars do not come out to play

There is no twinkle in my eye

Like lovers who’ve met that day.

One day I thought it was over,

The next I tried to begin,

Life seemed to ignore what I wanted

And I ignored every win.

I gradually woke up,

And decided to be happy,

Not because the world allowed it

But because I wanted to be free.

Free from some idea

That the world owed me

Free from all the pain,

That stopped me from being free.

When I walked outside,

Like any other day,

The sun did not shine,

But the rain came my way,

And even in that dark sky

And in the midst of pouring rain,

I began to smile,

And I never felt the same.

T.B. Wayne
TB Wayne Dec 2014
I could write a million songs

About the color of your eyes,

I could write a million poems

About the softness of your hands,

I could sing forever about your beauty,

And it will never be enough.

I could just look at your face

And know the world is going to be all right.

I could touch your arm

And calm your heart down to a beat,

I could laugh for years upon end,

Just in hopes of seeing your smile.

For every tear I shed on a lonely night,

I pray you lay there next to me.

If love is what I have

You will never have as much for me.

But if I should die

And your world would fall apart,

I would force God to return my life,

Just to love you one more day.

But as I sit here,

With you not in sight

I wonder can I live

Without you in my life.

T.B. Wayne
TB Wayne Dec 2014
I can’t express these words of love

or embrace the somber sounds of denial,

But if I should wake and our world is through

Know on my back I will carry you.

When all that we know fades away

I hope you realize the love that was made.

I hope you see love in the stars

I hope you can love who you are.

I cannot protect you forever, my love

But know that at the end, I call for you;

And if we should die so steady and fast

Know that our love will eternally last

I have no doubt that our love lives eternally

But I’m staring right at you and you can’t embrace me,

So is it love at all if it’s never alive?

Does it take life for love to die

T.B. Wayne
TB Wayne Dec 2014
The sun reflects off the water

While the rain ripples on the surface

What is the difference between the two?

When the rain stops the sun will shine

When the rain conquers the sun will hide

The river does not know the difference.

The water only ripples when it rains

The water shines only with the sun

It knows the sun will always be there

It knows the rain will always come.

When all is absent the water is calm,

ever so calm

T.B. Wayne
Edmond Guillaume Jun 2014
Each day I fly far
from the nest.
Through commerce,
through industry --
consumers of
human identity,
I pass unnoticed
as if a shadow
in a forest.

My body lifts,
made strong by your song,
and the fire

building in me flaring in my carrying me
feathers intact from
the cracked cement
and metal, bent --
the brambles that creep
on our bodies in sleep.
lupush May 2014
Your name has meaning not to me
for I want the bat and not some trick
you use to hide your nightly guise,
the one I’ve come to

There’s many reasons you and I
have chased the cats and not the mice:
the rats have trouble keeping up,
the cats will scratch you but with

I don’t seek the face behind the mask
for I want layers upon layers—
upon dusk
to hide a face that might prove
you’re just a man and I’m a
After some heavy DCnU reading, and my eternal fascination for the Joker, I’ve come to have much Batman-related inspiration. This time in particular, about Joker’s adoration with Batman and the fact he never cared about his real identity because, for him, Batman isn't a man with a mask but darkness itself. I strongly believe that Joker's head can't handle the fact Batman could be anyone but... well, Batman.
lupush May 2014
First it’s the pearls—little moons falling in the puddle
and the rain has made sure to make it just deep enough
for the muddy water to cover their shiny surface.

Then the gunshots—one,
echo through the alley and you’re certain someone will be standing
at the end of the dark pavement,
at least around a nearby corner,
and they’ll hear you, hear the gunshots again
and again,
and again.

Because you do.

It’s the blood you notice last—the muddy puddle
that’s slowly being fed by a red liquid you’ve only
seen one more time before,
(you fell)
and suddenly the bats return from the dark cave—you
have scared them.

Years after the pearls,
and the gunshots,
and the blood,

but not after pearls,
and gunshots
—more blood,

you realize the bat doesn’t symbolize your fear of
but it was the shape your parents’ blood took when a
J and a C painted their portraits.

At the end of the alley,
at the end of an alley,
at the end of many alleys
stands a masked man.
It does resemble you an awful lot.

— The End —