Like wet sponges, his eyes were, and everytime he shut them tears burst forth and ran down his rugged cheeks until they congregated on his trembling jaw before they leapt to their deaths. His lips quivered as if there was a great quake in his heart- there was; for his heart beat faster than any drum he had heard before and he collapsed onto the floor heaving and pounding.

Images of his past lovers formed in his humid eyes and every frame ushered in memories that washed over him like great waves, flooding his empty shell with more sorrow. Sunken relationships surfaced from the troubled waters like phantoms and continued to circle him until he finally disappeared into the murky depths of his emotions and he drowned in the sea of melancholy.

Gasping for air, he fought: clawing, kicking and screaming until he succumbed into a comatose state on the ocean floor, but that was not the end of it. Nightmares, the size of whales haunted him below the stormy seas, devouring him and spitting him out again. He was trapped in the belly of one great beast when he opened his eyes.

Darkness covered his eyes like black clouds and thunder filled his ears as the beast breathed and bellowed. Every time he tried to move he was assaulted by wicked gales that threw him deeper into the darkness, but he could not bear it anymore. He couldn’t bear it at all!

The stench of regret suffocated him and with every breath he took he grew less and less hopeful. He stopped trying all together and sat in a corner, waiting for his death to arrive and one day he heard men shouting from beyond the fleshy walls. Suddenly, he felt himself rising higher.

He washed out with the bile and the rotten food when the fishermen slashed the belly of the once mighty creature. They were surprised to see him of course, and they lifted his feeble body up by the arms as he could not bring himself to stand up. The sunlight blinded him and he instantly collapsed into their arms.

He woke up two days later in a warm cottage to the sight of a beautiful woman tending to his wounds. Her eyes, like shining pearls, met his and she said in the sweetest voice: “stop drinking, you ******* idiot!”

i’m afraid to say it:
the three words that could bring us together-
or they could drive us apart.

but i can’t deal with another broken heart,
so i let those words escape my lips
and like a wave they wash over your ears;
the air that surrounds us is full of my deepest fears.

then you walk away,
without another word to say,
and there I stand in the rain-
my heart bleeding, blood runs, full of pain.

i hope that you’ll turn back and say;
say the three words back to make these clouds fly away.

it still rains to this day.

bikini eyelids flap to reveal big, beautiful lies,
soft mounds of sand washed by the rising tide.

the men touch and run their fingers through the warm gap;
like a river, their fingers flow along the charted map.

the places they'll go you won't believe until you see or smell,
all rivers reach the same sea eventually; they watch her ocean swell.
she sells seashells, but honestly her *** sells more well
because she's a tall glass of water when they're in burning hell.

she comes to their aid, but she requires to be paid...
oh well, they'll do anything just to get laid!

she stands with her feet wet on the seashore,
but wet sailors in the sea pass by and call her a ***** *****.

everything she did for them, they forget when they leave,
but who's got a ***** mouth with a cigarette under their sleeve?

there’s glass on the beach, but where are the ****** feet?
there’s pain in my heart, but still i show my teeth when we meet.
when i tell you i’m fine, listen, really i am… not.
i want you to try harder- give it all you got!
pull the pain from inside of me, and throw it like a rock.
watch it skip and dance across the lake and suddenly come to a stop.
as it sinks beneath the waves, look up! i am doing the same!
dancing through life, smiling and waving… you’ll never know from where it came.
oh, but it did, and frankly, i don’t think you could have done a thing,
i was going to do it even if things got better, but they never really did…
colors faded from people and things, and everything turned the same;
gray people cooked gray food while living under gray ceilings… lame.
i’d like to think i’m heading off to a better place now that i’m gone,
i bet there are others here like me who stay up all night till dawn.
their fingers grasp the warm sand as they lean back to look at the starry sky,
full of shining stars that light up everything in sight, but as the sun rises, they die.
on that golden beach with glass, shining in the morning light,
i will rest finally, i’ll sleep tight because in life, i was too tired to fight.

Hey y’all, in the wake of the recent tragedy we faced and the number of innocent lives lost in the process and also the countless number of children who take their lives everyday, I wrote a poem about how it would be if the children could come back to their parents for one day. Let me know what y’all think.

“The River”

Earth, broken and dry, looks up to the sky, and suddenly it starts to rain.
Rivers that dried up so long ago, now start to flow again.

From the currents rise those who were long gone; the waters give birth to the slain.
Families line up at the banks to see their kin once again.

The parents bring towels and hugs that never end,
The families open their baskets and have a picnic at the river’s bend.

“I made your favorite dish,” says the mother, “we eat it everyday.”
“We leave a plate for you” the father says, “just in case you come back someday.”

Brothers and sisters, fractions of their former selves, feel whole once again.
“I’ll let you have anything you want! I’ll share! Just don’t leave us ever again!”

Poor children think that they can bargain, but they just can’t make them stay.
Families watch as they leave: the children of yesterday.

The waters that once ran in the rivers, now flow elsewhere.

vines, so virile and verdant, grow in the golden light.

like pythons, they grip concrete pillars with all their might.

cracks and wounds appear, and dust pours out from within.

they grip harder still and wrap around the pillars now so thin.

tree trunks to pencils, the pillars now appear to be.

there was a forest here once, of sparkling cement trees.

lonely fox, orange in the white snow.
lonely mister fox, no other fox does he know.
table set, rabbit on his dinner plate, but he eats alone.
fire dances in the fireplace, but no one rings his phone.
he sits in the corner, in his chair, and in his pipe he blows.
lonely mister fox, dead from the cold.
lonely fox, orange in the white snow.