Whenever I look at the stars
I forgot about all my scars.
Your are my universe.
I am your moon.

I am your finished concoction,
of what you're inspired to write,
Born on your blank piece of paper,
Developed from deepest insights,

I may toy with your inner feelings,
Bared from the depths of your heart,
My aim is to enter a strangers mind,
From memories never to depart,

My desire is to be reborn again,
By anyone who's willing to read me,
Be now your inspired manefestation,
Your dear departed poetry.

all of my thumbs pinch the sun
and the moon remains a cloud.

i have too many aftermaths
but always another lost cause.

these flowers keep blooming
no matter what.

you love your exile
or you Live until
it’s worth it.

Clouds above empty ship
Feathers fall to heavenly green
Lay, watch pleasant dream