I can't see the forest through the trees anymore
It's all just thicket to me now

No ocean to see behind the waves
No sea behind swells and squalls

I’ve become lost in the details
Of a life I find tolerable at best

One day I decided I knew
I couldn’t be happy with the overall

So I sifted the sands of details
To find some silver lining, a reprieve

And now I find myself lost in the failure
Of details that make up the failure of all

Now there’s no forest for me to see
It’s all just blurred to thicket for me

Skin a salmon shade when she laughs.
The curly strands that frame her face
are the color of the red apple.
Her contact lenses are a bright fuchsia.
Her lips are brick red.
Her stories are tinted carmine.
Her grief is bordeaux.
She blushes in violet
and smiles in rosy pink as she
stretches her hand for a shake
and says her name is Ruby.

You don’t deserve me.
Not for I am the perfect thing,
but for I am in broken pieces.
Where you might get cut
from the sharp edges.
And the last thing I need,
is for you to get hurt.

For you the one,
that’s far from imperfections.
While I’m the one,
with questionable existence.

—n.y

Beckoning amid the mundane chaos of all and sundry
I heard a whisper – ‘Take a deep breath. Be.’
Along a hidden guise, the voice lingered:

Sit by the old campfire, roar at their repartee
Go, revel in joy. Be!
Bask in your gradual siesta, lolling on the settee
Vision dreams black, white and hued. Be.
Revel in the white Christmas joys, or stare into the forlorn sea
Through peaks of joy or hollows of misery. Be.
For no act is more profound or tranquil,
Stay. Breathe. Be.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One where people will die
When they're asleep
And quiet.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where you can hear all types of war cries.
One where all types of people will die

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
With lots of fire and guns.
One where all you can hear are
The traumatizing sounds of bullets being released.
And the blood curdling screams of people dying.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
That the government can't handle.
With bombs designed as food,
And no ruler is there to rule.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
To where when you step outside,
There's a 98% chance you can die.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
Where all you can see is blood,  
And corpses.
And all you can smell is the putrid scent of rotting flesh and dried up blood.

I'm brainstorming up a riot.
One that can't even compete with war.
One where peoples hearts are took over with hatred.
And the only thing on their mind,
Is death and ******.

You read it right.
I'm brainstorming up a riot.
And the funny thing is,
I don't even know why.