Dear Madam Sabrina,

The lonely beach shores, I walk
Tossing seashells of affection in remebrance of you
A pursued love interest that is overwhelm
Overflowed by tears I attempted to hold back
Slithering ghostly as we never embrace
A tender kiss, ponders across the bay
Given a mysterious essence
We are lost
In an oceanview desire
Recollecting inner thoughts about another
A woman I found,but an achor
Abreast from you
Rejection is a raging wave that conquerors
My ability to forget you
A stranger to calm sea
Can float away
From peaceful shores
Of love

Yours truly,
A man without dignity

As the crew cheers on my death
I'm thrown out to sea
While having an achor tied to my feet
Falling into the depths
Losing each breath
As I swallow the sea
Lifelessly closing my eyes
A recurrence
Flash in front of me
Days before sailing away
Another heart beat strikes
To the lovely Paula Etta
She was married with kids
Our lusting last till dusk
Spoiled by the appearance of her husband
Words were hardly any
Violence was preventable
To plead my innocence
Judgement was merciless
Sinking underneath the ocean
As I arrange
A burial of plunder
By fools who discovered me

Even though you’d search six feet under the ground
It’s never deeper than this hole in my heart
You can’t patch this up with stumbling apologies
And misguided avalanche of cracked voice

Where in the forests
You can read the words I etched in every trees you’d walk in
And you’d wonder if ever it’s meant for you
But then I know you’d figure it out, I know you’ll know
It’s meant for you and you alone

You can’t drown yourself on the ocean by falling in
Just because I jump through it like a winged mermaid
They said I could finally breathe after having to swim
But when you told me, “Stay”
Everything went high tide again

So, would you wait for me by the shore?
While I’m away in the vast depth of the ocean
Cascading in the midst of storm every time you try to be my achor
Sailing across the unbeknownst ?

Would you tell me how you loved the whispers and hushes
Of the wind that runs a distant rhythm and the leaves that stutter together?
Wold you go to the north and west where dense forest lie in a valley with mountains
Full of birds mimicking the way you sound when you said my name?

my body feels like the darkest part of the ocean.
take me back to the surface and unwind the chills.
there is an achor on top of my back and i am walking on lit coals.
my brain is dead and i feel quarantined.

who needs a giraffe
when you can **** a rhino?

elongated neck,
a smirk,
a take on being
the emblem of savvy...
the last of the worth
of 20 odd years...

jeff buckley:
before i hear your cry...
and i will hear
your cry: your *****!
you will cry! *****!
it's jeff buckley!
you will cry!

i don't want to,
but i will...
and i will because
i am not .i.am.
and because i...
want to & too...

i have more worth
of a heart,
yet i heave so much less
to incorporate
a tear to guarantee
be a bitten beat
of rhythm...
your:
my kiss my heart,
and the tooth nibbling
spare,
to be left in youth:
a promenade's worth
of a a spring's
and a promenade's
buckle scoop
for a squander...

     jeff buckley
would never become
a brandon lee..

          with such song on
the air, and with such ache,
dying...
   will be satiated by
an anaesthetic...
whereby:
  all of dying revolves
around the simpleton's quest
of the worded: just fine...

i am willing to die,
to have died,
with such tenderness
of a closure with
the gravity of
jeff buckley's:
hallelujah
of the mea culpa
             variant...

ha! no life prior
to 30 and not having listened
to miles davis' kind of blue...
as if i were
prior to learning
the concept of lounging
and billy the kid
experiecing the object of
sofa...
   and...

what comes within the confines
of... a "lost feather"...
and what is the "necessary"
base for script...

              and what is
the submerged feel
of tongue...
  and what is akin to it:
a broken wing...
and...
                the turmeric's worth
for the worth of:
sun begot slip,
and slip begot the baron
clot of hindsight
of a scraatching vinyl
on ice lord: loop.

i need both a lemon
and an orange, peeled,
for a sunset...
but to be given either,
as both,
to make resemble,
an equal clarity!

             how about...
i lose any and all
ambition to cherish
anything of worth and
anything at all to have
have been lost,
and synchronised
in being cherished too?

how about that?
am i, what deserves a p.s.
and only thus,
said and lost
and lost and said and better
forgotten...
and no rubric,
and certainly not the Beatles
and certainly no Evlis...

and you my cold Monday,
and you...
my lazy Sunday,
and you my: never a cure
the cure pop slash of song...

stranded sire,
of a sinking ship,
bound to an achor,
and weaving
waves to a wadering
wind
made tumult:
what could have
been a thought,
a soul,
a, a breath,
came as lightly as...
nothing more than
an elongated vowel
and the captured
elongation of a vowel
in a consonant:
AH...

            what was
to be a riddle...
became as simple as...

a...
        
                  sigh;

sighs do not allow themselves
to be congested by
a tomb...

       i: tow the debt of...
whispers without an
anonymous script of:
people who'd love to be
associated
with given: scrap 'o'
           cohen...

who is the www.poetryfoundation.org?
who is anyone,
who is:
the person with a head
for a shank of lamb
prior to the Edward crowned;
oven invitation only:
         supra to no ditto?

choc. chipped cookies:
and all that's
assured the conventional
terminology of
an Etonian, mess...

         me?

             what: ****'s worth
of ******* a ******?
do i look like some
English bourgeoisie?
      no!
                 i have hibernian
attaché "squirm"
              spots of minder
to "attempt" to gravitate from...
in Catholic,
as in:

      'eire and the paul's slack
& lack...

           fidgit: the LOAN TITO TEEN OH
'phbet...

scout the 'ed
& eer' 'n' oh...
                  to loan a sme'ck...
and rattled by 'eeve'
  to confine a:
Mr. to every Moun't'aey.