Are private conversations even private anymore
We talk with caution
Is any body even real anymore?
Fake news turned into fake lives
Oh wait did fake lives come before fake news?
No one even knows anymore

Of the million ways to die
Who would of thought a screenshot
Would be one of them
Vulnerability is now an illusion
A mystery to many
Too many are hallucinating
People talk
while others are investigating
Looking for ways to expose them
Knowing that you are one screenshot away from death, how can anyone be real anymore?

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-
I: tonight! at the Oscars!

i really had to watch the whole show
twice, to convince myself of
something;
    the first time i watched it i was
as any usual idiot aspiring to
wow!
                      you know the usual
finesse,
             a bunch of humble people
with diamonds that belong
                                     to hades,
or at least the j. r. r. tolkien dwarves,
       and the masked king
          under the dome of the theatre
or rather:
           when does an actor, not act?
and i thought the mob
    that went to see ballet clapped
too much...
                        boy i had it coming
with this crowd...
                  these one-legged actors
seem to clap more than
    your typical pleb like me at
                       a ballet performance;
but this was only upon first sitting.

2nd sitting? ooh - a cringe (show
a face of constipation with closed eyes
and skidding mouth trying
to usher in the crin-  with a floating
                    -dg         - the d being
subtle) show...
                     the majority of americans
are of german descent, although
they speak english, right?
      and i thought english humour
was bad...
                        upon watching highlights
a 2nd time,
      i started smelling a rat...
         weinstein...
               sure, sure...
                          but who's that young
girl sitting next to guillermo del toro?  
      holding his arm as if clinging
to daddy issues - but hey!
               there's the aqua god hidden
somewhere in that bag of meat
               finely, finely attired!  
yeah... and i have an easter bunny
shoved up my ***,
                    and mother goose too!  
and black, so much black,
                 well, khaki doesn't cut it
really...
              but by watching the highlights
the second time
           it just felt like
     quote from the phantom tailor,
i.e. you hurt my feelings!
   chic? what's chic?
          chick-chicky-poo-brains...
        crass, man, absolutely crass...
     the absolute german joke:
    regarding the best picture
            award from last year...
              it just so happened that
the academy made a mistake between
a BLACK movie, and a musical...
     and in this years "ceremony"
            the hurt feelings had to be
appeased and what: the barbarian horde
expected was - but not on the last
minute whim...
            well, bull in a china shop,
     the closest i can come to the grace
of a balerina, is to curl my toes inward,
  and then stand up and walk the crow
walk... the opposite of how a gorilla
does the same with its hands.

***** please, don't confuse hans zimmer
with: are you sure that
   john williams isn't plagiarising
himself all the time?
           so, i came up with a new category,
the sort of guys
    who choose the music for such
films like baby driver...
                          can't argue that that
film is the ******* purely on the basis
of what soundtrack was behind it...
how about there's an oscar for those
music nerds?

II: i never follow the exact recipe -
    this is my body (pepper),
                          this is my blood (salt).

just 'ave a look at this:

ingredient list from
     two different recipes
     (a) epicurius.com
                      (b) pekishme.com
   (c) ... the hybrid

  (no measurements are to be given
in the later revealed hybrid
   as in the following two recipe
sources for a reason...
        i'll admit... the only branch
of chemistry i was good was
       organic: or rather - the i see) -
i've seen too many english women
sticking to "guidelines"
  and have seen at least two
marriages where a woman didn't
understand the concept of
       al dente, that later had to be
cooked to a nice chew in the sauce
after having rested in a seive
   drizzled with oil, prior to being
cooled with cold water to stop cooking...

                   A                                              B
butter          ­                                       fettuccine
breadcrumbs                                    cutterf­ish
fresh basil                                         shrimps
chopped fresh thyme                      clams
mussel                          ­                     white wine
water                                                 double cream
olive oil                                            onions
zucchini   ­                                         garlic
yellow summer squash                  thyme
red bell pepper                                oregano
garlic             ­                                    olive oil
shrimps                                            parmesan cheese
scallops
fettuccine

                                     C      
butter                                                
br­eadcrumbs                                    
                   ­                                         shrimps
                ­                      
mussel                                               white wine
                                                           double cream
olive oil                                            onions
           ­                                                garlic
                                                          ­ thyme
                                                           oregano

                                                        ­   parmesan cheese

fettuccine

and there are problems with reading two
recipes...
         e.g. you can't exactly use wine
and cream and also add
  zucchinil, yellow summer squash                  
& red bell pepper with these mild
sensations that are not balanced
akin to cream and wine (esp. white),
fresh basil? doesn't go with cream...
fresh thyme does go along with meat,
notably, lamb?

    dried thyme & oregano are
a match made in heaven...

      point being,
            the crucial aspect of fusing
recipe (a) with recipe (b)
  is the butter and breadcrumbs...
    you melt the butter and brown
the breadcrumbs in it...
    let them cool, and then sprinkle
them on the dish...
    you can also infuse the addition
of cream with parmesan,
  as you might also add extra on
top...
                 but the point of
recipe (a) crux is the breadcrumbs
mingling with everything
   in recipe (b) - but also with
what's essential in recipe (a) rubric.

III: code.

    for a while i forgot where you begin
writing html...
            blanked man, blanked...
     oh... right... in the notepad
and then you save the file under
   under index.htm
             with a sub-heading ALL TEXT...
but at this point it's really caveman
talk to me, the ones using the language
proficiently have been taught
by pioneers in the field,
            and it's not about wealth
distribution, but about knowledge...
  
e.g.
      <!DOCTYPE html>
<html>                         but why not <\html>?
<body>                         but why not <\body>?

<h1>me being late</h1>
<p>the first word is spelled mama, or gaga?</p>

</body>
</html>

           with those questions in italics
  i can't see no gate opening, nor closing
     subsequently with <h1> and <p>,
               apparently the gates
    are always open and there needs
               to a constant flow through them.

sure, smart, but dumb at the same time;

because i can tell you,
i once had an "I.T" "teacher" in my youth,
charged 20 quid an hour,
and all he managed to "teach" me
was how to change the, ******* screenshot!

it's not exactly true what they say
about teachers... it's not that if you can't
do, you teach... the darker side is:
                       you scam.

IV: ✡.

       there is no such thing as a "secret"
among the rich,
    as there certainly isn't such a thing
as a "conspiracy" among the poor.

V: the croydon cat-killer.

this isn't even an urban myth told
in thailand by hippies...
        let me tell you,
          when you spot a decapitated
cat, lying on the street while
walking at night,
   and you've read about where
this story originated, i.e. croydon
you start to start looking
   for that pathetic sadist...
   thinking to yourself:
           well, and we met, would
you have the ***** to do that to me?
  i'm gagging for a chance encounter,
just to see the ****** breakdown
upon trying to move to an upper
tier of this depraved practice.

Forgotten art of demonic friendships
With baddie caddies and the absent  masculine control of the black liquiline emotions
Pooled around a hair mask, it stripped away all the gaudy binds
The devil is really a concept that one should never be denied

But I got 1k views! Thanks everyone!

There are pictures of naked bodies
Bouncing from one cell tower to a different cell tower.
We live in a world where technology allows us
To see each other’s bodies long before we ever
Climb under blankets and have the privilege
Of exploring one’s anatomy in the comfort of the dark
Instead of through the mirror of a small bathroom
Where if you’re lucky, she might have included her face.
It’s too bad the boy or girl she sends it to still won’t know
The color of her eyes or that she scrunches her nose
When she’s mad or that she has the deepest dimples when she laughs.
Your body is more than just a screenshot that the receiver will take.
It’s more than ******* in the extra bit of sand
Inside the hour glass of your flesh covered skeleton.
It’s more than standing a little taller, arching your back
So that the cage of ribs protecting your heart show through
The lens of the camera.
Your body is more than turning to the left, then turning to the right
Because you’re trying to find an angle that makes you seem even thinner.
There are boys who only know how to love you as they hold their phone
With your picture in their eyes and their hand touching their own body
When they could be touching yours.
Do not allow a boy to love you through a picture because if a real man
Wants to love you, he won’t ask to see your naked anatomy before
First seeing your face and knowing that your eyes are blue,
That when you laugh, your dimples grow as deep as the Grand Canyon.
Do not allow yourself to let a boy love you through a picture that’s
Bounced from one cell tower to a different cell tower.

Im so sick of it.
I want to remember what we were like 5 months ago, when we met. Everything was so perfect then. We used to be so in sync with each other. I called you my brother and you called me your sister, because our friendship was that close.

I miss not missing a day talking to each other. We could talk about anything ,me and you. I could tell you everything and not feel like I was a sour *******. You'd listen everytime and make me feel better about the situation. We used to screenshot all of our funny conversations and keep them in our phones as memories.

But not now. Now I don't even recognise the face staring back at me.  What happened to us? We used to be so close and now I barely even remember you. It's sad. Now I'm scared to even talk to you. We don't talk anymore , there's no more screenshot conversations and there's no more happiness.  

I want you back. The friend I once knew. I want to feel happy in your company , not scared. I want to have to stop fighting for your attention because this silencing void between us is killing me. And excuse me if I sound selfish , but the truth never came easy.

Please, come back to me.

Me aj shohre ghar ja reha c
11 march nu thuhadi insta profile
Da screenshot lea c
Te aj gharwali ne oh dekh lea
Te aj badi ladai hoi
Me mana reha usnu
But oh nai man rahi
Viah to
Pehla bi 2 baar sadi behas hoi he thuhade
Krke
But etki oh bahut naraz he
M nu ji samj a reha me ki kara

i am in constant fear of forgetting.
forgetting how i feel,
what i'm thinking,
the directions to your house,
the quadratic formula,
all of it


so i leave myself notes along my way.
inked on my skin,
attached to sticky notes,
sticky-tacked on my wall,
in the paper's margin,
everywhere


but with you,
you're convenient.
tap two buttons at the same time
and our words are embalmed for another day.
just as easy as that.


every once in awhile
i like to refresh myself
by scrolling past each screenshot of us
i began to notice a pattern,
somewhere outside the messaging format


between each picture
were tons more, unrelated.
between us, whatever we are
life has moved on
we've been caught in our little world
while the rest has moved around us
but we have too


i know now
that no matter what happens
i will be okay
because time will move on
and i'll keep taking pictures
of things that aren't us
just like i have been
from the start

This screenshot of you, I always see:
waving over your shoulder,
smiling at me.
I've got this fear in my mind like,
what will you do when I
run out of things to say?
Will you stay?

Will you stay when I have nothing to say or do,
will you stay awhile,
just until I think of a cheesey joke
to make you smile?

When nights get longer
will holding me asleep get older?
When I forget another happy birthday,
will you stay?

Just tell me what you need and
God, I pray I can
give you everything.
Anything your heart desires.
Just tell me why you look so tired.

This screenshot of you, I always see:
waving over your shoulder,
smiling at...

There's a fear in my mind that
one day you'll wake up and find
what you're looking for in somebody else.

But you're smiling at me...

No matter the tears or
swearing or fears, I know
at the end of the day,
you're walking in through that door
and I know what you'll say,

.......And I love you too.

staring at a window
a distance of
two inches away
        the world outside
    falling...
    piece
    by
    piece
    by
    piec­e
             buys
             pieces
             buys
             peace
                       by
                       pieces
                       it
                       pierces
          please------
     all i have
          in silence
                 in hushes
          your flushes
                               pierces...
                 one
                 two
                 three
          then your smile,
              all that is left...
          no longer pleases...
like puzzles
they scattered
                          all in pieces
               so hard to place together
         yet so **** hard to supress
                   i hate it.
if she loves me
yet she
loves me not
            can't seem to fit.
         i place in
   all the moments
       one by one
       bit by bit
                             altogether
             infinitely
                         tirelessly
                in repeat.
                         every single smile
             serene in capture
      even the tone
          of her song
                    caught in record
every flicker of her hair in my mind
just like a screenshot
              and even the blink
      of her eyes
           each individual dot...
    she loves me?
    she loves me not?
                  the flashes
        in and out
  staring at the window
      only two inches away...
           listening closely------
  she loves me?
  or she loves me not?
                 the outside world
     like a breathtaking blossom
     bald of petals...
           falling
                piece
                by
                ­piece.

-4.   Know this is the path to a     breakup
-3.   Try to fix things
-2.   Ugly cry in a car because you
         know everything has all gone         so terribly wrong
-1.    Get drunk, get high, smoke    something      
  0.   You break up
1. You don't know how to feel
2. Cry into your pillow at night
3. Convince yourself you did the right thing
4. Dream about him
5. Cry more and listen to sad songs
6. Hate being awake
7. Think about posting indirect messages to him
8. Write letters. Lots of them
9. Google what to do
10. Consider taking him back
11. Google why this happened
12. Forget the bad stuff and only remember the good memories
13. Google if it's your fault
14. Talk about him 24/7
15. Make plans to talk to him after a month
16. Lots of quotes saved to your phone
17. Screenshot things that make you laugh too
18. Miss him
19. Be a better friend
20. Binge watch
21. Occasional setbacks
22. Remember that he was an *******, and he made you hurt
23. Talk to other guys
24. Compare them to your ex
25. Start to be see that you're happier
26. See a hopeful future
27. Run into them
28. Feel like the world is crushing you
29. Find out they've been seeing someone else
30. New music playlist, "Moving On" featuring songs about karma and awful exes
31. More writing
32. Throw away his ****, delete his photos and number, unfollow him on social media
33. Keep busy
34. Realize this is the end. The for real end
35. It gets easier, and you get stronger
36. If he begged you to come back what would you do?
37. You wouldn't even want him back at this point
38. It's been one month, and you didn't notice like you did when it was 1 week
39. Friends. Friends. Friends.
40. Enjoy being free and doing things for yourself
41. Those songs don't hurt the way they used to
42. Start thinking about other things
43. Feel proud
44. Focus on what's really important to you
45. Keep going
46. Smile
47. ...

I don’t care if you think I’m beautiful

                                                 Whate­ver



Am I beautiful inside


                                              Yes you are

i live in a brightness
of worlds
paper-thin

a screenshot of
malleability
introduces my reckoning

today, the serpent
lays hold of
the egg
and starvation
is kept at bay

belly full
cut the cord
the descendants
hang heavy

all my life i've wanted
a reason to
die well

tonight, I hear it
in the sirens...
I hear it
in the coyotes...
I hear it
in my soul...
tonight, I hear it
in plain sight--
as clear
as a daisy

i was allowed
to slow down

to see my life
in a different gear

to venture a guess
towards life in payment
of a different path

i was
hungry
and hung-up

i was held-up
with my pants
down

i was a man
living his life
in the modern
mouse-trap

and nobody
cares about the
man in the
modern
mouse-trap

forget about the
cheese...

find your way
own way
out

not all **** videos are equal

one searches the index,
hopeful a screenshot
pinpricks the eye and the peculiar

peculiar need of the moment

like most things good and appreciated,
sifting through the chaff is a learned skill,
required but not intuitively sired,
not every new word in the dictionary
delights, insights, triggering a welcome!warning

the sifter’s handle fits the hand uncomfortably,
requiring egregious prodigious turnings,
till the flour is silky and manipulative, ready,
pleasure is work, luster need maintenance

you passover, skippering,
a search for the next and the next,
treasured island is constantly on the move,
it’s coordinates require GPS updating

rerouting rerouting rerouting

what does this reveal about you?

there are no simple single path pleasures,
the first bite delight is ultimately worn down,
recalled but not equally fully restored,
so we need, insistent for new thrill pathways
to get to the same old pleasured places

the body acts, the body’s acts, the body’s reacts

familiarity is a  museum collection,
everything human requires updating,
especially essentially by
the imagination’s perpetual swiping

friday morning,
we wake up hungover
from last night's binge drinking,
because even though we love our jobs,
no one really wants to work for their entire lives,
when so many things are unanswered,
perverted, and misconstrued.  
hashtag all of those millennial catchphrases,
to garner hearts from your friends
who you haven't seen in years,
friends who work in San Fran,
Chicago, Greenwich Village.
crank up your laptop speakers,
as Neon Indian's Polish Girl
plays that **** synth,
and take a drag from a P-Funk,
before your Grandma hits your
shoulder with the newspaper daily—
right after she speaks in Vietnamese,
asking you what is your name,
because she has Alzheimer’s.
but in these social media days,
isn't everything that is worth mentioning to your sister,
everything that is worth fighting for,
everything that is ****** in this world,
on the internet (maybe, just Twitter tbh).
screenshot the cat meme you like,
save it,
share it,
move on.
if only she wasn't allergic to cats,
maybe it could have worked out.
that was 7 years ago.
—*** ova it. Then, mix your red bull with your coffee,
because the next 10 hours of your life,
will be revolving around caring about people
other than your ungrateful and ingratiating ***.
don't cry,
when I say good-bye.
stay for a while, under the shade of the rooftop
where the deejay spins Frank Ocean
and Frank Sinatra records,
as everyone is drinking scotch, or Yuengling,
and ashing over the veranda bansister,
; the bad boys try to open their souls
to the good girls. and the bad girls,
reveal too much to the good boys.
we devoured those drugs, as though
they were jelly beans from a convenience store,
and then we broke into the store
and ate some more.
break the coals on top of the hookah,
puff, puff, pass—
inhale, exhale,
fit the deformed piece
back into the Dinosaur puzzle,
and crawl back into bed,
pull the covers over
your trembling body,
shut your eyes,
and reflect,
for the day is heavy with regret
and unsaid things.

we all have our stories.
stored in cafes, empty beer bottles,
soaked clothes, tattered floppy disks.
old film cameras, b/w reels.
we keep these memories with us,
and displace them as well.
their cytotoxicity travels
throught terminals of life's airport.
eventually new souls come and go.
terminals change, destinations flicker
on digital screens.
we delay our feelings, fall in love
with the impossibility of circumstance.
we all have our stories,
maybe in poems like these, or
photographs like the screenshot i would take to share this poem.
we all have our stories,
and not all stories are as happy
as the plants kept beside me while
i sit and write this poem down.

on skype tonight you said
we're 94 hours apart

you sent me a screenshot of google maps to show:
"94 because i chose walking, i can't drive"

i gave you a small smile
when all i really wanted to say was how much
i wished you were here

Jenny is in love with Rick
Took awhile before rick confessed his virtual feelings


She replied I love you and sent a couple emojis
to show some happiness
now Rick is bursting with excitement that she loves him too
the heart emoji said it all

so he goes ahead and screenshot his onscreen feelings
and shares it with pals in his group
Tom: that's what's uuuup
Money bags: you got it bro
el: you ma *****
George: that ***** is yours papi

Now Jenny's feelings are itching
I must tell my girls am soon gonna get engaged
She tweets
Shares
And
Post on everyone's wall

I FOUND MY BETTER HALF

it's 8pm the girls are getting together
to celebrate the great news and
to watch a reality show
then followed by that series


It's now 1am,everyone is kissing goodbyes
we all forgot to talk about Jennys boyfriend
but once we reach home, we'll text our emotions
The emoji, will say it all

Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*******, clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread

Existential *****.
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.


Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated *******, vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes

Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I

I    I     I

No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana

HandshapedHeart.

2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons

Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices

Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack

A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet

If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline

Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.

[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]

I stare at you, every now, and then,
but my feelings for you remained unspoken.
I wish, I could just tell you what I think of you,
Cause if you only knew, and it's okay with you, I'll run to you.

I screenshot every picture of you,
look at my gallery, It's full because of you.
I didn't liked you since we met,
It's just.. like.. one day, when I saw you, It felt like magnet.

Ever since that day,
I'm always following your foot way,
I wanna know, who's with you,
I wanna know what you do,
I just wanna know more about you,
In every way, I can do.

Months, years, Decades, passed,
I still like you, I still love you,
You still like her, You still love her.
It hurts, it hurts, because I know, you won't love me, the way I do.
It hurts, to be bypassed by you.

I loved you for 10 years.
I know it's not your problem anymore.
But please help me,
If there's really no chance, tell me.
Cause I'm tired, I'm tired of getting ignored.
I think I can't do these things anymore.

I need to stop my feelings for you,
It will hurt more, if I'll continue.
Maybe you're not really my forever,
perhaps, you're the epitome of game over.

Sometimes I see something cheesy
And it reminds me of you
But I keep it to myself
Because we don't do that cheesy romance ****
We act like we're above it
But we both know
When I screenshot "bad" pictures of you it's because I like looking at your face
--and believe me there are no bad pictures of you--
And when you text back in two seconds it's because you miss me
And it's not the cheesy **** that makes me smile at my phone
It's the dumb pun you put so much effort into
Because you know they make me laugh
And yeah we don't say "babe" or "honey" "good night sweetheart"
We say "nerd" and "brat" and "****" and "loser"
But we can stay on the phone for three hours
Like that gym class heroes song
And we both know that's some cheesy ****

I am going to tell you a story.
A short story.
A terrible one.
It might be me. It might not be.
I did not know him.
I did not know anybody around.
It was a new class.
He sat behind me.
The lecture commenced.
He touched my back.
Accidentally, I assumed.
I forgave him in my mind.
And I did not turn back.
Another time.
Must be accidental, again.
Forgivance granted.
Turned back? Haha no.
Thrice?
Four times in a row?
I could have turned back and glared.
I did not.
I ignored him.
I hate myself for that.
Suddenly I felt a hand in my top.
I was shocked.
I panicked within.
But put on a calm front.
And did not turn back.
I ignored him again.
I hate myself more, for that.
His hand
Reached my right breast.
I have no clue how.
I felt as though I was dead already.
Strangely
The people around us were oblivious;
Of the heinous crime in procession.
He very casually lingered about.
And very casually pulled his hand back.
All content.
I ignored him, hahah.
Did not turn back, still.
I so hate myself for that.
This might seem insignificant to one.
A matter too trifling to controvert about.
But it was not. For me.
The lecture ended.
Later on?  
A meek complain, I did.
But it was as ignored.
As his malice was by me.
But on much persistence and support.
I stood up again.
I did not resist his advances then, yes.
That was bad.
But understand,
One cannot.
But I finally gathered some courage.
To stand up against it.
Against him.
He was a *****, hahah.
Inbox-ed me an apology on Facebook!
Had a 'sorry' been a solution,
This would have been a perfect world.
But it is not.
I had a proof now
Though.
Of his evil deed.
Thanks to Facebook.
The screenshot was shown,
And punished was he.
I had never felt so happy!
Third of August.
Twenty-thirteen.
It has been a year.
I overcame my apprehensions,
The miseries, the horrors.
To be the happy me.
That I now am.
I still regret not having taken a stand.
At the very moment I was supposed to.
Sigh.

Want to take the puppy for a stroll
On this beautiful day?
We could go to the park, smoke a blunt, pick a spot to eat the sandwiches I made
Or we can go for a drive along the coast, find a view and watch the sunset
We could reminsince about Luna and the day we met.
Maybe we could go to our spot and look at some fish
Or eat them, whatever you wish..
California rolls, that baked salmon though
I’ll give you whatever you want
I’ll give it to you soft
I’ll give it to you slow

Was it luck or what is just chance
How did we get stuck in this 8 year trance
Was it destiny or was it fate
Nobody thought you and I would ever date.
Nobody thought we would pass the test of time
Nobody thought I could write a rhyme
Nobody thought love could be this blind or free
Nobody thought I deserved you
I’m not going to lie, at times I agree
Nobody deserves find a hidden gallery of a screenshot spree
I know Instagram models are hot and all
It’s fine that they make your member stand up nice and tall
But your **** isn’t the only thing that’s throbbing
My head, my heart.. of **** here comes the sobbing..
Nobody deserves to be left high and dry
Why are you here if you won’t even try.
We could move on but your screenshot game is still strong
Here come the insecurities, the fights that bring me to my knees
Here comes another day where I beg God “please”
Give me strength to ******* leave
Give me the strength to stop being shy around Steve..
Now I’m losing focus, **** hit the fan and now I’m free falling
Looking for safety net wherever there may be one.
Sitting here wondering if you looked at me and thought “she thee one”
Why can’t we just the puppy for a walk on this beautiful day..
We need to get the **** out, let’s go places and do things together.
No?? Why not??
Is it me?? It can’t be the weather..
I hope one day it will get better so I stay
My love, I may be poor but I’m rich with love
I’m not beautiful but I’m pretty
I’m perfectly imperfect, not too big, not too skinny. I think I look good wearing a bikini.
Maybe not a flimsy 2 piece, but my *** and thighs could bring world peace..
So please for once would you stop staring at that camera *****
Come hang out with me, stop making me feel like a ******* chore...

051416

With no words in my heart,
You became the cure of my entity.

And how could I,
a man out of nothing,
a man brought out of shame,
of guilt and pride;
How could I, not give you praise?
How I could I withold freedom
For my long lost soul?
Tell me how.

Why?
Why I'm so still
in pouring out these tears?
Why can't I go to bring to You
the glory that You deserve?
Why death felt secured
on bringing itself to me?
Please tell me, why?

I am to choose between two lanes
Of black and white,
Of greater Light and lesser Darkness.
And I no longer should linger
On the multi-shades of gray,
The color of my past
That disgusting disguise,
That trail of disobedience,
That habitual sin of impurification.
Yes, I will choose.

I am tired,
Tired of resisting the pull of trigger
To finally hold me to eternity,
Yet eternity would meant darkness
If I'd live in and out of that cell in crypt.
I became tired.

I would never find an ending full of laughters,
But of fraud, lies, despise and insult.
I would never find peace of the true North
For once, I preferred the three confusing routes.
So, never is a beginning.

I am healed.
Healing came in to my life,
My wounds were painted with crystal-clear blots,
Of red as stains, a heartbeat of a child.
I paused for a moment
Until moments were brought to halt.
My injury is pain itself,
Yes, it's painful but eyes were so gentle
To screenshot the emerging revival.
Death is cured.

art is the child of pain
the son of rain
the blood within the vein
of a twisted child
young and wild;
an attempt to reconcile
hatred, baseless and faceless
a screenshot of the heart....
that is art.

I've got numbers that never show.
I'll never see another text
From those asleep in an oak box.
I screenshot them; kept like dead leaves

I hope it never ends
I hope it never .