Poison Ivy
Not to be mixed up with poison Oak
Thriving to irritate the human skin
Leaving people with days of a red itchy rash
So abundant and lively
Berries white, run on fright
A red vained plant of pure torture
Three leaves, let it be
Poison Ivy

I was born into a world where your inner pocket
decides your destiny,
A world were dreams have no value
A world filled with people with black hearted soul,
Carrying around big cheesy smiles across their face,
Living with malicious thought but still never fail to
mingle,
Mischievous they are, they depend on your success
for motivation,
Yet our motive is to be innovative,
Seating so adamant not observant,
and end up been their servant,
When shall it end we ask, today or tomorrow ?
tomorrow's better if not today we reminisce,
Hoping for a breakthrough,
After we have been stabbed & left with scars,
Looking for the strength to stand up tall ones again,
Realizing our mistakes & adopting a new personality
trait,
I Never had d chance to dream,
So how do I revive myself ,
Noting inspires me ,
so why should I be affectionate we say ,
We become so ****** nd vained,
Anger & sadness mixed with joy , pain & sorrow,
No one to count on anymore,
All these strains my credulity,
sadness gathered from one mistake
Making me miserable every minute,
Suicide we think of,
but the pain subsidies,
Shivering and capturing ourselves cap sizing
Within a blink of an eye,
But the truth of life's,
We need nightmares to appreciate not been in it,
life is a beach we are just playing in the sand ,"

Tangerine sunsets of skies that weep
Tenderly lulling souls to sleep.
Hazing memories fade softly away
As twilight ends the course of day.

Temptations lose their wielding power
As the last drops of sand close the hour.
Salvation pleas lost in air
From pleading voices in despair.

Like painted pictures changing hue,
Life alters state too cold, cold blue.
To recreate its form first knew
And return to earth, vained residue.

As curtains rise on death's first show,
To bask in life's after-glow,
Cries and curses cut the air
With yearning hearts in earnest prayer.

Then placed in waiting eternal beds
To rest among familiar heads.
Where whales of longing slowly cease
And tired souls find Crimson peace.

Never as verbose,
Frankly couldn’t get close
But lord knows one’d yearn to try.

Tree bark wrinkles,
Decorating the curves;
Leaves vained and beginning to dry.

Throwing feet down a path;
Faux catches in photograph,
Pondered properly, one’d silently cry.

Your namesake echos;
You’d never accept nor believe,
But lord knows I’d yearn to try.