When a muse
Turns me into a muse
Pours poetry into the hollows of spaces
Between the  words unsaid
When my muse
Calls me a muse
Here with the ink dripping neath the eyes
True to said word, turned me into a poem
Not one, not once
Many a times
Dear loving muses
Pen down the words
I am collecting pages
Now where do I store these pieces?

a dead rose for one
split petal apart
dead rose for two
dry scurry rush for one
thorny blood sting for two
dead petal black end for one
red petal dark fades for two
dead rose for one
dead rose for two

I wont close the windows
For I would let us breathe
When I build a home
I will let the curtains be dark
We’ll play a game where we’ll let the light in and trace back the dark
When I build a home
I would leave my room unlocked
Oh and there will be mirrors reflecting us pure
I will grow lilies in the backyard,
Cause roses would *****
I will have ceilings so high
Only we could ever reach
On Sunday mornings my home would wake up late
On Monday nights my home would slumber right at dark
On the porch in the evenings I will play music so soft
It will soothe me and my home
And will let me stare at the stars.

I think I just broke the pencil lead
I only tried to draw
Now I'm sharpening the lead
When I realise it's charcoal
Too fragile to break
And oh
I just broke it again
And again
Yet again
This time I bring a blade
I traced out the point
I make it sharp again
Heck, I ran it over my skin
Now I bleed, so much blood spilling
Atleast I sharpned the pencil
Now I can draw again
Broken hands give art their best
It will be your waking time
And I'll sketch for you again
I'll make those webs again
I'll tell you where you belong in the picture
I'll sketch you out of a scribble
I'll scribble you into oblivion to tear the page
Broken pieces of charcoal will ***** my hands and ruin the book
Atleast then I'll wash my hands and clean up the dirt

In another life
I barely wait
I dance in the backyard
and your electric plays
the sounds of the present weave through me
I hang onto the branch while the leaves sway
In another life
I am not a poet
I am a kid chasing the waves
In another life
I am singing along
I am collecting bricks
building a house and fencing you in
In another life
I bring home a rose
the thorns don't *****
the leaves don't wilt
In another life
In another life

such a disaster
such a ruin
ah you have to deal with it
get used to it

serene  pain and wrecking pleasure
warned was I
convirtiéndose en ti
dreaming long enough
to never wake up

such a mess
such a disaster
finch, such a poem
indeed you, not me
disaster, my lovely disaster