Start a line of thought, like a youngster
who had the chief insensitive;
Now I select my words wisely, with
silence—as no evil will be a cause of a weapon.
And of course, I start every prayer, by
coming with a confession.

As I’ve learnt the sharpest
dagger, is a jealous eye,
Worshiping all the things it lacks;
recalling those who refer to your
character only by its past—the ones to
stab you in the back.

Wish to be an unmoving mountain,
Snow clasped, untouched and cold.
A big lenticular cloud casting its shadow,
Over the peak, that has the view of a world.

I see myself failing to achieve this,
A curious mind is often a curse.
There's a little whisper and chatter,
Like a curious deer, I stick my antlers in

Someone has built a little dwelling,
I hear the stomp and the noise now.
As I watch,  don't wish to be bothered,
But stealthily I observe now.

Curious mind , Oh! it should explode,
If I don't tend to it now, so I must know,
Just a little peek , is all I want ,
Promise to tiptoe back safely.

I speak not, of the many misadventures,
That shaped my past and my being.
Intense reckonings that are a bit distasteful,
Remind me to stay away from the drama.

A peek is all it takes, the stranger knows now,
Let's get acquainted , they say to me.
I shake my head in a 'yes' reluctantly,
Oh curiosity! you have me in your grasp again!

Little by little, it seeps into your mind,
As curiosity and desire go hand in hand,
Just a tiny bit , I should know  their story,
What makes them , the way they are.

I invite them, into my own dwelling now.
Show them this minds artful creation,
Stories for stories in exchange,
From acquaintance to friends now.

Curiosity flows like the river now,
Washing away the sands of time,
Missing those cues to stop now,
Oversharing and sharing secrets.

They Talk, I talk , a little more everytime,
The never ending stories of times past.
Some more of the present now,
It seems, I put my trust in them.

I know their secrets but do I dare?
They know mine, and yes they can tell,
My failures, vulnerabilities and fears,
All's an open book for their eyes.

A book they gladly share and overshare,
Till the rim bursts and the pages swell.
All my bruises known to all,
Who else to blame and names do I call.

Alas, I have been a fool again!
Drowning to the oceans depth,
Wished I be the unmoving mountain,
Even reaching it's base is now uncertain.

You've done the deed and is yours only,
To bear the fruit of your own desire,
Distasteful, bitter and cold,
I sit undone, forlorn burning in a pyre.

In the echoes of our past, I hear the whispers of pain, etched in the silent space between us. Desperately wanting to be heard, but never speaking.

Conversations, woven with threads of betrayal, pierce through the fabric of our trust, binding us to a truth we both deny.

"It was just a kiss," you said, words dripping with regret, but your lips carried the weight of secrets buried beneath deceit.

Months stretched into years, each moment a battleground, where truth surrendered to silence, and lies built walls around us. You put me up into the air, told me I was safe, then let me fall to my knees and scream.

How could you be so impulsive, reckless with the fragments of my heart, reaching out to her in moments of doubt, while I crumbled beneath the weight of your betrayal?

You saw my pain, felt the tremors of my shattered trust, yet chose the path of deception, leading us further into darkness.

A partnership fractured by deceit, where love withers in the shadow of your unspoken truths, leaving me stranded in a sea of confusion and abandonment.

Still, I hope to blossom like the cherry blossoms outside our window, yearning for the sunlight that passes more dimly than the uncertainty I have of you.

I am tormented by the treachery of knowing the truth and never escaping the past. I cannot bear the burden of your lies, nor should I be the keeper of secrets that poison the life of our love.

I must love myself enough to walk away, to leave behind the wreckage of a future tainted by betrayal, and find solace in the quiet embrace of my own truth.

******* though.

My cathartic heart
threw away the finished leaves of bitter autumn's burning
I brewed myself a loving cup, made sweeter by my learning
tansy, bay with chamomile, bright meadow flowers to sip
tastes better far than poison found upon your lips

With coarsest sackecloth cloath my naked soule;
     Construct for me a throne of ashes blacke;
Place on my lying lipps a liuing coal;
     Cast me asea inside a sackcloth sacke;
I am a rocke of great offence, a rocke
As stonie-hearted as a stvmbling blocke.

Hope and I are not friends
Hope breaks my heart everyday
My darling Hope
So bright, so lovely
We could never get along
Hope is a liar.

Fear,
Fear is reliable
Fear understands
Knows and sees
Fear is my warning
Tells me that the bad things
The bad things will stay bad
Fear does not sugar coat
I wish I could always listen to Fear

But my darling Hope
Ever so persistent
Waiting, wishing
Breaking the both of us at the same time.

~
I.
Killing Mary Poppins
with a spoonful of sugar,
the sugar from the medicine
on the other side of town,
the town called Silent Hedges
And A Bit Of Fluff.

II.
Only a display model,
her name is Marmalade;
skin white like the moon,
she wears her ****** stranger dress;
one of her sisters is dying,
the other never lived;
God is a far off concept,
the fuchsia colored ball on
an overhead power grid
points her way to salvation.

III.
Morning became something else:
bright decline,
cold things start to burn,
tragic saxophone
among the beckoning,
everything's a symptom:
tax exiles, imperialists,
girls talking nitrous
--mouths full of soil,
Virginia Reel around the fountain
(do-si-do),
ready to buy up impossibles
as the dominoes fall.

IV.
Memory is a chemical
to the girl who cried champagne,
like ceiling stars
during the prodigal summer,
she played the game
on all fours,
and found a drawer
full of quarantine polaroids,
some with blood in her mouth,
others, of rain on her birthday.
~

I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

I remember all that transpired from that night.

As I was making my way across, the bridge went up in flames.

And the smoke still lingered even after all the tomorrows came.

I saw the match from your hand.

I smelled the gas before I could land.

I blame myself for not expecting it sooner,

when all of your crimes leave the same signature.



All the houses that burned down carried your name.

History said you were going around claiming you were framed.

Yet the clothes you wore still reeked of the fuel.

The last thing they found were skeletons inside a cubicle.

Did you think I’ll always play your game,
never thought I’d grow tired of the same joke every day?
When I came to bid you an honest farewell, 

you thought it was an invitation to send me straight to hell. 


Perhaps I truly am the one to blame.

You did tell me about the things that drove you insane.

And I recklessly chose the path of extrusion.
Perhaps I deserved this execution. 


I wandered back to the scene of the crime.

Where the ghost of the bridge we burned still haunts its culprits.
I saw fear when we locked eyes.
Did you think I’d be reduced to ashes?
Did you think you were burning a witch?
Darling, you forget I’m a phoenix. 

Fire is what keeps me alive.