#coalsoul

Nine months & it’s like 

I’ve never been sober

   saturated blue, call me a 

           heavy dream.

Running away is a understatement,

I conceal in chaos to 

     avoid it, the phantom

        goals of futuristic.

The hometown is same 

   though some things has

changed; there’s a purple 

shade of light falls through

like early December decoration, on the 

    living room window -

lissome my eyes, the shop lights,

a cadaverous feel do not leave 

me alone; it reminds me of the

green bids that I dreamt of, in my

blood, & it reminded of the kids from the land where 

everything belong; is, green,

even their supposedly flesh & skin.

   Fainthearted folks around these 

place : nobody fills the place with

grace, the chains & stars to wear,

the strings in the sky, living mere,..

the cut so minimal , nobody appears 

to speak about; 

                        mercy , the point of 

view of kindness; people say socially,..

tagging me “hypocritical” but you’ve never

tried me.

     It’s all fired up, the forest, 

streets, you can define me; but 

you can’t really define me, 

The solitary living in you; I haven’t 

really seen; 

All that gimmick 

to buy what? To happiness

my letter is, hope it finds you &

(you) get your soul enriched, like you 

pretend (it to be), please stop liking things 

just because they are on trends, hope

in future, we can be friends.

     I’ve a issue list & issued lists are in 

head due; Problems are solving games 

  Shortage of raps 

short age in working mines; and breaking things

baby dreams fossilized , 

I, do I like the color

yellow;

           Foolish, dirty in mud 

            stashed everywhere, & 

            a splash of sunshine.

             A song for sunflowers

             when hope spring on

              the strings; of guitar , &

              bitter words of plenty truths, 

           Somethings indeed. . 

In there are, that

the things that matter,

all colors, but not 

every scope of thought is sleek.

Good can be better

bad is notably not ,

bills & museums, history 

teach us, I barely 

run way , escaping into 

blind wraps of black,

mooning around having candies

and slash

          “and / or “-s

We can rove up in the

goods of nothing more,

Partly people agree, &

       I see them leave;

People that are young likes 

things easy, but here

I’m, where I am going,

not knowing, I feel the 

moon remarks me, left me 

feeling old, but I’m 

not thrifty. But going 

is not bad, but 

not that good all the

time; when we were

kids, we didn’t have to be 

enemies, only we pretended in 

game, now we pretend

of being friends.

     Less the people you know

better or things can get

stressed, purling gaunt as in capital letters -

More the voice

it turns out like jack

(& you become a blind sheep)

blood out of your ears.

(Trying to get the depth)

Feel like seventy years old on 

a ladder, looking ,

out there, originality 

when will bless in,

 The remembering of 

past; startling silly

incidents, laughing 

whole-heartily , what let

me recognize now?

We are doing maybe alright;

just mistook

    To the bony ladder &

      to the outlook of 

        skins, world is filled  with holy

          puppets; hope we 

             are whatever we are, 

                not that in this,

My life by any other 

   name, often heard;

thy enemy is self. 

Descend of love,

   I may can speak

    decor into the gate,

     to yourself, entering 

the high & low form, 

    like now choose yourself

     to be your morning 

                 star.