#v.m

it's hard to focus in the eye of a dust storm, the reality is not sensible, and I look for something to grip on. constant lovers of thought, which I think once and then never again.

Easter came, and you told me your old's man cancer. I am not good and sensitive as mine, I have the cold blood that keeps me on a leash to keep a hold of myself hidden. if not tomorrow, when will it be?

it's not every day that we have our whole lives – ahead of ourselves. Passover, He's not risen. (and each man is nothing but a mortal God) I keep asking, if not tomorrow, when will it be?

life is a magic show I don't like, tangled in my embarrassment for not understanding it. why does my brain shake only to the left to the right but never in the middle, will you look at me, please?

life is achingly beautiful and sometimes, it comes down like a wave that crashes onto the ground.

I told a few people before, some understood, some didn't, one can only love if one is willing to move out of the self, that's the only decision when it comes to love, whatever may come next, it is what the heavens allow.

I was unaware before you, how many times I ran from myself, suppressing my skin and wishing to morph into those who I had thought were better than me.

I wish I could say, I didn't mean to when I called you an arrogant imbecile, but no better words could begin to describe you, a man with a golden gun who fools himself into believing he already knows too much, and there's nothing special outside his peripheral vision.

it was intense to get to know you, all the good parts of you offered on a silver platter for my tasting, your words are so magnetic, but who do you love, and what do you fear? all your inspirations are the systematics of your viable years, you wouldn't move out of yourself for me, you want to contemplate, admire and disappear.

I trade our fortune of meeting for what's the now, and what's coming next, you saw into me too, I give a bitter taste of unforgiving.