My tears barely start before a chill settles.

My heart turns stony,

And my thoughts whine of folly,

While my eyes set their melancholic glare.

“No, there is no god here.”

“There is no hope for me.” I say and stare

” I pray yet spy the “Charyoutree.”

I grumble and whimper,

I brood and shiver,

In fear I call forth anxiety.

When it comes I stumble, I let it lead

And live as I hate; as a mess in place,

Waiting for mistakes i left to be corrected,

Waiting for old lovers to see the light.

Waiting for my path to light flames of glory

Leading the way to victory.

But no child,

They won’t change their minds.

No son,

You can’t change the past.

There is no hope here.

No, there is no hope for me.

My angst is leading,

It’s come forth as a gent,

As me, akin to roses; A good fella of love.

A reflex that is necessary,

Like a prostate, he’s letting piss pass.

But the tears; they halt as they come,

Barely threading ground.

I have forgotten the taste of my tears.


The Torment of Lebbie

Wouldn’t you love it if I gave myself, all five sense and soul

To your sense of selfish whim, till your tongue can dance

Much more? So it rouses my awe and leaves me as, the

One who will play your world from start where it should entice, 

And keep the suspense. But, when I break the wall and share

What I hide from your world, will you see fit to indulge my 

Voice, will you flirt with my memories and give a thumb up when

Necessary? Will you sympathize if I fall for a shoulder or quick

Night? Will you allow I speak my heart? Will you listen while I 

Grieve, and peeve at my own blistering plights and laughs and

Ego? I doubt, that you won’t wait for my line to end, you would 

Help me begin a stanza from where your words last ended, and 

Endure as you quest my soul to drink in your verse as covenant;

To hail it as the right form, as the best page of an epic on a scale,

 Too grand to emulate by a mortal as such as I.

You would enjoy it and I would hold a monologue In my head;

Calming my aching, soothing the broken, being my own

Mother and lover 

because I merely register as a listener.


Love, the Summer Harbinger

Love is no stranger to the pain she brings.

She means no danger; she leaves us good sins.

Her price is pain, hurt for the joy she brings:

Paid in wails of thunder to curse her sins.

I do speak waste! Of love that hastes death rates:

Digging graves for fools with more heart and no brains,

Their hearts brave forth, taking the test love creates:

They fight back with brave hearts; they sing praise in the rains.

I see love. She comes as a harbinger.

She makes the way to our hearts much sweeter

So leave the icy cold winter: your bitter hate bringer

And leave a place in your heart for a bright summer.


WordPress has changed me.

The few months I’ve spent blogging has changed the way I approach my writing. Not so long ago my plan was simply to post my work; to post my lonesome legacy and not care if they’re read. I wanted to go it alone in this cruel world of writing and poetry because I could never figure out what it was I left out from my own pieces.  I felt my voice and my words never got recognition because my writing was not good enough and being the perfectionist I am I hid my self assumed failure like the others before it. It took two months to realize what the true problem was, two months of skanty views and rare likes to realize that I was my problem. I didn’t ever set goals, still dont(can’t actually), nor had I acknowledged writing as my dream. I just sort of went along with it, trying hard to please with it, trying to get attention through the talent I’d never once accepted or wanted to perfect and when I couldn’t I went into denial. This blog was supposed to be one of my many diaries (there are too many), where I could rant and write and hide but in two months I saw the light. On 23rd December 2015 my plan(my first ever -somehow- goal) was sketchy but simple; to make 50 posts before my 21st birthday. Now I’m about to let rip post 50 & 51 five days to my target day. Now I could have done more, I will do more, but I’m proud of the little I’ve done. I’m proud I didnt lose interest and turn my back on this like I’ve always done with all endeavors. I’m proud of myself for this minor achievement that is my biggest one yet at a time I really need to step up. I thank wordpress and the bloggers who took the time to view this blog for helping me do this. Saint West, blossom666, all the bloggers who take the time to scroll through, this feels corny but thank you. Thank You VERY MUCH FOR THIS.