Writing words, hoping I'll make a mark.
Truthfully where could I start.
But still, reading through these words see what's deep inside my heart.

Love begins from far beyond, but  never finds an end,
Perhaps wish me Dead
To take any other woman's love to be better than yours instead.
Loving Hugs & Kisses, all the care you gave while tucking me into Bed.

  Your Love never escapes my head.
Proudly I say you're the Best chef I know.
Best doctor with her kisses as the best Med
Seeing you shine helps me to glow.

Giving the best of all your time,
Glad enough to claim you MINE,

Love of such Devine.

Thinking upon the time we've spent together....

Truly Blessed am I,
How could I ever defy
Nor an if to deny.

But honestly just to comply
Of seeing your Love behind your Heart's loving eye.

Just makes say O'my
Till these eyes will fall to cry.

I love you mother so dearly
Of not being just merely
For I seen Love so wide & clearly
Repeating on myself that dear mother I love you DEARLY.

So I say to you, Happy Mother's Day.


                                                         Kas.....

Oh, dear poet of old, as I ponder on our shared past,
The irony of time's turn, a role reversal unsurpassed.
Once, you stood as the elder, wise and experienced,
Now, I find myself in your shoes, the one more advanced.

Nostalgia floods my being, memories resurfacing anew,
Like the innocent words we penned, when youth first drew.
Together we crafted a poem, a tale of popcorn's delight,
At the tender age of ten, our creativity took flight.

How funny it is, when memories unexpectedly arise,
Recalling mischievous days, crafting love's sweet guise.
Love letters for our peers, seeking help to express,
Feelings for their school crushes, a secret we'd address.

Those were the days of sharing lunches and causing a stir,
Chaos on the school buses, moments that now seem a blur.
This retrospective piece, a tribute to your resilience,
Facing challenges hidden, from prying adult's brilliance.

I remember your struggles, grappling with life's profound,
Questions of death and despair, a tightrope you walked around.
Contemplating drastic measures, to end your inner pain,
Yet, you persevered, your strength not in vain.

Your self-doubt and longing, they resonate within me,
The search for belonging, a struggle to truly be free.
But fear not, dear poet, for growth has come our way,
In finding our place, confidence blossoms each passing day.

Oh, how I lament the time we abandoned our pens,
Resorting to spoken words, a silence that never mends.
But after five long years, we reunited with our true art,
And the joy it brings, the growth, a masterpiece's start.

If only I could assure you, every word you write will be seen,
Celebrated and acknowledged, by eyes that have never been.
But alas, the reality is oftentimes unseen,
Yet, hold on to old dreams, for progress lies in between.

The journey may seem daunting, the finish line afar,
But take that brave step, and let your light become a star.
For in the depths of your soul, the fire of passion burns,
And with each word you write, a new chapter, the world learns.

I am not impressed
I'm just depressed, I am but a mess
wondering what it is next, all the guns
out in the world—equals death

Divide and conquer
we are here to only **** ourselves
daily—a selfish death

Swimming in your depths
and thought ties around your neck
life chokes everyday—a slow death

Should be happy that I made it
but not made of success
A lot time left to just to second
guess—a career's death

Spitting on all my dreams
mouthful of ill talk sickening in my chest
never at my best—imagination's death

Harsh words are blazing fires
it stinks; ash on your breath
still alive at 23 screaming yes
despite missteps—walks of death

Death, death, death, all I've known is death

To these incoming affections, capricious
outcoming sentiments, for an escort to date;
Would I die for anything close to true love—
honestly, I’d pray I’m not too late.

But is dying merely a rebirth within the echoes
Of another's memory, in another's mind
Forever lingering in another’s heart –
Being this forever last touch?

Death, is far from silent, loudly resonating
Within the echoing tears of the living,
Not so cold; those cherished memories
Of you, ignites smiles that envelop us in warmth.

Though, as much as we know you now
We realize we never truly knew you at all!
Even in death, the narrative of your once
Existence, is living in another’s memories –
As a depth far beyond what we could even hold.

Cold as the winter's tooth sinking into
my skin. A creep sneaking into my sleep, to
disturb every last dream. I've been choked
up by regrets—the exhausting feeling of Black
coughs; out of an exhaust of a neck. I can't breathe.

panting, panting, panting, panting,

Overexaggerating, and it's so saddening to
tell them you're dying, (inside) but non believe.
In the slow drum beating—it's a slow beating heart,
symphony of a night crying angels; amongst the stars.
Looking to heavens, wondering who we are, imperfect
creatures under a perfect Son. Those waiting patiently
in anxious worry, for Jesus to come.

And into a river filled with tears, is where I'll
wash His feet. Gleaming waters; reflecting not
my image. But the stream reflects my sins. My black eye,—
fighting myself and those shivers of my ***** skins.

May he kiss my forehead for my clemency,
for that value worthy of peace. A golden cup in
my eyes—but so empty. Walking on the staircase
to heaven; a thousand steps away from paradise.

If I'm dying a night, let me die in paradise.
As with my resting eyes; I'll close them one last time,
and walk into that Light. Let me die in paradise.

To give summer kisses, but they taste like winter.
Called her flower, but every time he's with her,
she will slowly wither.

In her eyes—overwhere it always burns.
But not of passions; just a feeling of her scorned
flesh. Ashamed, close enough to bruise.
Filthy fingers that are winter in June.

Under his toxic power—oh the death of a flower.

Oh soul, my soul
where shall we go
At the crossroads; feels like
I have no other place to go

Oh soul, my soul
countless demons want this soul
As they count less of us, all out for someone's soul
—they want my soul, they want my soul
And I'm afraid I don't have the strength to say no

Oh soul, my soul
I don't want the world's gold;
just the means and tools to make my own
I don't want the entire world;
just a place I built on my own, and to call home
I don't want to feel alive with success;
just feeling some worth, and die peacefully alone

Oh soul, my soul
is it worth a soul
—is it worth our soul?

"I don't know, I don't know
I'm still waiting for a bad deal with the man
waiting for me at Death's crossroads"

You look like a yesterday
I'm still trying to enjoy today,
A couple goodbye kisses when I'm feeling high,
ending it off with passing remarks whenever you walk by
Tomorrow tends to be a mile; of a frantic
distance of you always running on my mind
I must have fallen in love in between the days,
tripping over you; I cracked my jaw of not having
all of the right words to say.

"Hey," let's start from there,
but I'm often to stuck up for my own well being, right here
It's just that usual fear, a shade of a tear, a taste
of honey dew dripping out of my eye
At least to say, I had a sweet sight gazing at you;
well at least I try not to cry a lot- you know that sensitive guy
Trying to make sense of all the cents I had,
to spare another penny for a thought of you

Aren't we all looking for a bit of change?

Oh what a shame,
being so in over my head, down under my emotions
I even forgot to ask for your name;
but it could probably ring in my ears
And I'll be staring at a blank screen, waiting for a
notification from you, with that very ding
Coming full circle, just to ask if you could stay
stuck on my skin, like the indent of a wedding ring

Ugh, never mind
backspace, backspace, select all and delete

At times, it seems like I am skillfully navigating my way
through a block of words that could potentially hinder a
conversation, similar to how one would navigate
around the imposing Watch towers on a bustling street.

Dealing with these words becomes a sort of religion
in itself, as they stubbornly cling to their power.
Above all else, these words start to feel as if they
have been suspended in the air, waiting anxiously for
a compliment to grasp onto, like a game of
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," where I would willingly cross
boundaries just to capture the attention of a lover; if by her toe.

However, in doing so, our pasts would inevitably
catch up with us, causing us to confront
and let go of numerous things.

Consequently, I have transformed into a different person,
one who has hopefully grown enough to be
dispassionate towards my own individuality.
And if I were to personify my growth, I would become
that very message that I have discovered and now wish
to share with others, spreading the sense of freedom
and my new found deliverance.

Please don't burry me a hero'
I was born a simple man-
When I came into this world:
Please don't cry for my absence'
I was more active in the present.

Please don't speak about could have'
When you all should have,
Please don't cry on your knees;
But cry and dance on your feet.

For once I'm gone'
You'll forget me once time is long;
Even if you sing all the songs'
You'll forget me once time is long.

Please don't drag Amazing grace'
You may be sad for my death;
But for all I did in my life'
I'd love a little bit of praise:
And even in my death'
I won't be a fan of-
Long and complicated prayers.

Until my creator calls'
Spend the most of time we got:
Life is a breath away from death'
As we all, don't have a lot.

Remember me well in life'
Not showing off my memories,
For your never did before death:
For in this short life-
The season of remembrance-
Is still now and yet.

Cry more for me now;
For you'll cry less in my death'
Not crying for me,
But crying for all your regrets.

Who am I to be the representation of expression to the unexpressed,
a liquefied colourful presentation filling the outlines of all the depressed.  

Manifested to be what the world would label an outcast.
A fulfilment of that empty void of a heart, commonly known for not being built to last.
A trumpet blaring the truths of what self indulgence could bring many hurts to a soul,
the voice of the voiceless, speaking out for us all.

Being trampled down upon by the world's footprints of self doubt,
telling what I can't and fail to do, while I'm trying to figure all these things out.

And I would cast out my own two ears, just to hear empty silence when this world tries to speak.
A world so cold constantly trying to force me to reach my peak.
Surely now I would have learnt from my past mistakes and all my missteps,
surely no I could sense trouble five days away and be ready with all my preps.

But as I say again, I would be the voice to the depressed,
a loud voice to those gone silent, with no freedom to be expressed.

Me, myself and I,
with all the demons in my head

A halo above with glass in my shoes,
dancing sharp steps; I put salt in my wounds
A needle in the eye, sewing my tears shut
I don't want to cry anymore. The depression hits my
chest, my buckled knees touch the floor

Chasing shadows; the eagerly darkness consumes
I'm going nuts from always being *******
I lose track of my tears, crying best in a bathroom

I've made a claim to stain my name
made fun of in creative new ways, but it feels the same

I pray on the weight of my sins
why waste another breath if it gets heavier within
I cut myself under my chin, I cut my lips to extend the grin

I threw my scars on the wall; bouncing back at my face
my mind of rushing thoughts is a game of tag and chase
I hung myself upside down on a willow tree by my waist

Cracked my skull on a rock underneath my despair
And in the end my demons were freed out of my head

                                                   I'm depressed again.

hiding behind the tears in your eyes,
crying while you sleep; ten thousand
wet dreams

swimming pools for eyes,
drowning in those regrets. baptized by time
catching up on your love for cigarettes

chimneys for lungs, and a smoker's paradise
where all wear black atire
always wanting to con science of your conscience,—
never too concise, to tell the next person
of next person you like

and waiting so patiently for someone
to make you their wife
all with the pretend make-up to make up for your
appearance that makes them think twice

                  "I hope you find true love this second time"

Destined; your eyes are painted out as the map of life; as no night
convinces my tomorrow to look away from the destination you
inspire me to take- your love is a buried treasure, and my words
mark it with an X;- not as the many exes I once treasured in the
promise of a forever after [it was more of a pipe dream]

As it goes on, this art of falling in love; I’m only now getting
a grip of the bigger picture;- it’s larger and larger, swelling up
my eyes, to as always be blinded by love- the lovebug’s bite,
so smitten, but squished by childish designs; us as children
imagining our perfect kind of lives, when we used to play house
Packed away hopes in an imaginary bag; let a night open that
suitcase- to imagine ourselves living together until our ages
are much visible in our own hands

Those firm and beautiful kisses, get ruined over many soft decades;
as the trace of my fingertips, feels like cheap clay on your skin-
My warm regarded touch, fills your cheeks in chill of morning breeze
When you fail to see your reflection, once from the shyness of
your lashes eyes opening;- where you can only hear someone else’s
voice reading through the Song of Songs. Our time together, is all
destined to be gone- so let’s enjoy what we have now, for how
long it comes

In lost times, look into the eyes of a tired heart.
Counting time is just a past time activity from part to part.
And flashing lights in the eyes of a sudden past,
Flash time headlines caught in the  pathways built to last.

Burning more fires to **** the atmosphere, my neighbor,
Chocking her airways just to smoke up a piece of pipe to get high enough as a favour.
Gas in the tank, topped it just to set fires to her children,
Killing the tree leaves with all my fires. Oh how much have I killed dem.

Killing season is just passing activities ,
Tearing the green ways just to be building more cities.

Depression, when they slashing the wildlife,
Slicing all their necks with broken pieces of a dark knife.
Add more wood to be burning fossil fuels, such a negativity
Killing our world just to satisfy you pleasures just became a positivity.

But still look into the eyes of a tired heart.

This be the few days of lost times,
Shielding your yourselves in the dark lies.

A disguise to my eyes,
with lots of secrets to them
I tell you sir, I could hide.

Pardon a Sir,
with a prize to his emotions
Surprise,
often more than I bargained for
As are emotions,
never what you picture
Or really something to be shelved in a draw.

I should really take my time
to find my peace
It's hard though when you yourself
are a bunch of pieces
Artistic creation,
sculptured by the pain of my literary work
Words,
used against me to question worth.
What's purpose,
if you really don't know what you're put
On this Earth for?

Questions,
of every living being
What's the purpose of our very being
What you've come from,
and where you've been
Would you still close your eyes,
even if you couldn't see that dream?

I really question the most,
answers seem rarely available
In every one of my hurts
there's potential for growth
And in every one of my relationships
a goal to be relatable.

If you easily related to my words,
your say is welcome
Thankful,
for the love and often hate I didn't deserve
For in a world
filled with hate for love
Love over hate,
I really can't complain.

They are the things
that development my very being.

As much, in every man’s eye- eroticism brings excitement,
the lines of wrinkled sheets are a retreat without restraint
Every one of our kisses tastes like they matter; we flatter
each other on playing it casual— until anticipated and complete
She is no less than a queen; she sits on my thrown, ruled by these
words- all the shells of the shots I’ve shot; whenever we're around
we stain the ground; inhaling a bit of hell, with every bad habit

Moisture: more so to the reply of, “yes sir”
her tears echo soothing rain, but these tired red eyes don't see
much love- but still when it comes to touch; I'm filled with ideas
by her flood. Words keeping on flowing; but my regards to any
authority, I've been living lawlessly - against her authority

Old habits can’t really die when they pass,
even as an *** shakes backwards, with all the regrets to take
me back to my past. You can still taste a lot of things much harder
to swallow than your pride— that burning heat of passion, from
your mouth’s chamber: an abode of sweet remembrance
Now, as we must, not discuss about the label of us- in a nutshell
the conversation changes tone after someone’s nut is bust
****, how rough is that- we played a role to work ourselves
out of lust. We call each other, our Devil’s assistant…

Falling angels as a constant of falling rains

a hole in the sky, a chasm in my brain

anxiety, and delusional ways

waiting, waiting in an empty room's calling

whispers of darkness in the lightness of unrighteous

wickedly ill, sickening thoughts vomiting onto ink

it hurts to think, so the others go and think for me

I have DID-oh really; who then is in control

One holds the steering; is leading and sometimes brave

another's eyes on the road; positive and always looking forward

the other stares out of the window, prefers to be left alone

she otherwise sits in the centre keeping the peace, and loving

the other is the corny **** with jokes of cheese, not so serious

I've locked the beast in the truck- can't let that darkness out

we are speech and breath
the days are red; painted blushes in the sky
would the Heavens tell us stories of true love –
a message well read?

When we were young, sipping on cherry lip kisses,
with a blush of your tears in the afternoon
Simplistic conversation between as two, to seem
casual around your friends. Worshiping our music
on these random rock playlists, while I spoke of your
name, as if it were Queen,— giving you a reason to rule.
Bathroom stains of blood dripping down the black drain,
concrete smiles, drinking chlorine out of broken glasses
Cutting at our smiles; marking each other with bites
on our necks.

Boys with ripped jeans by their pockets; we couldn't
carry a lot of our dreams. Camouflage wallets filled
with an army of our last coins just to cover a ride back home.
Living on a small income, hoping for a good outcome,
and to not baby the night for each other without ***.
But every girl is smiling for a money shot, knowing they
could never afford a real ******. And the boys trying to protect
desires, unfortunately learning how to wear condoms watching ****.

I still remember when I drove ahead of the road, just to
get some head. Blowing away my brain with a few lines of blow.
Trying to find my dreams with a bottle full of sleeping pills,
resting my worries on a torn out mattress, in a city with no area
code. I didn't have much people to call on, whenever my bipolar
started to show; when you sold yourself short on your happiness on
some cheap night thrills.

Sunday blues became the sobering messages while you're
hungover, burning on a bush that never seems to burn over.
Never owning a bark to the trees we've smoked,— still I remember
the good stuff could be bought for just a buck. Still trying your
luck at popping a girls box like popcorn; hoping we can make a
movie with the snack. Still if I even had the skill to blow out her
back, my attachment issues will always have me coming back.

I could never apologise for my youth, till I die young.
But as my eyes live till forever, being forever young would be a
death sentence to me. Serving time on the words we all loved
to say of that stupid quote: "you only live once"

      _...yeah right.

Talk in between the covers,
we have a lot to hide.
Left a piece of distress resting on
the pillowcase.

Your head was heavy as your lungs.
And between the weight of the
world and smoke, I wondered what kept you down.
What broke into your heart, and stole from you?

Nose running, but dry,
trying to mask insecurities.
You must of forgotten your eyes, yearning to cry.
Life bled you dry, and left you empty inside.

I tried to be by your side,
but you chose the night.
To hide away in your fears,
Better you being stuck in them, than them being stuck on you.

What broke you?

Not the world, but yourself.
The world gave you the hammer, telling you to strike.
You couldn't take any more of this living, so you opted to take your life.

But I quickly held you down, and whispered, "it's going to be alright."
A tear shed into pieces,
and with my tender loving kisses I told you, "you don't have to die tonight."

Not unless we're dying as two,
but I'll firstly die for you.

Chocolate diet,
your hairs were too sweet, so you chose to dye it.
“Do you like it, “ you had to ask me, which I had to
admit, “I seriously Iove it.“ But I only could mind it.
In a diabetic coma, we were sleeping on sweet dreams
with your hair on my favourite pillow. A willow now;
your hair was now falling off. You tried to dye your age,
but how it looked before wasn’t really much the same.
Still wishing the old you could come back around again.

Coffee diet,
you’ve been grinding all of your life in continuous cycles.
“Can I have a break, “ you exclaimed to me, I couldn’t lie
to you, and pretend slowing down meant you’d have a break.
Baby test your brakes, just to ease yourself into rushing into
those familiar mistakes. There’s no shame I could put all on you.
Even when I’m trying to fix everything, not only for one of us.
But also fixing a fulfilling life for us two. But it’s all for you.

Cannabis diet,
we’re getting high on all of our wildest desires, and dreams.
Afraid of the heights, getting to the top of success as it seems.
Playing both sides of the spectrum of ideas. Can’t we work out
all of our issues as a team? The closest we are, to doing the
same kind of work. Your cooking up some stories, and I’m
cooking up a storm of my words. How soon till the kitchen gets
burnt? Bite marks under skins; getting on each other’s nerves.

Commitment diet,
tying ourselves around trust. But it passes the fine line
of making up, or passing around lust. Why does the love we’re
making, end off with me having to cuss? We’re playing it all a
little too rough. I can’t be explaining to workmates about my face’s
latest cuts. Must of been the feelings that radiated the first time
we met. But it turned into radiation, falling into a toxic combination.
Toxic relationships are only the ones people fall into blindly. But we
could see the disaster before, taking it ever so lightly. And so mildly.

Cuddle diet,
teddy bear kisses, calling me soft for falling so easily in love with
you. I had to borrow someone else’s glue to get myself stuck to you.
Listening too many times, to peers pressuring me to do things I
never really liked. But they were the ones to decide how far I should
jump, to reach up to their hype. Yet your friend’s excitement aren’t
there, when they see a close couple they know publicly fight.

Sigh,
I must be tired, and too full of myself to picture me the fool.
Drooling over love; waters of the flesh are only sweet in the
moment. But try yourself to enjoy the same taste, straight after
***.

Seriously,
why must we go around chasing loves, leaving us out of breath?
Following a length of measuring up to unrealistic values, and
ending up with less of your human strength. Regrets will fill up
your favourite plate. A diet of all of these things, somehow leaves
you bent out of shape. I was too busy chasing cake, but the flavours
of it, wasn’t something I could always taste.

So,
I had loads of inked pains to write this. Not to act as if all the parts
of you I despise or really miss. But if lips are the first taste we have
to a full meal of two lover’s violence, I think I’ll just stay off it’s diet.

And I cry like all'
Laugh the loudest alone:
Smile with the crowd'
Talk big-
With my words so small.
Different when' no one is around.

I. TARNISH
We procreate fate, from bones to belief,
Wearing faith like a second skin— daily
soiled, weather-worn by noise and news.

Socially religious; actions are mere talk
we preach in later posts, and not prayers.
We remember songs line for line, forgetting
words to the Word, that once shaped us.

II. INTERROGATION
Where is your faith? —asks the heart.
Where will you be in five years? —asks the mind.

And there—between tears and time— laziness
holds patience, procrastination becomes a religion.
As I wear the mask of a man knowing what he’s
doing, but the fit is too perfect –to ever feel like
Truth.

III. CONFESSION
O Lord, hear the slow-breaking cry of my soul,
lest I forget the sound of my own weeping.

My prayers, once daily bread, are now scattered
crumbs, too few, too faint to carry my mourning,
Into the morning. And you won't hear the dirge
in my less frequent prayers or their “Amen.”

Disclosure and confusion.
Deeper depths of the hidden illusion,
Down beating at myself with cutting and bruising.

Say I be,
The man people think I to be
Would I then live my own life being free.

For the many eyes around fail to see,
Something growing higher to the skies higher than an old great oak tree.

And is it for sure,
Of my giving of little being of more.

From the dreams I hide deep inside my core,
Trying to find opportunities behind every open door.

I guess,
That I keep those type of things that are harder to confess.

Fearing of those seeing my entire life a mess.
But then again I do digress.

Staring at this phone;-
Still waiting for the courage in myself to call
Your longing voice reflecting in my heart, like an echo
Clearly when I’m alone; swallowing the guitar strings
To play a soft melody in every one of my spoken words

But every time the phone’s waiting sound
Rings in my ear, every reason soon departs; I hang up
The phone before it even connects- feeling we’re no longer
As connected, as we used to be before;

So please, please save yourself, time, worth and words,
By all means, not feeling regretful to pick up the phone…

The wars we're sent out to fight
could be the wars we're fighting in ourselves.

Killer instinct,
is just a blind regard for human life.
Violence,
an action taken when we don't like the reaction.

Man's intent to destroy
is only because he hasn't known how to create,
And why love seems little,
is only because man lives more in hate.

The often disgust of Man.

120 miles away; at the speed of love close to decay.
And the sinner in, asks if you’re giving up that cake today.
I’m stuck in a parade, matching bands matching your
movements in those shoes. Revelry of gossip in front of friends
—excusing ourselves on calling it important news.

We’re no good, no good for each other.
But if we meet in Heaven, I might remind you how I was
once your lover.

The very first to add worth in your first kiss. To rest my
head besides your cheek. And finding it rude to call
you my chick, or to call you my b…

Still hard for me to say even in the things that past.
You could hate me more for knowing things wouldn’t last.
Staring at the half empty glass—filling ourselves on cheap laughs.
Cheap thrills, expensive meals on an empty pocket of a kid.

I was weird, I had a piece of a beard to appear grown.
The king of your heart, knowing Lucifer fell for trying to sit
on that wasn’t his throne. The crown turned into thorns.
I’ve been torn by unsaid words.

The unsaid truth, is I still love you now. But I’m foolishly
in love with a love long gone. 120 miles, so far away.
A distance so long.

Whisper the depths of the night— as angelic wrath burns away
at my soul, consuming me in a tempest of alienation, a spectre
unseen; - out of sight; I've lost my mind to my sanity that slips
through my fingers. Where, I ponder, if the appearance of a
grotesque smile will find its place in this so to claim, “beautiful
world?” I remain oblivious to the value of my treasures; until
the very essence of what I cherished fades into oblivion.

Direct my heart toward the doorway; what purpose lies in this
revelation — exposed to the harsh truth of humanity's rawness,
akin to the crude oil extracted to nourish our existence, fuelling
this artificial journey we call life.

The intellect of this age is only but artificial; what is cherished in
these times is only but superficial, fracturing the essence of love
we ought to share. For what is called to be love divided among
us, swiftly reveals the stark truth that all are not treated equal.
Casting shadows on the bonds that should unite us.

We are divided by this so-called love.

In my grasp, a pair of glasses rests like a delicate cigarette tucked in
my fingers, their lenses capturing an iridescent clarity that dances in
the tempest of the mundane. Here lies the essence of a frightening
revelation—nothing we possess is truly ours; we are mere custodians
of borrowed treasures, granted at birth by a force that can reclaim it
all in an instant.

Time, is a powerful currency, but to us, is a loan—whether
squandered in idle moments or cherished in fleeting seconds that we
strive to make meaningful. We share breaths with those we hold dear,
our heartbeats intertwining in passionate kisses, exchanging words that weave love and conflict, and sighs that echo in tender submission.
Love, a paradox of durableness and theft, weighs heavily upon us,
testing our resilience with every blow we endure.

Beware the commotion of this world, for it will consume your very
essence, manifesting the wickedness of your heart. I have destroyed
my being countless times, only to rise anew, each rebirth a testament
to the lessons learned in solitude. From this solitary journey emerges
the wisdom to coexist with others in this intricate dance of life.