Thousands of eyes,
looking at my sleeping body.
After my false awakening,
I saw them,
still trapped in the dream.
They were recording
my every painful breath.

Eyes without eyelids,
dense, dark air.
I became an unexpected glitch
in the imposed system.
They just didn’t know
what to do with me.

The spiders around my bed
were watching over
the meaning of my existence.

I had only a deep need
to find a place
for all elements
of the broken vessel,
the black pupils,
the witnesses
to my faltering walk.

I am not yet a butterfly.
I am the caterpillar
in a long ego tunnel.

Thomas was right.

To heal,
I must keep going
and going
until all becomes
one seamless whole,
ready to transform
into a flying being,
free from the chain of wounds,
sacrificed
on the altar
of broken Ego.

How to read my poetry:

Read it with your eyes, they will show you what I say
See it with your heart, it guides the way
Read it with your mind, keep it open to the truth
Use your understanding to verify the proof
Let it get in your dreams, read it while you sleep
Let it get in your soul and I hope it will keep

When you finish, read it once again
This time with feeling, like blowing in the wind
After that, quietly reflect on the story
Did you find it sweet and nice or ****** and gory

Try and remember your favorite line
Maybe the one about yours or the one about mine
Dry your eyes, blow your nose, get to the funny parts
The one about true love and two broken hearts
You can read them over and over; they never get old
Some of my best lines are as good as gold

High like the potter
Kissed your eyes like a gutted
Goat
Sliced into pieces
National kissing day and blood
Is on your lips and on your eyes
My dear dementor
One day
Before you die
Between all your preys
Have me in your dreams
Remember my kiss
Read this unexpectedly
Feeling that it's like someone's writing
Let the butterflies fly
In your stomach as you lie
In your deathbed we will meet
I will hunt you in your dreams
Kiss, kiss good bye my darling
Kiss, kiss bang bang my dumpling
You can be mischievous huh?
You were wrong though all along
Kiss, kiss sleep snow white
White as the ghost in the skies
I will be your potter boy
You will be rotting corpse

A list of tasks to accomplish before I embrace love again:

I envision my mind wandering through expansive fields where patches of grass lie brown. A single wildflower stands out among the scattered pebbles beneath my feet. Memories linger, taunting me alongside the bare trees with their bent trunks. A cool breeze brushes against my face; the once reliable umbrella tree is gone, leaving me exposed to the sun's relentless rays. I squint against the brightness.

It's time to decide: Will I dwell on the ghosts of my past, or will I focus on the warmth of the sun shining down? I have a clear list of goals to achieve before I open my heart to love again. I've put the pain behind me—it's my choice to lower the drawbridge or keep the enemy at bay.

When I fall in love again, I will be happier than ever before. I've buried those painful memories beneath the bare umbrella trees, and I refuse to let them control my future. I reflect on past loves that took me for granted. Should I forgive them? Or should I reject their memories altogether?

My tears will become the moisturizer that nurtures my spirit as I dig deeper into the fertile soil of my thoughts. I will honor each name with my tears and finally put those chapters to rest.

The poor can bleed while the rich do feed, upon the wars and that they hang around there necks. skulks of the fallen collected never buried but trophy’s of the greed that fed the blood soaked bills that passed from hand to hand. Like bullets passing through flesh, only the poor die, while the rich say more to fed the machine of greed that is never fulfilled until the last drop is cleaved with a bomb or bullet. And the poor due alone and hungry not able to buy a bullet to end there suffering, but enough to end another in a war that all had forgotten.

Like a work horse,
My body feels worn.
I can’t turn the soil
Of life everyday..

I think I need to be euthanised..
Or at least hibernate
for the weekend.

Painkillers eaten like skittles..

Four varieties of woes..
My body the water,
The pills skimming
Across my Pain threshold..

Hidden disabilities,
a hide an seek of explanations.
You ill today.. sighs..
I’m Forever Sighing,
At the ignorance of others

“For the longest time I thought the letters for tiddy sizes was like the grade system. Kept asking myself what’s the big deal about d’s? Those are below average tiddys! But I totally get it now.”

-Stevie Wonder (2003)