Walking home

The tiny drops of water hanging loosely on my hair, 

These eyelashes, 

It feels heavy to look through a midnight moon

My lungs collapse in a winter’s cold

My tears are frozen on the inside 

The blood prints of my feet…

trailing my path,

My present fails as it fades

This heart beats on

As I walk on water,

Into a sunset we call home

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Illegitimate 

It only hurts as much as we love

We fall so deep

So hard

On a bed roses

Bleeding our skins, 

On prickles,

and razors, 

Of withering petals 


The falling skin with the passing ages

Wearies of a young man,

Troubled with the dawn of a mysterious tomorrow 

The society,

and it’s demands

The whispering streets 

These blurry faces jeering around the corners

“she is a bastard after all”

Dust on my shoes

This street is dull
Sweeps particles of dust along it’s pavements

Onto my shoes,
Dirty laces through eyelets of tired leather

The park once bloomed
Faces of unknown lovers wishing upon the fountain

And I played a song
The strange tune of a forgotten guitar

Hearts came alive
The warmth of thunderous clapping delighted my soul

That I came each day
To pull the strings of that same guitar

Days fell in and out
Hearts walked in and out

Never returned
These piles of little scrolls of unread poetry

The dust between the lines
On every letter,

The tiny pieces of my heart
Maybe I am just another beggar on the street

Maybe my journey came this far and here it ends
Maybe I only need to dust my shoes

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