People, like us
we feel... too deeply
consumed, in shadow
this game of chance.
Together, surviving
we unending dreamers.
People... like us.

Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures.
No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.

A handful of letters doesn't always make a word, love.

His hands are holding my cheeks, and he pulls back just to look me in the eye and his chest is heaving and he says, "I think," he says, "my heart is going to explode," and I wish, more than ever, that I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever.

Because this.

This is everything.

I have one thing that counts, and that is my heart; it burns in my soul, it aches in my flesh, and it ignites my nerves: that is my love for the people and Peron.

Unpublished.




What if I, revealed these feelings
private pieces, cast… at stranger’s eyes
exposing sober thought, and truth
as sentiments, lie deep
interred, inside of me… should they come alive?

Unconsciously
to never share, that essence... safe, in mind

Restlessness wordplay, stills me
I was born… unsettled

Through my rage, of self-indulgence
all… those chosen things, I hide
deep and unexposed
stay inconsolable… within the inside