The Line

It is meant to be the way it is to be,
deeper it goes, better
cutting yourself with a butter knife, it hurts more,
I don’t want to breath up those things that i got wrong,
I turned on to the wrong pages,

and am stuck in that page itself looking,
somewhere in between the lines,
or the quotes,
or the verses,
that read, “I deserve not be hurt”.

I walked across those thousand pages,
for that line,
but never was it found in the paragraphs,
that never ended, continued with commas,
now I want to write it myself down, on it,

It is meant to be there.
maybe I’ll burn it, or let it go,
release the sickness, be free,
let it be what it is meant to be,
just let be, ride back home and sleep.

triangle

Am Fond of Him

learning to control

the fondness for little things that i share

with people, strangers though,

i got no rules, i got no limits.

everything is the same,

i could recognize a pattern,

am on repeat, the same song on the radio,

a million times,

like am addicted to being fond about,

like i make a fool out me,

i try to bring in my territory,

deserted inside four walls, frequent sand storms,

i rot, but my gut let ‘em in,

again,

am flooded, swept away with the ice cold water,

am wet now, wept off half of my face,

i bring it back again,

eerily out of reality, too much spaced-out,

am a fanatic for fondness, the madness,

and all that lavish fucks,

the time 23:23, fuck, it’s late,

late for my hands to please me,

my control is evicted, it’s ruined,

am in a drop, learning to be in my limits,

to bail out of this.. this...

triangle.