This Muscle use to be malleable,

Like clay,

Being folded, bent, loved,

By grained hands

Folded, bent, loved

By killing machines.

This Muscle tightened

Like a rubber band,

Being folded, bent, loved

By his departure

Folded, bent, loved

By nicotine.

This Muscle hardened

With time,

Long, Transitioned,

A new state of mind,

Long, Transitioned,

Out of necessity.

The Muscle Died

With you,

Folded, Transitioned

Into black, from the blue,

Long, bent, loved,

From one who’ll never be.

Your eyes are painted

with stardust,

A heart that grows,

that rusts.

Your eyes speak

with a thousand tongues,

Paint the rooms with every

song sung.

Yet, the air is clear.

This beach has no waves.

Your eyes laugh

with the movement

of the wind,

heaven sent.

Your eyes kiss

with the passage

of time,

age-less.

There is no fear,

of future days,

of silience.

Red is the sound

I hear,

Leaking from the pipes,

Like grapes full, ripe

In the pastels,

Hanging on

Twisted walls

And shadowed halls

Behind eroded eyes.

Blue is the place

I feel,

Seeping through wires

Like fear, dire

With the prospects

Of tomorrow’s

Gold,

Old

That never dies.

i remember the last time

your flesh

touched

my flesh,

embraced in

the clothes of death,

painted in saline.

last goodbyes

veiled in the lyrics

of scribbled ink

falling

falling

through the sink

The waves breakdown

the palace of lyrics,

leaving nothing but the rubble

of fragments and letters

from loves now distant,

of scars faded into the grains.

These black and white towers

call for a savior

great or small,

just hands to craft the sights,

the lives of different eyes,

to save the creature

in the mirror,

the figure in the street.

Another addition to the past,

someday someone will

continue the story. Universal

love for Universal People.

May these words build us up.

May these word be there,

when no one else is.

I saw you naked.

I felt nothing.

For your nudity

was not new to me.

I have seen the clock work

in your mind.

Blind at first,

till another hand

tore back the curtains

in your bedroom.

I am hurting,

but it is too soon

to tell, is it just me, or is it real.

I saw you masturbating.

I felt nothing.

For you restrained.

An umbrella in the rain.

I have seen your teeth

grinding the metal,

all the sparks

hitting the ground

dead, echoing

without a sound.

But it is too soon

to tell, if it is just me, or it is real.

Does it matter

if it's me.

If it's real.

There is infinite

truth in what we feel.

I should tell you.

But you are not listening.

You never do.

So I'm leaving,

saying nothing,

like I always do.

Each moment brings

different gravational pulls

to two dazzling

broken stars

With angelic voices singing

I appeal to each; a fool

who will go running

no matter how far.

And If i am embraced

by a supernova,

then I greet

the welcoming dark

Even with these glass eyes,

all I see cuts

with distortion, and whispered, echos,

of augmented reality,

a deceptive cadence;

deminishing the truth.

But does it bring happiness;

does it bring the pain;

does it bring the spring

after a winter rain?

Is a victory a victory if you won

nothing at all?

Is a defeat a defeat if you

have it all?

The situation has lost its merit,

the badges of politicians

have been stripped,

with or without,

there are no more smiles

for this charity.

Dura est vita,

i bhold!

the mold of consis10c!

consts10c, a willo

lost n the perpitual void

of echoing springs.

Dura est vita,

i abhor

the whor of stagegnation!

stagegnation, a shado,

a coughn that only fear,

echoing brings.

Dura est vita,

i xpowwer

the flowwer on the wal,

the wal, eroading,

a watchman, with dFINastration,

ncuraging.

Lie to the child,

with meek and mild

fantasies,

distractions,

to focus on the toys

behind glass walls

to ignore the girls and boys

standing small,

clothed in dirt,

painted with hurt,

grasping for the lights

on the tree,

behind the pane.

To ignore the women

working through the holidays

with no days

to celebrate with a family,

that they don't have.

Feed the child

with images of a jolly man

so maybe they won't understand

why Daddy comes in painted with whiskey

and smoke eyes.

Cover the child

with carols and christmas specials

so maybe they will be fooled

and won't hear mommy scream

and daddy breaking down doors.

Brainwash the child

with these traditions

for generations.

Children mirror their parents,

especially with Christmas memories