Fear, freedom, friends, fortune, favor, force, front, fuck, face, faith, fame.
Fierce is the name of the game. Time does not matter for it is forgotten. Fuck time, it’s not mine, it’s for another person’s mind and rhyme.
Wait for me mom, I love you but you are so fast. Forever I look for you, worried I won’t find you.
Storm of a new form, came over me like a crushing blanket of souls, who am I not to conform, or to crawl back into my usual boring norm.
Love her, hold her by the hand, build her a golden stand, play together like a childhood band, peek at her rosy cheek a quick magical mystique surrounding her God like physique.
Then she explodes like the world has formed again in one week.
So I sit alone on a sharp stone, overlooking a dam and a river so long, without an end, as if it doesn’t belong, but the self isn’t that strong, it is as confused as right or wrong. So I let this mess prolong, like a classical eternity and a love song.
She is hurt, her soul is burnt, like a soft flower and a golden quilt, she looks at what she has built and built, but there is nothing there, left for her, except her own sorry and guilt, she tortures herself with poisoned thoughts and a cup of hemlock that has spilled, but she doesn’t seem to have a thought or a wind. She rises like a queen of love and sleeps like a poisoned dove with no sky above.
Mom, please come back. I am looking for you with your body on my back, like a soldier who lost his track, with no home to return to, but only a lost battle his memory cannot unpack.
Hello strength, come back to me, like a golden mushroom or sacred tree, and make me once again free, from the weakness of my own guilt that prevents me, from being the true destined me…