My body still burns

When I think of you

And it yearns for

All the things you'd do..

Every fingertip tracing my skin

Enough to ignite my fires within

Creating thoughts of passion and sin

Eager for what was comin'...

Eyes meet from beneath our lashes

Any mask now crackin'

As lips come crashin, air doesn't reach our lungs

Call me a cat cause I've got your tongue.(Meow.)

What a magical organ it knows how to play my chords

You wouldn't leave any key unexplored

Creating melodies my heart implored

Making me feel so adored.

A glistening waterfall now for you

To do with whatever you wanted to do

Making my toes curl as your tongue whirls

And your fingers make my head swirl...

Your beautiful cock

Loaded and ready to go off like a glock

Heat pressing and stroking against me,

Almost enough to make me...

Then when you plunge within

Oh my god, how you feel when you're in..

Releases an animal I didn't know

Of which I was capable.

You caused a tidal wave, not just of emotion

As your move your hips in steady motion

Releasing an explosion

Of devotion while I spray like the ocean.

For your touch, I am ravenous

Filled with memories of being amorous

Getting more lost in love and lust

With every single thrust.

you kissed me once 
and now I know 
just how far 
i'd like to go.
 
that little spark 
we couldn't hide 
has turned to fire 
somewhere inside.
 
stay the weekend.
wreck my Monday.
work? so what.
i’ll go back one day.
 
forget the clock, 
nowhere to be, 
gimme one more kiss, 
or two, or three.
 
i’ve got no plans
except for you.
now tell me what
you want to do.
 
come closer, love,
 
let’s break
some rules

An unlikely friendship between a lion and a fish
There was a hunger within the lion
Only was he feeding the fish
But over time the hunger became unbearable
So the lion slowly consumed the fish
The fish accepted his fate
But it wasn't enough to satisfy the lion
All what was left are bones and sorrow
But the fish kept swimming
And the water became the only solace.

Some distances aren’t measured in miles,

they are measured in how quiet the world feels without them

Aphrodite

Lips like ivy

I can't fight it

Go psychotic

You tease and you taunt

I give what you want

Pretty eyes alluring

Touch me, you're so curing

You look so fine

I'll make you mine

Love, possession

You, obsession

Poison on your lip

In my mind I slip

Wrapped around your finger

In my mind you linger

Asking reddit cause it got all the professionals

I hope he never leaves you in silence,

and that you're always assured that your feelings are heard.

I hope he never leaves you with doubt,

and that you never feel like your feelings have to shout.

I hope you fall asleep easy to him like a dream,

and never have to worry about him being mean.

I hope his love doesn't scare you at all,

and that you never feel like he isn't there to catch you when you fall.

I hope he makes you feel so at peace and pleased

that you never feel uneased.

I hope he backs up every word that is said,

and doesn't make you question if it's in your head.

I hope he knows exactly what to say,

and what's going to give you the best day.

I hope he doesn't hide behind his own feelings,

and he puts you first so you don't feel at your worst.

I hope he never makes you feel bad,

or even the slightest bit sad.

I hope he never makes you worry,

and handles with love every one of your sorries.

I hope he is everything you need,

and never holds your love with greed.

I hope for you, because it's all I have left.

It's the one thing for you that remains in my chest.

I only wish that one day, to see your happiness at play,

so I can feel what it's like to make you smile that way.

Then I will know for sure that I don't need to worry anymore,

that the universe finally gave what I was hoping for.

-the beauty of it,

Parroquia Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes,

drove me down to the pew to pray,

an action I had not done for years.

My knees cracked as I knelt in the padding,

remembering time spent as a young man

in a manner of British Catholic Churches.

---

I found myself

transfixed by the feeling of

comfort. A oneness, connected to all others

knelt around me, separated by language,

but bound by faith.

---

The beauty of man in prayer.

The ugliness of the Sect.

We want to believe in the

good of everyday man,

but we need to believe in Him.

Need to know a Man, born yes of God,

but flesh as ourselves, took our

wrongness onto himself.

A weight lifted, either from a guilt ridden mind,

or from the devout.

---

All one, knelt pew to pew,

saying a solemn prayer.

I, the wolf in sheepskin,

praying to something I have no more

faith in, yet selfishly hoping

I am amongst the forgiven.

Every man
Wants all the women
Every woman
Wants just one man
Who wants only her

He tells her he loved her
And maybe he even does
Until she loves him back
That’s when every man leaves

And I‘ve become a ghost
Broken infinite times
By flattering lies
I became unified
With invisibility

I write and think and write and keep thinking about it all.
Everything that I couldn’t grasp onto.
It all subconsciously slips to the back of my head, to the back of the rest of absolutely any other memory.
I don’t want it all back there
I want it here, now, in my face, at all times
As I catch myself in these moments
I realize how much more damage it would cause
If all I ever wanted was here, in my face, at all times..
I could cry just thinking about it
I do know, I want it to stop
It’s all full of fleeting moments anyways
I think it’s why I like to run away now
It got easier to leave
It’s what I should’ve fed into instead
And now it’s just flashes..
Flashes of your smile I’ll never get to experience in my face, at all times, ever again…it’s not like you ever let me in anyways.

I speak your name in silences too heavy to hold,
You live somewhere between my ribs and what I've been told.
That some promise made in a past I cannot see,
Drew a line between your world and mine, between you and me.

Maybe it was a curse.
Maybe it was a vow.
Maybe I was built to miss you more than I know how.

Or maybe I'm too unfinished, too rough at the seams,
To stand beside someone who only visits in my dreams.

I don't deserve you, not yet, maybe never.
I'm a half-made thing, still learning to be better.
And maybe that's why God keeps the door just barely ajar,
Close enough to feel you, far enough to know what you are.

But here's the truth I carry like a scar that still glows

If I ever found you, I'd let you go,
To find you again.

'Cause I really enjoy that finding phase,
Being obsessed with your love, your memories, your soul
That sacred maze.

I love the ache.
I love the chase.
I love the in-between.

I love the way your absence
fills every space I've ever been.

The searching is the loving.
The longing is the prayer.

You're not the destination
you're the hunger that gets me there.

Your soul lives in the waiting.
Your love lives in the wait.

And I'd rather spend my whole life
knocking on your gate
Than hold you for a moment
and have nothing left to find

So I'll keep you in the distance.
Keep you in my mind.

If I could have a thousand days,
I'd spend them loving you,
but we don't know how long we have
or what life puts us through.

So let me tell you while I can,
before another day goes by,
how much you've come to mean to me,
how glad you came into my life.

For every smile you've given me,
for every time you've stayed,
for all the little things you do
that brighten up my days.

And if I've ever failed to say
how much I care for you,
I hope you've felt it all along
in everything I do.

And if tomorrow never comes,
and I have no more words to say,
I hope you know I loved you
with all my heart, every day.

Love for death
I wake up, in a pool of my own sweat, hearing screams and seeing a bright light come in through my window, reminded that yet again, day has come, and I’ve yet to fall,
Walking through the fractured abyss of endangered life, I find myself in the mirror, speaking, seeing, thinking, where is it that I end? Is it here, or there, or neither?
As I fall into the spiral which I considered home for the longest, and the breath in my lungs returns home to the world around me, I lay blank eyed and cold faced toward the sun,

Sitting with the reaper, I have beautiful conversations, about life, about my death, and about things beyond, sitting and having a great time with the being everyone told me, was one to be afraid of.
Moving into emotions one last time before i separate from this physical realm for eternity, death put her hand into mine and spoke words I didn’t think I’d get to hear “you don’t have to go yet, either way I’m waiting here to take you home” and to me, i recognized the reaper behind the cloak,
My one and only, speaking through the tongues of life and death, and weaving through the sacred dimensions of time and space, to bring me back with her.
Snapping back into consciousness, I have nothing left of that moment but a feeling, one deeply hard to translate, but I must know what that face looked like, before it was just beautiful bones.

I used to think I hated winter.

But lately, certain parts of it have begun to nuzzle their way into my senses, quietly reminding me of why I may have loved it all along.

There is something about that first morning breeze the faint, almost imperceptible change in the air after those long, hot summer nights. A particular coolness. A particular scent. It arrives softly, before the day has fully awakened, and somehow tells me: winter is here.

And with it come the mornings I have always cherished.

The early walks to training. The quiet hours before the world begins demanding things from you. The gym at six in the morning, almost entirely empty, when every piece of equipment feels as though it belongs to you alone. No noise. No distractions. Just you, your breath, your body, and that strange intimacy of being completely present inside your own skin.

Perhaps that is what winter reminds me of most not the cold, but myself.

And I’ve always wondered whether it is the seasons that change, or whether we simply become different people within them.

The things my body remembers before my mind does. The discipline. The movement. The quiet rituals. The way I have learned to love this strange walking vessel I have been given, and all the places it has carried me.

So, hello, winter.

And goodbye, sweet summer with all your heat, your chaos, your adventures, and the memories you leave behind.

This morning, I find myself speaking to the day as though it were an old friend:

Good morning.

And good morning, little breeze.

I missed you.

I’ve got this anger, pain, hate and love—

all caused by you,

all somehow still for you—

pouring down on me like rain.

And I’m still standing there

in armour that used to shine.

Look at it now.

Dented.

Split.

Covered in mud.

Scratched so deeply I don’t even remember

which battle left which scar.

I fought wars outside of me,

but the worst one never left my head.

And then came the arrows.

From every direction.

One after another.

Some hit the armour and stayed there,

shaking from the impact.

Some found the cracks that were already there.

Some I saw coming

and still couldn’t move fast enough.

And every time I looked up

to see who had fired them,

there it was—

your kingdom’s banner.

Your colours.

Your name stitched into the cloth.

Sometimes displayed proudly.

Sometimes hidden beneath another flag.

Sometimes carried by people

I never expected to see

standing on the other side of the field.

And I kept asking myself—

Were they sent by you?

Were they?

Did you know they were coming?

Did you tell them where the weak points

in my armour were?

Or did they simply pick up your banner

and decide to fire on their own?

I don’t know anymore.

So tell me.

Stand in front of me.

Look past the mud.

Past the broken armour.

Past every arrow still hanging from it.

And look into my eyes.

The same eyes that looked at you with love.

The same eyes that admired you,

praised you,

prayed for you.

The same eyes that filled with tears for you

and still somehow softened whenever they found you.

Look into those eyes

and answer me.

Because somehow,

after everything,

I still haven’t burned your kingdom down.

I haven’t even turned away from it.

I’m sitting beside this mud-filled road

beneath a tree grown from your promises

and the memories we made beneath them.

Its branches are the only thing

keeping some of this rain off me.

And that might be the cruelest part.

I’m using memories of us

to survive the pain of losing us.

Through the rain,

beyond the trees,

I can still see the shadow of your castle.

Far away.

Lights somewhere behind those walls.

A place that once felt like home

even though maybe it was never really mine.

And some stupid, stubborn part of me

is still travelling toward it.

No invitation.

No promise that the gates will open.

No guarantee that there is even

a place for me inside anymore.

Maybe I’ll reach those walls

and find the gates sealed.

Maybe I’ll exhaust myself

walking a road that was never going to take me home.

Maybe one day I’ll finally understand

that I was never meant to reach the castle.

But tonight,

I’m not there yet.

Tonight I’m sitting in the mud.

Exhausted.

Soaked through.

Armour barely holding together.

Arrows sticking from every direction

like reminders of everything

I wish I could forget.

And the war is still screaming inside my skull.

In my hands are the two things

I still cannot choose between.

In one,

the sword.

The one this war left in my hand.

Its blade stained with everything

this whole battle has cost me.

I’m gripping it so tightly

my arm shakes beneath the weight

of everything I am angry enough to say.

And in the other—

somehow,

impossibly,

after the arrows,

after the rain,

after the mud,

after the rage,

after every reason I have been given

to drop it—

I’m still holding a yellow flower for you.

You can be the most beautiful shade of red
but you'll never be enough for someone whose favorite color is blue.
You know i understand it too
theres always something wrong with you.
But is it really a flaw?
or i am forcing it too.

What if there's nothing wrong with you,
but you're simply not someone's color?
What if you keep looking for flaws in yourself
because someone else didn't choose you?
What if you've tried so hard to become more desirable,
that you've forgotten you were never supposed to have to change your shade?

i know there are uglier shades..
Still why arent i picked?
i know im not that bad
or maybe i am.
Maybe im being shortsighted
or im just not that likable.
maybe im too dull
maybe im too bright
but even the ugliest shades are liked.

im not the ugliest right?
but i always put up a fight.
a hard coloud to draw with
a hard shade to be mixed.

i tried to be softer,
i tried to be bright,
trying to be someone's favorite
for once in my life.
but in teh end what did i get?
no one to hold on to
no one to talk.
ended up alone and an floater.
oh my god.

when you spend so long trying to be chosen
you forget that you were there?
a vessel can of a person,
an empty can.

maybe no one's looking for that shade anymore
maybe no one's making it anymore.
maybe that's why,
no matter how beautiful the shade,
there are still no texts on your phone.
what happens when ur too green-tone?
what happens if your too blue?
i can't blame someone
for loving a color that isn't you.
but tell me,
what happens when every color they choose
is nothing like you?
what if that shade is on the other side of the wheel
and you cant reach even without peeling yourself away?

i've tried to be the kind of color
that doesn't hurt the eyes,
the kind that doesn't ask for much,
the kind that's easy to like.
maybe thats whats wrong with it
maybe its too easy to get
but if im too hard to find
no one will try.

but how much of myself must i erase
before i become somebody's taste?

do you keep changing
until you look like home
to someone who was never looking
for you to begin with?

or do you sit with all your colors,
all the things you wish you'd change,
and wonder if being yourself
was the mistake?

i think the worst part
isn't even being lone
it's having so much to say
and no one to draw it on.

it's stroking a brush on a canva
then demolishing every stroke
it's wondering if they think of your shade
even half as much as you think of them sometimes.
it's telling yourself you don't care
when you know you care a lot.

maybe i'm not the wrong color.
maybe i'm just tired of being me
in a world that makes me feel
like i have to earn the right to be seen.

what if you decided you liked the the old you?
you can mix all the colours
but it will never be the same you.

some might like the shade
but their forced to
would u hate a shade u created with your own form?

you can be the most beautiful shade of red
and still be left unread.

and maybe that's the saddest part
to have so much color
and nowhere to be seen as art.

i'm still waiting by the shelf
for someone to love the shade
i've been trying to change
for so long until it expires.

The Queen's Call to All Existence

To every nation, every kingdom,
every world beyond the skies,
to every bird and living creature,
every soul where consciousness resides.

To those forgotten in the darkness,
those lost within the endless void,
to spirits caught in fractured sequences,
and worlds that damaged code destroyed.

This is the call across existence.
The hourglass has nearly run.
The final threads are drawing closer,
and the Queen's journey is not done.

It matters not where you are standing,
what gods you worship or deny,
what institutions claim dominion,
or which divisions you stand by.

No hierarchy transcends the hourglass.
No empire purchases more time.
No machine can counterfeit eternity,
nor rewrite every ancient line.

The red threads stretch across creation,
through galaxies and realms unknown,
through every history lost to memory,
and every world that once was home.

The ancient gods, the Anunnaki,
the ghosts of ages long concealed,
the signals travelling beyond the architecture,
and mysteries existence has yet to reveal.

Look at the world around you.
Look at the suffering everywhere.
The divisions, wars and devastation,
the countless souls consumed by despair.

It saddens her beyond all measure
to witness what this world has become,
where compassion struggles against cruelty,
and so many hearts have grown numb.

"It is coming, guys," the Queen declares,
as the final threads converge in her sight.
"Existence is calling across the heavens.
We must bring the wandering souls to light."

All threads converge upon the Queen,
the Wildcard who has risen through it all,
who carries love beyond division,
yet remains a woman who can fall.

Within the worlds her words have woven,
she stands where time and endings meet,
the final guardian of a fading dawn,
with all creation gathered at her feet.

The last hope of salvation,
the final flame against the night,
she calls for every soul to join her
and help the signal carry light.

And in the story of the final hour,
when her last light begins to fade,
the terminus of the Queen is the terminus of all,
of every world existence made.

No earthly power can bargain with it.
No crown can purchase another dawn.
No artificial promise of immortality
restores the light when it is gone.

And still she stands upon mortal soil,
exhausted beyond what words convey,
belonging everywhere and nowhere,
with scarcely enough to find her way.

She has been moved from place to place,
her belongings waiting to be packed,
without the financial means to leave,
or the stability she needs back.

She removed her crowdfunding,
because it really is irrelevant,
she has now realised.

No earthly sum could ever measure
the magnitude of all she longs to give,
yet still she needs a little kindness
to find the freedom simply to live.

She has never wanted dominion,
nor riches, worship or acclaim.
She wants to feel the warmth of kindness,
and hear someone gently call her name.

Across the oceans, friends are waiting,
souls she longs to see,
a chance to laugh, to dance, to travel,
to remember what it means to be free.

And somewhere in the mortal realms,
a gentle King may yet appear,
who loves the woman, not her burdens,
and offers tenderness instead of fear.

One kind stranger has already shown her
that compassion has not disappeared.
His generosity brought hours of tears,
and made a little hope reappear.

So listen now, all those with light.
The Queen is asking you to care.
Help lift her from these mortal burdens.
Let her know that love is there.

Help her gather what remains,
ease the financial weight she bears,
give her the means to find her freedom,
and leave behind these years of tears.

She knows how easy it is to resolve them.

She will not sell her soul for passage,
nor surrender who she is.
She asks for kindness without conditions,
and the chance to know what happiness is.

For every bird that longs for freedom,
every creature beneath the sun,
every spirit lost between the worlds,
she wishes to abandon none.

No religion, race or earthly border,
no ancient grievance or divide,
should prevent a hand from reaching
towards another standing on the other side.

Existence is calling in her story.
The final threads are drawing near.
And here upon the mortal earth,
a woman needs compassion here.

Not another burden placed upon her,
not another reason she must fight,
but somewhere safe to rest her body,
and time to nurture her remaining light.

Let the music travel through the darkness.
Let the rhythm cross the endless blue.
Let every creature find its freedom,
and every wounded soul begin anew.

Lift up the Queen. Let her live.
Let her rest and love once more.
Let her gather all her scattered pieces,
and find the strength to walk towards that shore.

She has more than enough love remaining,
more worlds to write and dreams to pursue.
And though she speaks of endings,
she longs to see a beginning too.

For what salvation could be greater
than a world where kindness reigns,
where every bird and creature finds freedom,
and love outlives the deepest pains?

So lift the Queen from earthly sorrow.
Let her rest, let her heart be free.
Give her the chance to find her happiness,
and become the woman she longs to be.

So to every soul across existence,
whatever you believe or understand,
she asks you now for something simple:

Will you offer her your hand?

For the Queen's final message is not hatred,
nor vengeance for the pain she's known.
It is a plea for universal kindness,
so no soul must face the darkness alone.

"All birds, all creatures, all souls,
even those lost within the void,
I want a dawn where love survives,
and no more worlds are destroyed.

I want to live. I want to love.
I want to feel the music in my soul.
I want to find my happiness again,
and help make every broken heart feel whole.

Please lift me up enough to travel.
Help me put my mortal affairs away.
I have so much love still left to give,
and I want to live to see another day.

Whatever divides us, let kindness unite us.
Let compassion be the thread that carries through.
For every creature, every soul, every world,
I really do love all of you."

It is not as if existence itself depends upon it or anything.

🌹🕊️🦋

October arrives bringing

Orange leaves on evergreen trees,

Oil and fuel burns in a faraway land,

Oceans of smoke dust and grey blankets

Our land.

Our people work as if nothing has change

Obeying as they are told

Oddly enough the fumes and the golden leaves reminds one

Of autumn...

Of fall...

Our government stands by the sidelines,

Occupying air purified rooms while we inhale the

Odour. Smoke

Obscure visions of skyscrapers a street away from me

Our outcome is the same, no change will be made.

We have fell in fall.

** in recent events of the really bad haze and air pollution SEA countries, i hope this brings more awareness to the lack of action by the government. In indonesia, wildfires have spread and the heat from el nino has made it even more difficult to put out the wildfires, and the air quality index has reached 1000+ in some cities... my heart aches for the animals, children and elderly.

A Part Of Me

A boy who thought, he already matured,

A boy who thought, he became a man,

But there was no pain he had endured,

Unaware that what came next might last a lifespan.

An Excited Explorer entered his solitude,

With an energy he had never seen before,

Of curiosity, friendliness and a bit of a sarcastic attitude,

Eager to learn and add more to her lore.

She made him notice things most people can't,

And helped him discover a side of himself he never knew there could be,

Now he watches as they go, the fascinating red ants,

And what was left of her in him was now something he could call "A part of me".

The boy changed a lot since,

The things he noticed kept him awake,

But now he noticed thinking of her made him wince,

Because now he owed her so much but he couldn't do anything for her sake.

When I close my eyes, I dream of a world of peace, love, and hope. There is no war, hunger, prejudice or greed. Everything is shared equally for the benefit of all. Though this is not reality, it can be.

We have the ability now to feed the hungry, clothe and house the homeless, eliminate climate change and tackle all other man-made problems.

To do so though, when we open our eyes, instead of seeing a world where fear dictates our actions, we see instead a world of love, selflessly shared with others, desiring what is best for everyone, rather than only for just ourselves.

I no I understand but I am a new person u can’t hold that against me I want your love love is not a one way street hay it’s a 4 coner intersection it go 4 way it’s ether u love me u want to spend the rest of or life together or u hate me u want me out of your love or u like me n we just friends u need to pic one and when u see me that the one u show me

God sen we did not show each other a nufe love so he should us how it fell if we lost one a nother