Look at me, lying on the sofa
With the thought of money and fame
And my waist-bones cringes
Of the moves and roads and efforts
Sarcasm, or more like it’ i’d say

I have
Loved
Less
Since
The last

I Heard that New York is a great
To be a writer and London is a
Nice place to be a poet, France i
Common place to be an author
All other places are irrelevant!

Everything can
Be learned
In this world
Even prayer
Can be taught

There are many ways
To start a poem and many
Words to start one with.
There are many ways to create
A life and many styles involved

O, ye the bright sky summon thee
Before the crimson light forsake n
With the numb cloud morosely still
So does the teardrop– warmish will
Lightening’ a little or with a pi

Is this it
Is this love or desperation
Is this how it feels to be dunked
Empty bowl
My heart never really flutters

How will thine love as handful,
is it as hate would make a flare?
Heart would be burned into dark as
But some will bare to inhale
The smell.

It will never go
or give up,
It is a wanted
resident
Making its way to a

It could be one way to live occupi
That is tacking every trousers in
Despise, and dressing every space
Empty space for sin to lose intere
In its options to form in your lif