The pencil my blood And paper lined the same Like each and every vein They carry the graphite I used to write through the night

The last cigarette, glowing to the end smoke rises, killing to fill your hunger

Where does one start his journey t… If a picture is worth a thousand, nowadays in public housing, it would only say, “In God We Tr… But it is never enough,

How come you are like the air to m… I can’t hear or see you But I know you are there for me Each inhale bringing clarity you take care of me

Shadows, A sad man’s reflection all to hide his complexion you can try to run or hide but your shadow is your dark side

There was a time, a story, and a t… A eager girl clung to a trunk and… Motors rumbled the mind of a man b… Bells struck, as did hammers, the… His cries unheard, climbing anothe…

To be a poet. Is it knowing self-worth? If that is truly something, It wasn’t given at birth. Words are sharp, they cut like kni…

Stowaways, each and every one of u… All in an accident, A collection of particle dust There’s an infinity to be observed Where no sound is heard

Insecure the feelings here steer this car Not a clue to where I’ll go