illusions of grandeur 

You lacquer me with love,
like it will lock me down.
A lacklustre heaviness,
once heavenly profound.
An evenly based layer,
compunction allowed.
Seeds sowed with promises,
in all our nine clouds.

You invest time in things,
that don’t even exist in, a life,
you’re trying to make peace with,
filled with, mediocre mediums,
you’re consistently cataclysmic,
too much freedom mek ya man tink
he ya rebel king n ya significant
distance isn’t innocent
you a queen child, expect resistance


sistine chapel blitzing
the ink in it makes you insipid
and you have an audacity to call me out for being timid
your blind heart and your sky eyes
a painted black canvas
rubbed out lines
when all I wanted was to be coloured with light;
an identity defined;
identify: my oh my

I dent, if I keep myself tied down,
your moody bruises see me out.
You give me thorns,
instead of flowers to my crown.
How can I know you,
when you haven’t been found?
I covered you in kisses;
absorbed your mosaic pain;
flattered with butterflies;

again and again.
Flavoured you with soul,
soothing stings with aloe rain;
a walk in the park you said,
I drowned in the lake.
Wrapped up, entangled,
a bitter sea salt taste:
a label like an anchor,
I set me free from your pain.

ink is free, so...

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