The unwanted tailor, Arch nemesis. to my inner childlike sailor.
Bumble, I fumble, and try to chase the vicious words, that rumbled from my stomach, up my throat, and into our treasured jungle, our space, and I have to watch your face, tumble, tumble, that, my words stuck to you and forced the first piece of your smile to, crumble, crumble.
I picture our last meal together, Something like this. I've burnt the edge to your fried egg Just the way you like it A little crunch And slipped some ghee around the pan, So it skates, coats and waits to be swallowed. And you stand beside me making my coffee the way I like it, …
Forgive them Lord, For they’re only religious. Religion minus the spirit. Religion fuelled through generations, Religious only by tradition. But I’ll move higher, higher, for You, If You guide me through these liars, liars.