paintings are never finished, only abandoned

I have paintings that are not yet finished,
with thoughts and dreams and memories in every stroke
in a timeless moment which can tell a different story to a bystander
and I shed the most tears
like a crocodile like a beast like a man
like a tree cut down with no one to listen to
behind the scenes are the best memories
the secret is to do it for yourself
which makes art the ripest fruit
that sits highest from the tree.

quiet one

The one who does nothing
sits like a seed
waiting to grow
still like the stars
standing pseudo
under the inglewood night sky
guiding the planes
safely to their little lives
awaiting for their turn
to be something.
like the tracks
off a dusty fence.
like the pain
of the act of starting
a dream.

Not Me

In some of the most negative moments,
are just inevitable circumstances,
to know thyself, even if you are
what you never wished to be.
the sky tears and none knows
it grows a forrest
I'm walking into.
and grown old
out of my bed
forgetting anyone to love
sit on the rooftops
and look at the stars
falling in love with the wrong people.

you smell like my friends house

you smell like my friends house
when i am near you
when i think of all the things
that are not you.
and i pretend
that if i treat this person
good

then
you never disappeared

Last meal

I knew it would be my last meal.
It was quite. Not even the birds chirped.
Not even the crickets sang.

Not even the phone rang.

I just had a feeling things weren't gonna be the same.