Coffee The generations changed the language Changed the way In which we feel. The generations have our words An evolution To lift the veil. Soon our communication Meant nothing And gone were our minds. Because no matter how hard one tries Understanding gets hard When love and #life is based on Reading between the lines. And so what the hell Should I know When you ask me out for coffee? I think it means you like me Like me Or love me? And so here I am Mad at our generation And our efficiency Is coffee just coffee? Or is it a code For what could be. I guess I'll just have to go and see.

Seashells Peering into that place, the house of mine with my studied crevices filled with memories, overflowing with images that used to belong to me. The images are now slipping, disappearing, those crooks now empty for a new mind, a new set of memories, a new home. This house seems nothing more now than a shell, a home I unwillingly grew out of, now simply cascaded on the beach for a new body to fill. This shell of mine is now empty. This shell of mine isn't even mine at all, because it was someone else's first, and now it will belong to yet another heart, an endless game of chance and loss- certainty and hope. And so it ends with me alone, the sand sliding through my fingertips and the ocean slowly making its way closer and closer to where I beckon it. The water comes and leaves, leaving shells scattered throughout the compromised clash of where land meets sea. And in my lap lay a jumble of empty homes, memories of those that have moved on, new ideas and dreams within a new house for a new #life. With these seashells I remember the thoughts in which people believe all literature comes down to either love or death, And with that I begin to realize that when it comes down to seashells, there is all but an equal amount of both.

Hello Paths are winding, Twisting, Leading, Glimmering with translucency, not sure if they were destined to become solid or not. Moments are slipping, Drifting, Fading, Lost and found, gone and reborn, possibly replaced, most of the time not. Ideas are forming, Rushing, Racing, Chaotic within my mind, living and dying, telling myself what I want is what I need. Hearts are pounding, Punctual, Uncontrollable, Furling and aching to know your name. To meet you. Know you. Understand you. A path is forming, moments are slipping, ideas are forming, my heart is pounding- All simple acts as I walk down the street. We're smiling. "Hello," You say. And suddenly, all of these actions, these dismissive instinctive tones, fade into the background, their time and unspent energy free but unnoticed. You're waiting for a response. You're holding your breath. You cannot control it. Not any of it. Love takes our choices away. It's worth it. "Hello."

Help One word lingering Fingers tingling Ears are ringing Head is spinning Eyes are watering Cheek is bleeding Heat is stinging One thought forming Soul is dying Heart is crying Noone can hear me And all I can say Is Help.

Freedom Everyone has their own freedom Their personal idea Of a perfect #life. But even the believer is aware, Of the flaw in their plans, Freedom ruined with the flick of a knife. Some see money, Some see power, Some see where they're lucky, Some see endless hours, Some see #life, Some see death, Some see night, Perhaps a fancy dress. Some see happiness, Most see despair, Because deep down they know- Freedom comes with a price, And what is my freedom- If you're not there?