I am the little voice of consciousness

that sat behind your ears

rooting for you to grow

in the ways that were not ill witted.

Its path are not made of that ordinary grass,

that breathes fine,

not those dry grasses burnt to the ashes of my death

to be inhaled and swallowed

to blur my lips and liver.

These ways do not contain white substances

in polythene bags

sold to mistake the very essence of drugs

addiction becomes my groom


I wed on a temple of lost.

This whole is a complete emptiness

they carry ethics and not gods

like alcohol or rum, spirits or gin

Juices called to be genius.

I do not pray you drown under these bottles

because these words are true and not epileptic.

What you hear, you should savour

like sweetness lost in the beehive.

I want you to find focus

to find a future that grows beyond leaves that burn

I want you to find essence in your presence

as life is just a hyphen between two dates.

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