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.