I bleed myself into you
With no other colours
but a shade of grey and a hint of black.

I poured out every word for you,
Love & hate all the same.
They’re painted black.

I dreamed I died of bitter guilt,
The walls were high and the ground was cold.
As I awoke I breathed out a sigh,
Opened my eyes and the room was black.

I carved into my own chest to give you a gift:
I think you knew what it was.
On a plate & all for you,
But you turned your back.

As I stood with nothing to say,
I watched my heart turn black.




Women are like apples on the trees,
Swaying lovingly in the breeze,
Men look, feast, flirt and admire all to see,
For the best ones are at the top of the tree.

Most men dont want to reach for the good ones,
They used to wistle now they use cell phones,
Because they are afraid of falling and get hurt,
Instead they just get the rotten apples in the dirt.

From the ground they are not as good but easy,
Even if they have no beauty and full of acne,
So the apple at the top think something is wrong with them,
When in reality they’re amaizing because the man is the problem.

They’ve to wait for the right man to come for matrimony,
Those brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree,
She may allow you to kiss her from her head to her toe,
She may allow you to take her to her bed and asking for mo’
Then if you play your card right and are not mean,
She might ask you to kiss her all over in between. 

But remember laddies Men ae like fine wine,
They start out as grapes, some some sour, some fine,
It’s upto women to stomp the crap out of them, getting to the pith,
Untill they turn into something really accaptable to have dinner with.