Does it make senseTo own one's desiresAnd hold you inMy arms, closed andWarm like a phospheneMemorised, drunk and deadLooking in your eyes,Trying to make senseOf the patterns ofLife with what youHave to judge and classifySensual emotions, lettingGo the anarchic...

Everyone writes poetry I used to try too Till the day I saw The sad and the good The sublime, the trippy Unlike anything I had seen From that day I have lost My ability to create a rhyme Everything that seemed mundane Suddenly seems so sublime

Shifting Focusdisappointedthat no onelooks athimthe performerstarted tolook athimselfand enjoyingwhat hedidforgot thefaint signsdisappointmentlost in hisown worldintimately interconnectedand whenhe wasdrawn tothe beautyof silenceand visualisedthe...