I made my journal a ghost
covered with blankets...

You that flutters in observance
From up, an olive tree...

At twenty four,
I still don't need alcohol...

Tip toeing 'round a tree of thoughts,
the one that has spheres like planets...

This journey of words that my fingers trek,
it's something more than just a trip, I take...

I've written poems about love and hate
so many poems that my mind lost count...

To know the truth
it's as if not knowing it at all...

As I lay dying with my head rested upon a plate of...
I boil my tears like I would boil water...

Please, awake me from my sorrowful slumber.
This pain incrusted in my chest...

These eyes as brown as Earth
And these tears that flow like rivers...

Water and the rocks,
Splish and splash, the river goes...

God
We are the lampposts in the streets...