Между краката ти има нещо мое

We don't waste time in speech,

We do bleed in touch, angels of love..

And it is tough to know how much

Life spends your worth to live on.

Something seems to be found in loss.. we never know.

-t.f.s.

- j (x)

Senryū II

Briny taste of air ,

bright line with noise of abuzz ,

chandelier of hope .

-t.f.s.

Amazing. Better give this guy some hearts.

I write to face my fears.

Like when you don’t know what you’ve got until she leaves and you feel the tears, and you weep and you lose your hair, and your sleep is just all nightmares, and you seep into dark despair, when you breathe you can’t feel the air, and you panic.

The manic depressive in you, an addict for anguish, madness is all you fathom, you crash in repeated fashions, your actions can’t help you manage, the sadness you have is havoc, no passion for life it’s tragic, it happens to be a habit.

You try to go back to where it started, where happiness departed, where you lost your heart and replaced the space with scars, the hardest part is knowing you’ve wasted all your time in loathing, you’d chosen to throw away the emotions that made you human.

Guilt.

To be prepared of burning

It is stressful and scary

But aside all of that

No one blames me.

-t.f.s.

there is no safe place

even night is bright as day

the hypocrite hides

the judge will be judged

live by the sword die by it

same amount weighed out

inside or outside

a reflection of the self

mirror images

©Johnny J P Lee

14 December 2023

Haiku: 5-7-5

Photos: J. P. Lee

Horror.

What seems to crawl in, it crawls out

Inside of a demon summoning evil.

Dusty powder flying over the moon

creating darkness of magic in doom.

Dreadful stroke breaks within,

stuck in humanity's disorder

Inside of terrible insanity power.

-t.f.s.

Muse.

the color of your tiptoes are underlined in pain

wearing

same mistakes again

and again

and

again .

questions are answers you barely know

slipping outside of your window ,

truth escapes your roots

and it hurts to press it

while it still blows .

oh , what a foolish and pretending man you are ,

like a cover of a résumé ,

distinguished , yet afraid

to touch the tip of my lips

without letting my grip slip ,

tone out of reach ,

with a husky , voice deep ,

haunting , inspiring and neat

like a pleasing feeling

tickling me , kissing my fingers

- you're art , unavoidable , breathtaking

tearing everything apart , a daydreamer .

-t.f.s.