Serge Gainsbourg.

I see you in a man that I have never met
In his traits, his manners, an empty stare
A life time spent with his body as debt
A life of woes, with no space to spare
He was a poet, revered for his torment
You a lone man, revered for his absence
Your words, and brush remained dormant
His images, reminiscence of your essence
Two men of equal vices, pariahs of time
A man, famous to others, intimate to I
An artist, celebrated for a similar crime
A pastiche etched on screen, never to die

Breeze.

I feel alive in the breeze
It tells me that I breathe
The rain on skins burns
Atoms to ash, body to urns
The sun reigns above mortals
Bright light, a hidden portal
Soil beneath me screams
Filled with broken dreams
Eyes to the sky I beg aloud
As my soul moulds in a crowd

Capital Dreams

Derelict buildings tower broken dreams
Boarded shops line our desert streets
Sirens ring loud and muffle screams
Pipes, needles wrapped in blood sheets
Left to rot so that lights may blind us
Movies and social media aim to numb
To voice your anger is to kick up a fuss
For must we be grateful for a crumb
Left behind by those who own the means
To turn dreams to reality, reality into dreams