I'm a writer of words. But an emotional painter. I paint desires on melanin skins. I'm a testimony to the black influence. When i pick my brush to paint, drums speak without lips, the chirping sounds from the colorful birds draw my heart closer to a lightened shadow. I look up to watch the galaxy but rather welcomed by the shape of her. My words never seized to crawl towards hers. We hated the daylight moreover the night buried us into its grasp.
When dark approaches light, the shadows climb into a whitened bedsheets that witnesses the law of motion. Gazing through fingers, i saw those lips. Those lips that spoke the "sweet nothings". My eyes did the magic again, tears mastered the night. We both cried on different purposes. Erm yes! On different purposes. A moment where crying meant pleasure. Man was confused.
It was time to crash that crush. I wasn't ready to cause an accident. I had to drive safely to crash my crush appropriately. Should i write a letter? Oh should i send a voice note? Can i flood tears on her soul that captures my spirit day and night? Hallucinations! Sleepless nights! I still had no choice than to crash that crush. I looked at my crush and told her "You're just a passing bus, but she is my lambo even in my limbo". My crush got crashed! A time when crush sounded trash!
Frederick Brooks De'Poet🇬🇭