I sang a song that made them weep.
I sang a song that made them gasp.
I sang a song about lost love
although I had neither loved
nor suffered a great loss.

They fell in love with the song,
and showered me with praises.
I bristled at every kind word,
I loathed the adulation.
I couldn’t decide whom I hated more –
these people who couldn’t spot my insincerity
or myself for starting the sham.

Icy ball of fire,
vitriol soaked thoughts.
Raw from the undeserved love,
I sang another song –
this time of the putrid hatred
coursing through my veins.

My audience increased double-fold.
They applauded me for “being brave”
and “baring my pain”.
I couldn’t understand
how all my hostility
inspired such whole-hearted acceptance.

While I sat brooding,
one more song came to me.
A tender tune,
of warn repose.
And when I sang it,
I didn’t need to think
whether they would love it or hate it
because this time,
I sang the song for me
and I loved it.

I am your disease,
every time I come around you vanish me
in every cry whimper or sneeze
I am the ****** in side your head
you are to scared to embrace
I am the horns of the devil
and the smile upon the angels face
I am the dream you cant control
I am the voice that tells you to let go

it can only last so long
before we all lose control
I've turned into the monster
that I fought not to be
deep in a darkened whole
in an instance, just an instance
burning bridges
sewing stitches
broken wishes
perceptive imperfection
a left hand turn
in the right direction

I am your release
everything you want you take from me
elapse relapse reprise your reprise
I am the ****** in side your head
cut off noise to spit there face
I am the horns of the devil
and the smile upon the angels face
you are the moral in my dark soul
I am the voice that tells you to let go

laying in bed dreams of voluntary aggression
upon waking disappointing depression
has a purpose really been found
or are we being naive now
it's more beautiful 6 feet underground
voice ripped out as you try to make a sound
who will even see the things we create
think it's great to annihilate the whole human race
get involved and help dispose of the waste
debilitating thoughts not knowing how to feel
like naive dogs lost without there master
treasure pain because without pain there is no pleasure
I'm asking not knowing what is real
conditions of contradiction & elusive entities
entanglement of putrid bodies
in a mind stricken by poverty

I am your release
everything you want you take from me
elapse relapse reprise your reprise
I am the ****** in side your head
cut off noise to spit there face
I am the horns of the devil
and the smile upon the angels face
you are the moral in my dark soul
I am the voice that tells you to let go

You are the light in my darkest hour
You made me see the beauty
Within the shadows
Everytime I see your face,
I gain strength

You are the sunshine in my rainy days
Whenever you stand here and show your light
This complicated world  just seems so easy

That everything which seems slight would turn significant
For you open my eyes to see the beauty
In each awful detail

You are the promise,
The hope of an unpromising tomorrow

That whenever you speak you would touch
The mind, the soul
The world

You are the history within the insensibility
You bring the memory of a lost dream
Creating a new child of  courage

Yes, you are a blessing
A gift of splendor
An angel
The hope
The light
The promise

But even the sun needs to set
To give way to the reassuring night...

And I am but a wandering soul
Every gift I have at hand
Is not for keeps

I am the mist
Which anytime would go with the wind
To fade

And somehow delight in
My transience

And dream
To see you smile

In my repose...

The truth is-
    she really hates men
    wearing shiny glasses
    and boots
    riding on their big bikes
    like Kings of the Road

But everything changed
when she met at an old park,
someone who writes in simple paper
simple words of encouragement
and lessons based on his life

He was wearing shiny glasses
    and boots
    and black hat
    but never rode on a big bike

She loves his works so much-
   simple but elegant
   sometimes hot, sometimes not
   some are with silly things,
   but most are inspiring

His words feed her soul a lot

So if ever he forgets the way
back to that old park
she will search for him
or wait and pray

Only his words feed her soul a lot...