From the magical world of trance
I wake up
to find my daily lethal routine.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
The more you resist
the longer they persist.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
When in dire need to share your life's fear
with a human friend willing to hear
such woeful words of despair
Pity it is to end up all alone
when all you want in that deadly silence
is just a beep of the cell phone
At that very moment
when you see your life confined within your own fence
Let not the thought of friends make you tense
a piece of paper is all but willing to feed
on your heart's bleeding
This secret's keeper
will not to a single soul whisper
of your life's falling season
Tell me if it's not better to write it down
than to share it with a human
who is bound to find humor
in all your days of false rumour .
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
**I live on a strange planet
of dressed animals and **** humans.**
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
I'll prepare a boat
to send my stupidity aboard
and provide it with a paddle
driven by the regretful memories that often made me shatter.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
Women belong to the kitchen
is a maxim falsely woven.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.
Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.
A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
Staring at the half hanging ceiling
and the years of worn out paint peeling
leaving the wall with an unwelcoming feeling
like the bruises on one's skin from days of hard labouring
worn and grey with age's grouting
persistent damp dark molds sprouting
like a shadow on the verge of eating
the small space with nothing to place of a poor living
with not a morsel to eat and eyes tired from hours of weeping
still, the hands reaching to tend and feed the dog who is bleeding
and yet not to a soul he speaks of his life's dreading
but to God alone he stands to plead.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC