Hope I could've swung at the branch of the trees, feeling the breeze of air and sun's breath through my skin; or ran along a field with my little feet along with an endless possibilities.

Could've held my little hand and led me to the path my feet desired to be.
Yet your hands were bigger than mine; for you are the creator, and I am just the Adam you carved to escape your horror.

Maybe if you loosen the grip that's pressed so tightly, and freed me from the chain of responsibilities you coerced myself to be;

Maybe, just maybe, could I swing at the branch of trees and ran with my feet and feel the breath of air and sun's breath rushing through my skin, and fulfill even the slightest possibility.

Eyes were cold and icy,
yet smile filled with luminosity.
Hands so warm, but not so fiery;
how could I not fancy?
Comfort was once a fantasy
yet wide door, you opened for me.

Tongue was cold and icy,
yet warm and soft as jelly.
Voice is harsh,
yet feels like a melody;
filling the empty symphony within me.
For where there is darkness,
your radiance guides.

I am an ocean, yet
you were the pond that calmed
the waves that no one has ever tamed.

Living in a 'not-so-free' world.
Free will is given, yet surrounded by confusion.
Living adequately free is reflected as a rebellion.
A life so peaceful:
complete myth—completely unviable.
Living in a 'Cruel' world.
Words.... so powerful, it tyrannizes self-reflections—
Living became expectations and opinions.
Sanity could use some protection:
Swim against waves of expectations,
then be freed from the chains of self-coercion.

O, night, why give life to such being
whose existence ends one with a swing of a scythe?
As one lies on a bed that's all white--
food for worms, as they rot in a blink of sight.
An inevitable end:
fate that no one could bend.
A helpless gasp for wind—
as the blue road pumps the last flow of bleed,
the question: what is life?—will be filled.