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.

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.

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.

Wandering through streets
Whilst mind is still asleep.
Sitting in a willow tree--
Feeling the breeze of air flow beneath our feet.
Worrying 'bout nothing;
Thinking 'bout everything.

Cycling through the weirdest places,
Worrying not about getting lost,
But the memories that might've been lost.
Echoes of the vocalist,
Endless strumming of the guitarist,
Some may call us a hedonist,
But we're just a child,
Running through fields of endless possibilities.

Whilst everyone's in a deep slumber,
We lay on a grass,
Gazing at stars, thinking everything
Are just meant for us to wonder.
Scolding us won't matter,
For we're not trying to survive;
We just crave to feel alive.

The only thing I crave is your touch,
but my hug stings you
as it presses to your scar.
A hospital wire,
supposed to sustain life,  
moves on its own--
wraps on your neck
as it drains your life.
How could I express my love
If a knife is built within my hands.

But that dagger on your heart
was not on my part;
never my intention,
but moves on its own.
I just want to love
And feel loved.
Affection is what I offer,
Yet pain is what you receive.
Can you blame me for any of it?