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.

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.

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.