Only dead fish go with the flow
From the magical world of trance
I wake up
to find my daily lethal routine.
The more you resist
the longer they persist.
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 .
I live on a strange planet
of dressed animals and **** humans.
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.
At times I wonder if my stupidity is to ever surrender?
Women belong to the kitchen
is a maxim falsely woven.
Seeing father working alongside us, making a milkshake and washing dishes made us all smile.
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.
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.
This life is not real.I conquered the world and It did not bring me satisfaction.God gave me this illness to remind me that I am not number one, He is.
Those constant lies,
were like autumnal spirits,
in spring's bliss.
Hopes are like hair ornaments.
Girls want to wear too many of them.
When they become old women
they look silly wearing even one.
Memoirs of Geisha
While some eat for fun,
others are starving for a single bun.
The world might come to an end
but I will never bend
to attend the cell
ringing like damnation to hell.
This incessant ringing fills me with rage
like a tiger enslaved, enraged in cage.
'tis everything frightening
the evening's storm, thunder and lightening
pleasing silence no longer remains
grief, anger, frustration domains.
nerves rattle like a boiling kettle
knees weaken, heart's pounding fails to settle
deep breaths no longer help
words trapped and lumped.
fear, panic, dread
deprive me of the valor
to pick the call and end the terror.
Our foul desires intermingle with our souls
like a twining parasite
eating our core
leaving us barren and sore.
Spare me a barren land,
help me guard it from sorrow's hand,
grow with me the flowers of glory,
and together we shall seek to it as the house of joy and merry.
Our souls have gone drab and dreary
like the color of a rotten apple
from sins we've committed in the
defining hours of our *life
Time passes with an endless pace
ever in haste
striking you on the face with yet
another race of unpredictable maze
The grudge you hold
is eating you whole
For you don't see
your soul seems
like a festering sore.
Still soaking from the malady
I almost drowned in
yet by another one.
The urge of something new
craves in me
like the claws of a hawk
deep into the skin of its prey.
Oblivious to time
wasted my prime
I did a crime
of wasting time
— The End —