My eyes are like my fathers,
So is my heart,
No matter how much I try to undo myself,
or pick me apart,
He is a piece of me,
My bitter half.

Can we be more than just a  produce for this world?
Conjoined to the core so I can claim you mine,
So I can feel more than your flesh and blood,
So I can feel your soul and it's innocence,
With a quill I shall write our sorrows together,
Yet describing the depth of your eyes is all my quill is bound to do,
You colonized my heart with one embrace,
Claiming everything yours,
It was already yours,
But I would rather write than say,
It's all a shattered spectacle can do,
The hum of your heart is rather enticing,
Its coarse yet delicate how surprising,
"You are a whim of my heart" is all I can say
A whim that shall never perish and ruin me away

Admonished to partake,
This world I forsake,
And chirp over their cries,
For it's befit to realise,
Everything is bound to cease,
For none is there a release,
Dogma prevails over a soil to which tomorrow has no avail,
magnanimity subdued,
For our ******* ways has us all induced,
The way of life we have confused,
Authority is misused,
Enchant Misdemeanor craze,
Endeavour to earn,
Alas,
A salvation remains unlearnt,
Sea of hypocrisy and blood left awake,
A whim has lead me askew,
To simmer no hope,
To wilt In no lies,
To not be loved to conjure in a hearty demise,
"The earth is a blemished mess",
The sun sings to the skies,
Stuck in repentance the stars nod,
Bitterness espouses,
As i unearth in my creed,
A fabulous truth,
To which man pays no heed.

When I am so very easily moulded,
You use me,
And I am content when used,
That's the mystery of my nature,
I have a burning urge to be acknowledged,
You hear me my Lord,
And like the people,
you do not wish to listen,
You do not wish to acknowledge a fault in your making,
I am the fault in your making.
Broken and perturbed.

I befall in deception yet again,
As you drank my blood in a wine glass,
Your mere presence leaves me crippled of senses other than my sight,
My heart beat induces every other sense numb,
It beats louder and louder,
Ensuing on me a maddening repercussion,
spirals of emotions swarm,
While my flesh rots,
As I have loved you with every vessel and there is none of me left,
Nothing more than a shadow,
That worships your presence,
And devours it's self in your absence,
My selfishness fails to Reason Infront of your heartless arrogance,
Indeed,
You have fueled a bizarre touch to my nature,
Yet,
my heart hums a tune in envy wishing for you to satiate me with your presence,
And engage with my hearts hollowness by being a permanent dweller,
So I can thrive in oblivion of my own tangible  hollowness,
I am deceased until you pour within me life,
Drop by drop,
But then you flicker a fire to watch me burn,
Your mistaken to think I have not  burned to ashes,
For I  am a moth for your flame,

Shall I spill words?
Shall I spill tears?
Or Shall I spill blood?
Indegenious to my nature is the fact,
That it can't stay,
It needs to flow,
It needs to be felt and heard by another existence,
A much kinder and understanding one
Hitherto,
the sacrifice to spill has left a dauntingly adverse repression,
Nothing has sustained,
all has been robbed,
"Shall I spill away all that has been left of me?"she wonders

To debark the root of evi,
l was lead to myself,
Was in ecstacy at that time so it was hard to tell,
I had fallen below that of an ****,
My loyalties had changed and so had my heart
No matter how much I weave it again
This spiders web Is in distain
Turned an tossed, left to rot
My selfish desires invoke no guilt
Now that I can not flee from the web that I have built

It is there,
Under the splendid sun unweathered,
The moon lights Kindle and rekindle,
Under the stars stuck in repentance,
Unlike their perpetuality,
It is there,
The urge to redraw myself,
Into the reflection of others perfection,
To be spun in accordance to what lies,
behind those shallow eyes,
My complexity beyond compare,
Not sincere,
Am I the art or the painter?
Because I destroy myself so beautifully,
A symphony sung and unsung all at once,
Broken cords that heal themselves whole.

I am like darkness seeing the sun shine,
Eluding jealousy a tale so refined,
They have worshiped the sun the stars,
Alas,I am like the moon the reason of whose praise is yet to define,
Forged with sorrows I steal the light,
Always wishing of the sun to set so I can have my rise,
Am I just am alternative I ask getting a sigh in response,
Maybe you will know your worth one day till then be warned not to go astray,
The intangible replies on whose hands the whole world lies.

A juggler who juggles no *****,
A defeated entity of time,
A humorous attempt of nature to give,
As it was desperate to not  have it's summer hue stolen,
A child of autumn, perceived as the colour brown,
A deserted colour,yet profound,
He swings obsessively,
Deluded in a harsh desire to love,
He imitates the spring,
But his flowers wilt without a cause,
Compelled by a maddening desir,
He corrupts the produce of summer,
He feels avenged,
He was a lost cause.

Do not ask me who I am
Ask me why I am
For that will give me peace
An affirmation of my existence
Amongst the many others God created
A lamb to the slaughter?
who understands the sacrifice she is going to be  put up for and makes peace with it
A clown in a Circus?
One who's duality knows no bounds
A looming shadow?
One with a beating heart
A crow amongst the doves?
Shrewd and menacing
A grasshopper in an ants colony?
Who understands life best in the depth of it's ruins

I hide myself away so beautifully,
So I am perceived as an art form and nothing else,
Mimicking a mannequin,
An undeniably inhuman Facade upholds me,
A mere antique is all I can claim to be,
Inhabited in which is a crack,
That i pledges to veil,
Until,
Draps are drawn,
And amused audience embrace their ways to home,

I overpour with secrets of myraid temptations,
So foul it would make one's mind sway,
And simmer satans glee,
So raw,
They associate blood with lust,
And flesh and skin as an element of desire and worship,
So menacing yet delightful,
Pleasure that Involves both the extremes,
A symphony of constant humiliation,
On his knees shall he reside,
Begging to unearth more of the pleasure,
It's permanent reminder on his body shall remain,
In the form of a scar,
Reminding him of the pleasure and pain,

It's distain apart from vain,
To spill and for it to not soak,
Drowned have I my words,
In a well to no revoke,
No one to cry for the eyes that face reluctance to tear,
Aloof,
The burden of my existence I bear.

Why do I have to earn the salvation I seek?
To be so intervened in discomfort so deeply,
I sculpture a home in it,
I bestride me in delusion,
My inconsistence towards my self,
Ignites a flame in which I burn alive,
Thus
My memories are mere ashes
And I no longer remember your name nor mine,
My inconsistency of will,
Of mind and thoughts,
Of love,
Of meaning,
It invokes of my burdens and failure,
Bewitched to inconspicuousness,
Nothing descends upon me,
But mountain of realization,
That transgresses on all my hopes,
I am hopeless,
A fool,
A puppet of the greatest puppeteer,
An unvalued one,
My theory is based off nothing,
Thus,
I am too a void,
Driven to soak up everyone's essence,
Desperate as a sponge.

We grace the sky by keeping sane and alive,
So it's not protecting a barren land,
And retains it's purpose,
Although my lifelessness would encourage,
A deserted deceased body,
Over a lifeless one,
Do I have the right to despise the tarnish in the monsoon sky?
The flowers and rain,
The ceaseless beauty of this land makes me sick,
Neither am I right full to chase it nor have it,
I have been bleeding while only noticing the beauty of my blood,
With its throbbing pain going unnoticed,
Because it's all I have been allowed to see,
My nature propells me to admire what I see,
My feeble cry of destain,
Abolished by the thundering sound of the rain,
I have successfully pursued your hate,
Yet,
I am not satisfied.

It's frantic but soothing,
Romantic but brooding,
The Whispers of the sky that whirl the clouds,
Whisp within the broken hearts,
Profound melancholy,
Our yearns,
The perpetually tragic night earns,
Thus the moon shys away,
Bribing the clouds to have it's say,
The clouds form the quit to free the moon from its guilt,
Hiding it away,
But I hope to see the moon as clear as sun,
Who knows it's worshipped,
Spilled into words of praise,
Whilst the moon sighs in envy,
Eluding jealousy a tale so refined,
Forged within sorrows it steals the light,
Wishing for the sun to set so it can have it's rise,

What aghast consumes us to not share a lil of what we have,
Is it being bereft of our nature?
Our astounding nature to love,
Why have we locked it deep within hatred,
So one must suffer,
To have what we were made to already give,
What inspires you to hate?
It is for a fact a misleading virtue,
It doesn't strengthen the roots of ones power,
It robs and dwindles a lil of his nature as a man,
And makes him unrecognisable,
a stranger to those familiar,
So tell me dear father,
Why do you hate?
What is the cause of your perpetual anguish?

I reside in shallow desires,
That have burned to ashes,
A mere swine swindler and a mime,
Are my traits to define,
Exhibiting aimlessness,
I watch the stars align,
And for God to show me a sign,

Like a River sullen in misery,
Knowing it will have to fit In a pond,
I besiege my reach,
And so I preach,
My heart to not have it's way,
Now as a pond,
I reside without a say.

Intelligible am I of a truth that haunts me,
And seeps within every single one of my vessel,
Even my nightmare dreads my reality,
And burdens me with it's withdrawal,
So in a domain of endless sleep I sway,
Hoping for it to take my breath away,
Alas,
Conspicuous reality will vehemently say,
Wake up and slave your day away,
Hitherto,
A person like me could only be promised death and nothing more,

A breath or two maybe,

But Not the gleaming light birthed by the sun,
Only the shadows of past that eat me numb,
The tangible abhor has claimed my sight,
And I am blinded by the tragedy of what will be or what might,
I wish for life to tempt me with a fraud.
So I never look back and live My way,

Shall the cries of the dead be heard?
When the world quites down,
Do the weeping winds coax their pain?
Seeping the ground for their comfort,
Will the rain find it's purpose then?
Will it be happy knowing it's not just a source of shallow joy for the living?
Will the clouds stop crying?
Out of pity for the dead,
once alive,
Does the sun apprise us of the regret of the day before or the one ahead,
Does it pity the ones it doesn't serve,
The ones dead

I desire to create,
What remains unperceived,
Unrepairable faith in it's authentic self,
Unscathed by anothers opinion or morals,
Their hopes and desires,
The birth of such a rebellious idea remains unearthed,
I want it raw,
But God despises it,
The idea of being challenged,
So all left of my thoughts is the binding vision of tomorrow,
A vision of hope,
That ensues an ameliorating repercussion on my mental capacity,
Concluding the idea of a saviour,
And Of my passion and greed,
Greed to learn something I shall never master,

I want to love,
So I can prove that
I am not completely lost,
In the hurdles of time,
And that there is a heart,
If not for me,
I wish for it to beat for the existence of another,
So my being can find a purpose,
I am in a a state of constant desperation,
To learn and to be learnt,
By heart,
So that I am never forgotten,
So that I may linger without consequences.

The god who I hold so dear,
Wishes to have me nowhere near,
He partakes me within his closure,
Yet veils me of his signs,
Alas,
Distain espouses within,
Where does he want me gone?,
When it's his earth I lay upon,
May I inquire of my cause?
May I know what I was?
For I do not find me befit,
The sea left to lie,
to dry,
A devil with no temptations,
Nor the urge to pry,
Like a fatigue who's tiredness is due,
I am content with loitering,
The only source of hope that I cradle like a mother,
Is the possibility of you,
But there is no love,
Only hope,
Oh how I long for freedom,
Like the bird that never meets the sky,
I have espoused within what is expected,
So now I am breaking because I was never in my hands,
And I learnt that the hand of god/People isn't very gentle.

I am what I chose to be,
A calamity I rose to be,
Ascension of it all was a prayer,
To be no hearts souvenir,
To dispell,be forgotten and veiled,
Now,
Within claws of solitude have I been enslaved,
I begged for his pity,
Now I am scarred,
A misfortunate heart,
Who can't decipher right or wrong,
Who is woven in a sorrowful song,
A decor of stars I wished to be,
Tranquility in me I wished to see,
I prayed to him,
To slay the moon ,
For me to be the vessel for it's light to swoon.

Should you pardon my mistake if I were to comply,
On monstrosities that solemnly lie
In my soul,
In my shattered soul,

If living life is a duty,
I have failed miserably in carrying it out,
Like a warrior with no courage at heart,
The sight unseen leaves me with a wish to depart,
I reside on a battlefield,
Petrified for my life,
Alas,
The idea of survival seems more enticing than success,
I am living perfectly the life you wish for me to live,
Like a soldier on A battle with themselves,
But if I accept it's your triumph,
But I don't value me enough to struggle,
For myself,

My heart is breaking because it relies on the futility of my nature,
I fear,
My nature's rigidness to accept oblivion,
Will cause me to loose something very dear,
How long should I run knowing that I'll be caught?,
In my own tragic tale and the borders of my mind,
What I have become is my biggest failure,
I cannot support myself,
Neither do I wish myself well,
Until embraced by tides of warmth,
That have yet to approach,
As what simmers in the ocean of memories is beyond my control,
And helplessly I continue to cherish that one memory of warmth.

Devoted to a vexing repercussion,
Tangible emptiness espoused to my memories,
"Where do I keep you?" I wonder,
Symbolically,my heart is a coal,
You will grow weary of it's coldness,
Symbolically,a soul I am not comprised off
However shall you feel my warmth?
Symbolically I am a blank canvas stained with red
Shall you saviour the scars that bleed?
Symbolically, attuned to madness I have become
Shall you join me in its depths?
As I am it's vessel like no other.

Until my voice shrivels up,
Until what breaks me is induced to make me,
Until I find gratitude in discomfort,
Until there is a cease to this fuel
cursed to burn forever,
In envy and greed,
Until a salivation is unearthed,
Until the trees dance and harmonize to my broken tune,
Until hope is found,
Until I am not a mere whisper that dies on the tongue,
Until in all hope lost a purpose is found ,
Until I no longer wish to die in solitude,
Until I question the reason to sing this medieval tale,
Until I halt and shatter and melt away,
I must sing this ancient song.

Will I find you in Spring?
Immersed in profound happiness,
Or do I look for you in autumn?
In the depths of my despair,
Hollow and brittle,
Like the leaves.

What kind of life does he life if not astray?
Drinking his vows away,
He has mastered a simple lie,
He says he doesn't pry,
Yet he looks around in hope,
In pursuit of his answer to why,
Why is it that he madly deluded himself?
Why is it that he doesn't find himself well?
Why does he borrow,when his nature is to give?
Why has he swallowed his own guilt?
A  plaintiff of his own crimes,
A hypocrite and an insect,
Shriveled up in the hopes of summer,
Only to find himself trampled and deserted,
Suffocated under the knowledge of his distasteful being,
He finds himself aligned to a menacing repercussion,
The cause of it all he has yet to attain,
He inquiries ,"Why do you wish for me to live when I find it all in vain?"

A decor of stars I wished to be,
Tranquility in me I wished to see,
I prayed to him,
To slay the moon ,
For me to be the vessel for it's light to swoon.

How good and awarding is the destructive truth that runs through my very flesh?
Is it any better than my sins?
Both an abyss of disturbance,
For neither can be perceived as a saint,
Nor a Satanist,
Obfuscated I turn to skies,
For my heart is breaking because it relies on the futility of my nature
But i can't find the answer

Is your find an ill mans job?
A free man's job?
A loathed mans job?
A sane man can never find you
A sane man can never love you

A perpetually illuminant why,
Has adorned me to believe,
My passion is to cry,
My passion is to grieve,
Patronised to my beings extent,
Is a limerence to being content,

I sight in vain,
the cause of my distain,
A slur of hope to be washed away
by the pain,
Espoused to unfortune,
I weep and weep,
For the love I find,
is the one I cannot Keep

In my shackles I run free,
Miles and miles on the path of divinity.

Unsettling silence protrudes me whole,
Silence with god,
Silence within my soul,
Silence of remarkable control,
Silence bound to eat me whole,
Skillful silence has me sinful,
Plundering what in me was willful,
What to make of who I am?,
What to make of my greed?,
To have god's heed.

I am sad and unpardoned,
Of the burden that I choose to carry.

Beads that solemn glow,
Perk up my eyes with tragedies and flow,
Ensnaring my whim to wipe it away,
The tears that descend,
My body drowned in marks of spear,
In my hands I kindle a flame,
Tear to my flesh its pain so sour,
A hearty jubilance collapses in dismay,
My thoughts forfeit a mere clump of hay,
There is no afterlife to who doesn't believe,
Apart from this life there is more to grieve,
Am I a timeless portrait hoping to decay?,
Am I the assumed thrill of tomorrow and the obfuscation of today?,
My thoughts thinned to a buzzing sound,
Threads that break over a shallow woe,
A soul that bleeds,
The  swine it beholds,
I need a quilt,
For in this world I have gone cold.

I couldn't rhyme this feeling of despair,
It's a tarnish like none other,
a convulsion of my nature,
Unconsciously I contrived,
This feeling of despair,
To be so very near,
I looked for god under its shadows,
I jabbed and stabbed,
How could a god so near,
Have me famished for his love and fear,
Alas I found,
Man is meat and despair is hound,
Cunning days leave me counting,
Passing hours fueled with longing,
Sonorous shill of my heart I deplete,
For under all this abhor,
I have found peace in release,
Release of despair that I protect like the spoils of war with in myself.

My heart is stuck in time,
Praying that in all hope lost ,
a purpose it finds,
It doesn't beat,
It's became painfully boring and quite as a mime,
Avid for a pulse,
That alligns,
Encompassed by fear and dread,
It doesn't wish to leave whats familiar, behind
Shall it ever find gratitude in discomfort of time?
Or shall it face the unfathomable regret of a lifetime,
Is it stuck in repentance or greed?
In both ways it can't have what it needs ,
Induced by the futile hopes of time ,
It wishes to be more of a crow than a mime,
And hum it's own tune ,
Thats sorrowful yet refined,
A raw tune upon which others are adversity inclined,
Steadfast he continues wishing it's their music palette that's unrefined,
He sings,
Until a salivation is unearthed,
Until the trees dance and harmonize to his broken tune,
Alas,
He finds himself deluded,
In hopes ,
Someone would discern his tune to be a pleasant produce of time ,

Sow and sow to what reap?
The bounteousness of this world I can't keep,
The sky, the sun a fading promise,
Should I destroy myself or chant gods name?
But who will carry me out when I go insane,
For god shall disappear amidst my bane,
Who's rein will keep me sane?,
I can't devote myself to anything,
I can't be worshiped nor can worship,
Shall I let the famished night slip away my soul,
Must i dive that deeply in my own betrayal,
To have my reflection claim me blind,
Why must I dwell in this world claim it as my residence?,
For I wish so sublimely,
To not have a say,
To not be perceived nor noticed,
To be a satire way.

It is a contagious ill,that has saddened my will,
A rash that I timidly approach,
And times when this world is saddened,
It's an itch that thrives,
It's has lead me to question,
Should I not stand where others thrive?,
I simmer beyond sense,
Boil in hopes of repentance,
To be one with myself yet again,
Inevitably I scratch the reap to keep me sane,
All around me is a baffling aide,
To pursue a realisation that this world has left my side,
It's creater alone I cannot keep,
For my heart is sealed with heap,
Of a wound that sources blood,
And dear to me is the way it floods,
Now grey is this heart,
It answers with a lie,
It has sensed it's contagious ill,
So it doesn't learn it's way to others life.

Is it a devotion to love?,
Is it the stuttering way of the tides?,
Is it that resonance of the weeping Sky?,
Or the strings of yearning plundered by lust?,
That oft fret us of a perpetual brooding call of death,
One that is as much of a mystery as it is known,
The trees left to stand tall for man,
who shall have his back fail him over eternity,
The sand who's grains shall never be acknowledged by man or god,
Yet they stay,
Yet it blooms,
Is life a reward or a test?,
Is it the result of former ill crimes at best,
For our nature thrives in inequality, injustice,
Like a sinner,
Like a criminal,
We comply to our nature Our nature to love has proved futile.
Although it has kept us sane.

In ill wit I find this life unfit,
Bequest of melancholy I admire,
For all left of us is dire,
A folks tale we learn to admire,
Akin to the play that plays in my mind,
Even with me as my possession,With my soul I hold no rhyme
Thus,
as realities prisoner I do not wish to retire,
The earth retraces it's history in satire,
Gods creativity I admire,
But confined to this rugged terrain I contrive,
An illness has warmed me and now in its grasp I lie,
An illness to betray that of which I find noble,
So now I grieve a lesson I don't want to learn.