Sanity runs parallel to the immense incongruity of life,
We warship hallucinations while **** the illusive reality,
Whatever’s left is a yester year’s fairy-tale.

We tell our stories in second person narrative because
We sleep round the clock, chipping in rationality,
Consciousness overdosed, passion ridiculed.

When your silence sounds louder than the screams,
Broken like misinterpreted sign, lonely like a grim grimace,
Our paths diverge, converge if they may,
For mystery is what our answers glorify while bittersweet memories live on.

My rent is due, tatters rolling by,
Sun-burnt skin aches, tears in velvet eyes,
Sighs, cries and all that sanity this sense defies,
Denies lobsters for rubies, and then dies.
Mortal burdens terrify which even fickle veins show,
No trace of heavens, as far as yours eyes can go.

The journey proceeds, yet I am standing still,
Sunflower mists hazing my purple window sill.
Bending sideways I care to smile and wink at the maze,
Sweet humor that so distracts the air of an empty gaze.
Looking back on nightly slumbers I tend to pour,
A lullaby of disdain which mighty waves bring ashore.