Dry the water from your eyes, leave these dreams behind,
There is no thing here for you, but the haunting ghosts in your mind.
      The ocean may be sparkling in the sun, yet the ship is sinking,
      Shattered down in the deep, where the beams are never winking.

So please, my dearest one, do not let yourself devour.
They will cause only pain, these dreams of yours so flowered.
     The oleander may be a beauty evergreen, yet its blood so deadly,
      Makes your heart stop pounding, turning it cold and heavy.

Make your dreams a different kind, like the ones that never fade,
Because yours are turning grey, and will forever remain unmade.
       The fire may be an alluring saviour, yet demanding are its licks,
       Leaving every soul in ashes, ruthless destruction it inflicts.

Dreams like these were never meant for a heart like yours,
So pour out your reveries, and close the tempting doors.
       His wine may be sweet on your tounge, yet it will leave you drained,
       And bitter is the aftertaste, wishing you had abstained.

The suicidal optimist with his noisesome breath
watches the moon for shooting stars.

He talks a lot about it;
but everyone's seen Christ in the clouds.

Picks his way to an early death
with romantic subtitles
and a continental breakfast.

He halts his noisesome breath
and checks for excitement -

"Darling..." he whispers
"I must have you."

Your sob was like a thunderclap

Your sob was like a thunderclap
in the deep and ancient night.

And the stars did sigh
For servitude
in the deep and ancient night.

Clearing his head
whilst muddying the meter
He realises :

Jesus was an astronaut
Smoking zen by the fire.

And everything makes sense
in an unexpected moment
That he thought
would never come

And all our yesterday's lighted fools
the way to dusty death.

Into the horizon ,head held high

Entered into the class of hopes

Hoped till the hope went hopeless

Believed till the belief turned faithless

There were no more promises to keep

No glances in the ambiance to seek

Three magic words suspended in the white smoke

Drunken thoughts,the thoughts better tomorrow magnifying

But chain of events,events horrifying

Looking through the mirror the mystery of the image

Sleepwalking back to the place where we were before

Sarcasm of hopes n faith

Lying in bed ,black bed of death

Tears run dry,sweet is not sweet anymore

Lost soul once preserved is there no more

Sorry....that sorry hurts deep within

Oozing blood, every drop screams for something

Waiting has begun once more like never before

Running down the street to the land of loneliness

Illusion of life and truth of death surrounded

Burning desire,insatiable hunger

Run away lets run away before the demon of past chase us

With memories no more ,with memories no more...............

Born of fire, your body burned under mine.
The slip shod friction kindled in the bliss.
Blue flames flashing and water dowsing time,
Smoke, my wave, moon seas, lighted sands kiss.
Blue and cold my eyes set, seizing treasure,
Your flaming hair a bed, my boat was wrecked.
A sea of glass and all the stars were measured;
Red on white, your skin was cinder flecked.
Flames were raining, **** the waters break;
Two bodies burned that night, fire on the lake.

Routines are the mind's way of playing tricks on you.
And when you reach a point of breaking, a point of severe uncontrollable emotional damage,
The damage, of course, inflicted upon you by yourself,
Will suffocate you and in the process, proceed to shove you against a wall without any last words.
And in that moment, you feel like crying,
But you know, that there is no point in crying anymore.
There is no point in pondering, no point in asking, "why?"
You will find that you, yourself are nothing but a mere fraction of the mammalia kingdom,
With nothing but processed emotions, fake attitudes, controversial peers, and material objects that mean absolutely nothing to the outside observer.
You are nothing but a stupid monkey with "designer" fashion,
Nothing but a human with this bizarre concept of love that masks the lust you feel deep in the night as you crave someone's arms around your broken body.
You are nothing but a victim to life and all of life's offerings.
I am nothing.
I am minuscule.
I am a victim to society,
A victim to pop culture,
A victim to perfection,
A victim to succeed,
A victim to wealth and prosperity,
A victim to living in its own,
But most importantly, I am a victim to my own mind.
And that, I feel, is the single most cruel thing that could possibly happen to myself.
There is no point in success without a driving force pushing you to succeed,
And if I were granted success with no specific driving force then why should I be granted it?
If I worked for hours just scraping the surface of some magical discovery only to be brought down with negative feedback,
Why do I fail?
Why do I fail constantly?
Why do I tell myself that I am smart when I do nothing to prove so?
I am nothing but a victim to my own mind,
And the only escape is to die.
I am nothing.

No matter how nearer I get it gets no clearer to me and
all I can see is how much nearer I'll be to not seeing at all.
In this pinpoint of time where I am, can I as a man occupy each pinpoint of time as it passes by
and should I give a **** if I'm only a man and if I should,
why?