Vile photos and sounds play on 'palace' walls;
mud in her fingernails form shapes of the night's sticky, grubby events-
a twisted, ****** Rorscharch-esque blot.
Knee-deep in grit and grime, soot on her feet,
she sludges on, puking night after night on assorted side-walks
with soaked, soily calves.

'Just pretty pictures' painted on a wall
show her a true reflection of her mind;
she seeks familiarity, hides/searches in them for herself.
In distorted jumbles, she looks for her kind.

The splayed stuff stutter and splutter
and stop and grind.

Insomnia and intoxication,
a victim of lack of inspiration-
life falls into a slow degradation.

Nothingness swallows all once more.
She thrusts against the shoddy shut doors
while the slimy sticky dross glues her shoes to gory floors.

-she trails off with a wince
at the hat man's scoff.

Foul filth fills the squalid air; and
sullied and smoky, sighing, she (s)tumbles
halfway to sleep.

A dizzy flake of snow falls,
perfectly balanced, upon
one outstretched finger's squat end.
It clings tight for a second-
a sticky, icy second
where I hold with fragile care
the weak sliver, and my breath.
Yet, the next moment, only
water my digit holds up.
It melts away instantly
with the dry warmth I supply,
and I find that, always, all
the delicate, pretty ones
with exquisite tender grace
burn out ever the fastest, first.
So snowdrop kisses, on the
frosty, red nip of my nose
now only make me shiver.
It's all just skin and ice,
and more ice and skin.
Peels of snow and chips of freeze
make chilled my blood and glazed eyes.

I try to reach to the top but every time i fail
Yet I try over and over again
because every climb brings me closer to my aim.

I wish to reach the summit- as do my fellow mates,
Some of them are strangers
but some of them I know
But in the end you have to climb all alone.

Every climb I learn something new,
Every climb breaks my spirit
but every climbs gets me closer
to The Dragon on the summit.

After countless tries I reach that peak yearned by all
and I see the white Dragon standing tall

The lustrous snow blinds my eyes
and I feel the cold winds blow
through clear blue skies

The dragon stares right into my eyes
and I see that this world is just a web of lies

All these falls and climb were just fiction
and my real self was far beyond the horizon





He shoots a wall of fire at me
that is the last thing I see

It burns my eyes
              my heart
                  my thought
             my soul



I am just ash.
Ash that cannot be burnt again,
Ash that flies in the skies,
Ash that flows with the rivers,
Ash that is free-
**Forever

Water spills over me,
As softly and silently as a ****** kills.
Ne'er does he brag about his polished gun,
One forgets, he too has a pride and joy,
She is carrying his son.

He is called out, anything works,
She knows his funny mannerisms, his funny quirks,
Most are appalled by this death, destruction,

It's caused only by one quick call.
We remember the death counts,
More and more,
But don't forget,
She loves him after all.

I wish I could writ e
                                 and wri t e
                                          and wr i t e
                                                         and w r i t e
until nothing is left unsaid.