A squirrel crosses the road
at the wrong         time?
We pass the squished creature
a moment of silence for
a             mistake?

But what if the squirrel jumped
into the traffic
What if the squirrel was done
ready for it to end

He was a silent squirrel
no one knew much about him
he kept to himself
But the day cam of the tragic...
        accident?

They all said goodbye to his corpse
left him gifts
for a dead squirrel may be
less lonely than
an alive squirrel.

The walls of stone staggered,
as those innocent looking eyes
sought an entry
into my inner world.
If a brick was dislodged,
the whole fence fell.
If a spring flower blossomed
out of an icy condition.
“Pluck it out, stomp on it.”
The manner in which he spoke,
its softness, its kindness a ruse.
Walls of stone crumbled.
Ice dissipated into mist.

Closed my eyes, my ears,
and shut out all my senses.
He reached out,
brought me a bouquet of spring flowers,
and a rhythm of the seasons.
A man like that was worth a chance.

I'm walking in the rain.
My hair is wet.
My clothes are drenched.
I'm not running.

I'm walking in the rain
With no umbrella,
Pulling a suitcase
Of baggage I can’t seem to get rid of.
There’s mascara all down my face.

I'm walking in the rain.
The thunder is loud.
The lightning is blinding.
The wind tries to push me fast—
But I'm walking in the rain.

There was a nonsensical vengeance apon his face. With a rampaging love that took it's toll. In an intransitive moment he knew he could never see her intuitive gorgeous face again. As he bowed out in disgrace fearing she has lost her trust in him. While she made haste to someone safe he couldn't wait for there feelings to fizal out to be just mates. For there was a sense of belonging  after she left. Knowing she taught him a powerful lesson for being over possessive that no womans is a possession. That's when man plays a dangerous game because every bad actions results in consequences of the heart. As newly wed pillows sieged his mind with tears of joy with displays of promises of a golden age. As whiskey flows through the moonlight. While the husband was half fainted from drunken vibes dancing with his palpable girl. Knowing displays of rage never entered his life. Showing array of emotions that inhabited his soul. Feeling starstruck dreams that wakes his sleep in the night as realizes he found Mrs right.

In the world out of sounds and thoughts. No one cares about real people. They live, they die and they never come back. Is it human?

To let the emotions die, in order of power.
To die, and let the world live, because They were scared.

To be or not
to be.

A real human being.

A bird in cage of black and white.
With a bars out of pure sadness.

Sometimes I wonder.
And when I wonder,
I remember, how
it used
to be in my
life.

The dog was half in tone.
The bark. The bark.

How easy it could be,
to let it die.

Yet, how sad it would be to leave,
my little young friend.