To take from; to have taken away from
to catch; to be caught;
to conform; to make one conform,
We do nothing but repeat,
repeat these affirmatives and negatives.
We are fighting to keep ourselves from losing anything
and yet our places and the people we love
are certain to pass away.
And we are certain to be forgotten.

To live in vain is to be unhappy,
It is our benightedness in futility.
but even though knowing,
someday all we have would vanish so would our conscious,
knowing someday we will be gone so would our benignancy.
I still seek life grotesquely,
in this hope that I would decipher the beauty in a beating heart.
And so I choose.
I keep choosing.
I keep being chosen.
Some saying life is an overrated phenomenon,
sadly I disagree with that,
life has its essence in both its vagueness and chaos,
life has its essence in both its reality and ethos.
This is my last letter to nature,
this is my last letter celebrating the futility of life.

During combat to the death,
is maybe the only moment when you can gauge,
the true potential of the human drive.
Only at that moment, you realize
the ecstasy in warm dripping blood,
in feeling the last of a beating heart,
in granting the end to a soul in terror.

The two possibilities in question,
the drive to hunt and the need to survive,
both stand on the same pedestal of reality,
both value the same in the scale of nature.
but that scenario persists only,
until one realizes their true potential to play God.
It is at this moment of fear of mortality,
it is at this moment when one can see life leaving a vessel,
this moment makes the hunter realize,
the inability of God over Death.

Sometimes when I gaze into a starry night,
I tend to compare it with that mesmerizing smile of yours.
But when you bless me with that smile of yours,
darling I tend to forget those million stars in the sky.

A dead soul matters the most,
as there's no one else that
can force you preserve and cherish memories better and truthfuly.

You hesitate to erase them.
Even if you lack the visuals,
you'd create some mirage joining the
missed and uncovered notes.
You'd tell stories from the
almost unexisting backyard of your mind and with all the more excitement,
which probably you never shared,
when they were still breathing.

Those you plan on to create,
have the spark of undefined.
You might surpass undefined,
that'd be the extent of your love.

If dead man looks back,
he'd be proud and smiling,
You think alike those irrational dreamers.
Don't you ?
You talked about existentialism and vagueness in things like how
intransient life and death embrace closely,
with warmth and shivering pain.
Times when you had cease to exist
you'd not think about them
and they may not recall you anymore.

Perhaps everything beyond life is irrational, sliding the thoughts in your
subconscious carefully,
not with a hint of expressing the urge of exploring.
The taboo between you and them
why not in life you seek the same comfort
of randomness,
you wish but you fail to organise the terms
And patterns.

Just now I think what a corpse would feel when it reads my Art, probably
The dead man Smiles back and says
"I may fade with time,
my flesh may blend with soil
but I keep on living with those who know my story ".

You notice me with your ***** eyes,
wanting to love me till I die
You act so sly in front me,
you drip colours I cannot perceive.
You want to prance like a hungry beast,
You want me to surrender
at the hunter's feet.
I can hear your words spreading around,
Stories of silence and roses lust bound.
Wanting the warmth of my cold Gaze,
you seem to have an appetite for my ways.
These noises may silence and
commotion may fade.
Once I breath with you it may end in dismay.
You want to play with fire,
and become the wax to my desires,
darling but know
what you have stepped in for.
Enjoy the Hell my fire brings forth.