Reminiscing about once upon a time
Once in a while; Trying to mend a broken heart decorated with razor blades of separation

Under the paragon guidance of the blue-sky, we used to trade smiles
With a sweet conversation, that used to usher us for miles

Happiness diluted by shyness.
Refraining feelings from showing until deeds began exposing

Like a soul going to heaven time has departed me from a body that used to be a part of me
Cursed with your angelic memories
Slaved me into a dugeon of sad insecurities

I thought I was inlove, but sadly I was just growing up
However, now I'm grown-up, how does it happen that I still feel love?

Like a baby, once upon a time I felt secure melting inside the premises of your warm touch
Now the thought of you registers an ordeal
strike of pain to my heart.

Not listening is a disease, that has left me suffering from the effects of tormenting consequences; I wish I listened to my heart - 'impregnant her'...reinforce the teem of limitations, to engage a permanent connection to her.

Reminiscing about once upon a time
Once in a while; All it took was a split-sec to loose you between short spaces of time.

Time...

I want you to teach me what love is…
I want you to puzzle pieces of this broken heart building trust with every shattered sentiment of this abandoned purity.
I want to listen to your heart beat describe my inner beauty
Within shadows of your intrinsic sweet ballads.

Sweat tears of joy while you are masquerading an earthly angel with every inch of my presage albatross.

I want someone who will give me a prayer, when they's nothing else to offer.
Someone who will give me a smile when they's little less to give.

Remind me how deeply I'm adored over and over again - because every repise divulges pleasure when the chorus hits a break-point of repitition.

Spill unforseen rays of silver moons to glitter my dark sides with blessings of golden pots. My blood to reach a boiling point orchestrated by conductors of your inferno touches, as you gently whipe the dust of this holy flash.

Living is not by choice, Christ; I want someone I would die for.
Meditate under spells of her beauty hypnosis.
My vision to deminish with the sunset of your perfection. With crystal streams of black strings, as the waterfall of your hair lands peacefully at the river banks of your luxuriant shoulders.

I want us to fight till we can't stand each other...
I want us fight till we can't look at each other...
Yet remain together like a kappa logo; a depiction of true love in a series of fury.

I want you to teach me not to forget you, till leaves become broken hearts and shade conquers the village once again. Do things to me that will leave a distasteful essence of any lingering woman before my sight in a cloud of shameful auras.

I want you to love this child as if he's your own, and teach him the first step of being a real man. Shower him with hugs and kisses that ought to polish his shining armour, so you can notice your sheep amongst the million.

I want you to teach me what love is, so I can reflect the given image of this heart in a bundle of loving mirrors.

Blur images, convicted in clear depiction of complex matrix within scents of distorted resolution.

Savour peace in dead silence beneath glades of mistakes hatching experience in the midst of thin air.

Lost interest in frame works and found passion residing beside a sculpture, where I could glance at a bigger picture over fractions of moments.

I think; where will I be ten years from now? just to see doubt reflect the past, leaving the present in comforts of distress, life glued to the same cycle showering shame beyond hindsight of the water vapour.

Lend me a magic spell! I shout; to see a tornished, drone voice picking up its pieces where its echo refused feedback over pity that fell.
Tears dancing on the verge of my cheeks while I whisper a whistle with broken notes embracing smiles exhibiting shattered hearts.

Crosteque parallel edges linger at the fore-front, where I rest my arid eyes with samples of blood.

Longing for a conversation with an old man, with merciless intentions of stealing his wisdom under the surveillance of his novel, watchful eye.

All alone, however. Thinking of tomorrow, because with the present I've became a slave launching sparkles of doubt...I hope for a better tomorrow - Being alive is a sign of winning against a staircase of sorrow.

I hope for a better tomorrow, smiling yet again pleasing faith to dry my tears...Thanking God for another day he had to borrow.