maybe love is to watch a thousand winters pass, and still stand by his side because you know he's made of spring

I view my world through broken glass

it distorts everything I see.

Things that should be nice and comforting

all look dangerous to me.

Everything around me, everyone I know

is so twisted and unreal.

I’m living in this nightmare wasteland

where fear is all I feel.

I know this place is beautiful

I hear it all the time

but it just looks like a prison cell

to these broken eyes of mine.

All these strangers that surround me

I guess you’d call them family and friends

just make me feel like I’m a spy

who’s trying to act like one of them.

Is there somewhere out there I can go

that will really look like home?

or am I doomed to see only ugliness,

and to always feel alone?

Are there people out there in this world

who will truly be my friends?

who will love me and respect me

and on whom I can depend?

If I keep searching long enough

will I ever find a way

to see the beauty in this life

so I will have a reason to stay?

Or will I wander aimlessly

until the day I die?

looking for a place and a life

that I will never find?

I wish that I could see the world

for what it really is

but my corrupted vision

is a problem I don’t know how to fix.

For now I’ll keep pretending

to see things the way you do

and hope that I’m the one who’s wrong

and it’s you who sees the truth.

Well, we all probably hear voices inside,
these days,
so here's a fun game
to play with your voices,
what you could do
is to talk to them
and listen to their answers,
and goof around with them,
and play with them,
and write down
what they say,
and stuff like that,
but just keep in mind
the simple idea
that they are not exactly real
and that what they say
is not exactly true
or not exactly false,
and have fun with them,
so then
you're not crazy,
you're just fooling around
having fun,
so try talking to Napolean
or Buddha or somebody like that
and have fun.
Amen!

~

This love is so exclusive
That turns me too illusive

When I am in a dream
She builds the stream

When I write a poetry
She recites the piece fluently

When she sings a song
Dreams longing me too long

So my heart is under lock and key
Which could only open by she

~
@Musfiq us shaleheen