poetry is a sin
of its own
and the writer
is its perpetrator

the words were my jail cell
my mind, the judge
locked forever
with the sentence of broken stanzas

there is no end
to this crime
just like its beginning
never existed

(b.d.s.)

i am
a
*****
corpse

it seems like my mind
is rotting
at the concept of love

it is like a cliche
that moves in an
unbreakable cycle

meet
love
gone

once it is over
you can not retrieve it
once more

it is dead
just as  a lifeless body


without love
we are not alive
love echoes through
the hollows of our heart

i have loved
then lost
so now im dead

(b.d.s.)

i seem to be a lucid dreamer
at times;
constantly finding you in me

why do i like to dream about
the "could be's"
and the "never was"
as if it brought great joy to me

i seem to be a constant thinker
most times;
i can hardly think straight

through every nerve in my brain
it remembers every memory
of you
with ease

i seem to be a violent lover
all the time;
as if love is my crime

my soul had handcuffed
my heart
cutting every connection
of you

i seem to be nothing at all
i barely remember;
what is like to be loved now

i am a tiny flake
of dust
just breezing through
the depths of your mind

(b.d.s.)

see,
love is like a roller coaster ride
increasing thrill
through every kiss

there are many twists
and turns-
heartbreaks
and empty emotion

it is
held under
the suspense
of the quiet air

sometimes it is gentle
just like the wind
blowing across your hair
whipping every lock
carefully.

this ride never ends
my dear
heightened feelings
bring upon a euphoria
that cannot be compromised

(b.d.s.)

people can be
a lethal injection
of agony

people will stab you
and ask you
if you are bleeding

people can make you swallow their lies
as if it was a bowl of the finest food
laid in front of you

sometimes some pretend
as if pain does not hurt
as if the concept of pain
does not exist

why do we always ignore
ignoring is the outcome
of society's war
against itself

(b.d.s.)