Those living amongst us are often quite dead.
A conundrum of listlessness in the monotony of human affairs.

Death's the prettiest form of love,
Eternal, quiet and forever alone.

No doubt still lingers, no unsure thoughts,
No insecurities of the skin or ****** flaws.

The warming embrace of death's cold hands,
Like the running of blood on the thick of the scalp.

The reaper's love is equally shared,
Between the prettiest madden and the toad faced fille de joie.

It's the eternal lure, the poet's device,
To ensure the pit stays, full of life. (metaphorically)

The silence is binding, and temptingly so,
For love is purest without any words.

A hush whisper seemed to be floating around the airport. As if spoken in a language only for the fairer ***, the women spoke to women as the men pretended not to hear.

A swanky new airport with all the amenities one could wish for coffee shops, restaurants, clothes shops and even a spa but the one thing they didn't have, the one thing which you'd expect to be more obvious than even air-conditioning would be a sanitary napkin dispenser. But then what would you expect in a country where the most progressive fem-care brand calls their highest selling product whisper instead of always.

Let the taboo roll on.

I'm a conduit of your love,
A vessel for your heart,
A passageway to forever,
Until our next together.

Perilously, pensively yet properly,
The good morning text left my phone,
Another day, another world of unhappiness,
The blue planet is taking itself too literally.

So sad, so sad is probably the happiest song I've heard in a while,
There's something to be said about mixing depressing lyrics with happy beats.
Like cherry flavored poison served as an Apéritif.

The sharp and blinding pain unlike any physical hurt, made to feel like a cadaver on a dissection table. It is getting hard to breath, the air seems to escape my lungs quicker than I can inhale.

Each morning, a painful wake filled with hopes and expectations shattered by the everyday diffidence of existence. Unread. Still. Unheard. His voice keeps falling to deaf ears.

Pain has become beautiful through poetry, through painting, through sculptures. But there is no beauty in this fear. There is no beauty in lost hope and lost love. Where is she?

An hour in a second. The clockstopper ruins my sleep. The insomniac and I are best friends. We talk about god as the devil's favorite white coat. I'm living lives death cannot seem to find. I beckon him, pleading yet the road lies undiscovered. There is darkness that even Hades fires cannot light.

I get up and pull on the face that I stole. I feel its alcohol ridden stench. It feels odd as I practice a smile within it. It seems familiar, I've seen it since birth. But its not mine. It belonged to a happier man.

Walk with me,
On this moon-kissed night,
And I'll keep you safe,
Always.

My demon spoke,
As on my shoulder he rode,
Escape is just one life away

That empty feel,
That grows inside.
The dying thought,
Of living each night.

The painful scream,
Of the morning light,
The awful moan,
Of the moonlit night.

The howling shriek,
Of the silent night.
It's all the music,
I dance to in life.

Loneliness is company,
My superhuman might.
Emptiness in meadows,
Where the sun never shines.

The mask of life,
Is all I know,
The borrowed smile,
My burden to hold.

Eternity keeps me awake,
Each and every night.
Tomorrow lies years away,
When monsters hide inside.