It's the continual
opening of the
eyes that disappoints,
not that sleep brings peace,
but it's the momentary
reprieve from life's
clenched fist, and
it's ruthless apathy.

Life is a toss of
the coin,
a roll of the dice.
Often, it's snake eyes.
As a kid, I always
thought that everything
would be alright.
Now I see the
randomness of
it all.

I'm always trying to
get back to Eden.
Sometimes, the
dreamer in me
forgets the futility.
The banishment is
forever.

she sits on the floor
crosslegged
trying to calm
her mind
as she cannot decide
whether she really
is a poet
or just imagining
to be a poet

I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille

The number of worlds that exist
Just inside my mind
Is enough for someone to insist
That there is a mistake in my design.

They stir and they shake,
Yet nothing can compare
To when you smile for my sake
Or run a hand through your hair.

When I'm with you I feel
As if I'm in the imaginary;
I forget that it's real,
Not crafted by the words in me.

It's only when I think back,
When I am trying to sleep,
That I remember it's not mind crack;
That I might be in too deep.