No one could ever dream to have you beat
in self destruction, self pity and defeat,
it’s almost bittersweet.
But you get by, it’s you not I,
you get by with a plan to only die.
Yes you get by, with any chance to cry,
never noticing another’s sigh.

You know with all the licks you’ve been taking,
we’re both surprised that you’re still waking.
Oh and with the hits you’ll keep taking,
don’t be surprised that you’re still shaking.

Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
slam our heads together; we’ll forget if not solve them.
So what’s your story you’ve got for me today?

I am no stranger to your sad tales,
though you push them right off the rails,
and my own attempt is exempt and always fails,
I’d have better luck pitching them as sales.
As you’d get by, just for a high,
only to try with your plan to die.
Yes you get by, it’s always you not I,
claiming life’s got you in it’s eye.

You know with all the kicks you’ve been taking,
it’s a wonder you’re still not breaking.
Oh and all the tricks you’ve been making,
are you shocked we think you’re faking?

Let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
you act the saint and cast I as the goblin.
So what’s your story, exaggerated allegory, today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
my hands are full but do you need a tissue?
I’ll say sorry, just ignore me and what I have to say.

So open up the bursting flood gate
direct the flow to where I seem to wait,
it’s truly my ears that suffer the most,
I abandoned thought not my post, though I now am late.
But you get by, and still yet defy
magnify on your plans to die.
You’ll always get by, call it a lie,
focusing on rain ignoring you’re dry.

Oh with all the trips you’ve been taking,
It’s no surprise you’ve been strongly flaking.
And with the drips and the lies that have been caking,
you can’t comprehend anyone else aching.

So let’s get straight to the root of the problem,
I’ll start a list and another separate column.
So what’s your story, for attention or glory today?
Let’s cut right to the root of the issue,
hands on your neck and checking your wrist too,
it’s mandatory and obligatory, but morally grey.

I fill my days with delusions

Minimising any time I have for myself,
For that is when I lose it

My thoughts are my own bane

They are my own nightmares

Sleepless nights turn into desperation for a way out.

I know the guardian angel to my affairs
And what he would have me do but,

Will I regret it?

Each one sat on a bane rock, facing
how silence installed in the most disabusing way.

It was convenient, and conning ...

Let I lie with my hopes duly.
Rested in an assurance that I will be found by an ally of fondness.
Pondering to a multitude of angles.
Stranded in just a brink of a nightmare.
May I awaken from this perpetual slumber.
Covet a warm heart of studious and charm before me in attraction.
Lest there be another death to the fall of this curse.
Cursed in miserable repetition, a pattern of repulsions and rejections.
A bane to my heart, parching its ever-yearning desire.
Neverending torture binding my soul in solitude.
Does there remain a path free of this maze?
Won't there be a light to lead the way to freedom?
No one could settle in a course without expiration leading bitter.
A youthful vessel grounded in the rootless sea of brought by time.
Flowing it may be, may it lead my wavering hope into a full victory.

I race against my heart’s beat.
There’s a wild call hanging in the still air,
A call of longing slips, escapes from my throat.
An answer to a thwarted hunt.
The Dreamer a delusion.
The Trickster a fool.
The Philosopher a liar.
The Musician a bane.
And yet I hope – struggle.
The hunt will be successful

daunting nonstop rains,
such mayhem landslides and pains;
rain: boon if not bane!

Fabricate    the world,
tile                     by tile,
Until the towers sway.

     Overlook the foundations,
     in your                     frenzy;
     cement them another day.
      
           Let the buildings descend;
           frightened            humans,
           their lives        in jeopardy

                They felt         invincible,
                now are            vulnerable-
                their lives have become tardy.

                               *        *       *
                 the bird soars high above
                 the streets are         empty
                 its screeches                 for
                 we are no                   more