You saw a glimpse of me
in a sea of people where
my individual existence
drowned in the crowd.

You saw me
in the midst of my inner struggle
where my common sense was
unraveling: thread by thread.

You reached out to me
lured me with crumbs
of love, just so i could see
you were not dangerous.

You waited for me
your patience paralyzed my
xenophobic mind and melted
the glaciers around my heart.

You held my hand
so i couldn't run away
because i tend to play
hide and seek with things i fear.

You whispered into my ear
morphine filled words
slipped down my spine and
burned their way into my core.

You see me
right here in front of you
i'm not used to it therefore
i plead with you: don't look away.

I have few mugs
Porcelain mugs
All alike, same in color
I pick one and prepare coffee
Cannot distinguish the one used before
All were alike, same in color
I wish to make one my favorite
But any mark I make would be artificial
How I wish? A natural mark would separate one
Today I observed one with a slight difference
A minor crack at the brim
The mugs are washed
A mishandle would have caused
It is not ugly
It is no less useful
Naturally made, just a slight crack
Now both useful and notable
It is now my favorite mug

Invisible hearts hide the most pain
and visible hearts bleed the most in
front of a crowd of by-passers who can’t
see their blood pouring out.
Instead, their beating hearts become bleeding hearts thirsting for life, hoping for someone to give it.

Who was the first “Original”?
The shepard before the Sheep.
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Their following a facade of an imbecile, it’s pathological.
But without it, they would weep.
Who was the first “Original”?

Why can’t they see the fictional?
They pray the lord, their soul to keep
What did the Sheep do before the Methodical?

Has it always been traditional?
does it help them sleep?
Who was the first “Original”?

It is a joke to see this as Logical
We’ve been snowed by those in the Keep
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Why can’t we find Traditional
We sit in a crowd where we praise what they steep
Who was the first “Original?
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

The door is open.
    Monsters might be lurking.
    Do you see your life as just a token?
    Would you even live long enough for your story to be spoken?

    Stop shivering, start praying.
    Stop screaming, start acting.
    Stop looking, start running.
    For the Demons, are coming.

    Your dreams, they are haunting.
    Your blood, they are craving.
    For Your sound, they are listening.
    For them to pounce, while you are sleeping.

    The Boogeyman is in town.
    Pound, Pound, Pound;
    The heart sounds.
    Silent, goes the town.
    Empty, goes the crowd.
    As the Darkness, grips the clouds.
    Even the King shall not be saved by his crown.

    Oh, you think this is just a story.
    You think this storyteller must be joking.
    The signs, you keep ignoring.
    The tales, you keep dismissing.
    Well, then fear not. Take your time, enjoy and keep playing.

    For very soon, your tears would be streaming
    Your throat would be croaking.
    Your blood, gushing.
    Your skin, flailing.
    Some body parts might even go missing.
    Because, the darkness is coming.
    The Darkness, is Coming.