If it is not a popular dream, they will dispose of it.
About the only thing this country has ever proven,
Is that on their best days they are about this:
A straight couple, with children, sitting in a
"Brady" home with their girls play with dolls,
Boys play with toy soldiers and football,
This is it, everyone!
The death of the Progressive Era, may we all become drones,
In the best known words of the Borg in Star Trek, Next Generation:

"RESISTANCE IS FUTILE..."

And we'll all be assimilated.

My drug, my escape
my gravity,
You are what I lean on
when wind beckons
shrilling of the whole world
amassing within
such small confines.
My air would still
upon silent panics
without you
my constant dosage.

My head is the mount,
my ears the hungry mouths
voracious their appetites, finicky
their tastes.
A hungry duet
yields no isolation.
Fuel the diet
or suffer endless
distraction.

My solitude
won't arise
from elusive
silence, only
multiples of white
noises shall supplant
the unknown absence.
Prepare these notes
as artists do
strokes on a painting,
each their own masterpiece for
the uninhibited mind,
deliver me
a melody, and abstain
the malady.

Grace will unfurl
to and from
when the blank that is
limbo besieges.
Remove all, allow
me to nurture my own
joys of rainfall,
sorrows of sunlight
so I may be spared
relentless storms, those
sandy blizzards,
for their pain
is mere
chaos.

I am a very sad and tired little boy, with little to look forward to. Not  a birthday, not an adventure, not a curiosity.
Everyday I realize what I lack, or I don't.
I'm only taking what is given to me, and trying not to look back.

Floating out in infinite space
Far above the sadistic human race
Drifting in the cosmic flow
No knowing which way I'll go
But I'll be free
As the galaxies

Way past Neptune
Out in space I'll be immune
From sadness and corruption
Way out there, there will be no interruption
From my happy thoughts
From all I forgot

I'll keep on sailing through all the galaxies
I'll do as I please
I'll dive into the stars
Resurface by Mars
Backstroke through the cosmos
I will swim to the utmost

Will I come back
To feeling like I lack
I doubt it
Not without a fit
A fight
Till this world fits right
Till then
You find me on a heavenly wind
I might never come back again
Unless it's on a whim

The greatest grief for a writer is to lose the connection with the pen and the paper.

A girl of like eleven,
Seemed so fragile for the nature's cycle.
She wasn't yet as tall as she wanted to be,
Things like getting bigger ***** and better *****,
Took her to heaven.
And made her happy...

A girl of like eleven,
Seemed so young for the nature's cycle,
She wasn't yet told about any ****** cycle related thing,
Good touch and bad touch, for her had been everything..
And about anything more she knew nothing...


She kept weeping and repeating,
" I didn't get a wound, but its bleeding "
When truth infront of her did lay,
She wondered about the number of days it would stay!
And repeated the thing again,
" You serious, every month the same pain? "


Entire family cherished, and took care of the little princess with ' eggs'
And the girl still did lay confused, with if kids are born from the tummy,
What has it got to do with the hole in  legs?

I find
Your lack of peace
Disturbing.

Do you still love me?
Do you still care?
Do you miss me too
Like how much I miss you?

What's on your mind baby?
Do you want me no more?
Have you already forgotten
How we made this love?

I said I miss you so much
You replied "ditto"
What's on your mind
When you hesitated twice in typing your response?

Please don't let me get tired
If you don't love me anymore
Just say it
Right through my face.

I'd better be hurt by the truth
Than be happy with lies.
I don't want to guess
I need answers.

I need the truth
Please don't deprive me of that
I love you
With all my heart.

I want to cry now
I'm already crying inside
But I'm telling myself
I need to be brave.

What do I lack?
Is love really not enough?
Please help me God
Don't want to ***** my life.

I don't know how to explain this feeling
If you can even call it that
It's more like how to describe someone devoid of feeling
I lack the capacity to demonstrate emotion

But then does that mean that when I cry it is just for show?
Or is it that my body reacts externally but not internally?

I guess it's difficult to explain something you've never had.