Perhaps he’d write about his heroine ?
The one he sketches in his stories
Split between being a spectator, or a participant
His mind is dark, void of sentiment
Is that a lie he tells himself ?
May be or may be not


A loveless soul he says, yet his heart seems to yearn for affection
Mouth saying something, but
Expression and actions betray thy lips
What made you so cold ?
Why do you feel so undeserving?
You’re perplexed because even you can’t answer this


Slowly he builds a monster he seems unable to tame
Briskly this costume he has designed fits to skin perfectly
A villain he has become ; this time it isn’t fiction
Would his heroine become a reality?
Do I really need heroine in this story, he says
May be or may be not

(I had sold my soul
& the price was cheap)

Still soaking up trouble, like rain in the dirt,
I’m blessed to anyone I get to know,
no-one can be called the Devil, I’ve peaked
behind the curtains, no-one else comes close,
when you’re someone special, you’re either
loved or hated, rarely in the middle.
Reality doesn’t wait for anyone, when you
see someone you love die in the mist,
I’ve been told there will days like this
& it’s silly to pretend, that one’s sins won’t
be accountable for, but we commit, repent
& continue, I guess it's the way things go,
& I knew my cousin was on junk, I blessed
to see twenty-four. Grew up, grew apart,
to our surprise, I got my than five years,
started with poetry & spreaded out with it.
Still people think I’ve got to act only for the block,
where they only see me in the poems I write,
with needles & bourbon, fooling around, like magic
I got up & got out, like I snap my fingers.
Since early days of life, we’ve been friends, now
I see the Devil in your grin, hatred in your eyes,
Satan in your lies, it’s like snakes in disguise.
So how come, you talk with bitter & spite?
It’s my fault for what you’ve done with your life?
We barely embrace, can’t even look at in my face.

I’ve held onto this too long,
and it’s killing me inside.
The self-entitled *******,
that we selfishly call pride.

My every waking moment,
every irrational thought,
every time that I blamed others,
for what my decisions brought.

Ya I have a problem,
and everyone’s seen,
but that is no excuse,
for the way that I have been.

I’ve been a harborer of hate,
till my cup overflowed.
I invited hell in,
and if you knew me then it showed.

I shut myself off,
and told myself that no one cares.
I stopped worrying bout others,
and stayed out of their affairs.

I was selfish, and stupid,
thinking only of me,
till the poison turned inwards,
on the me I used to be.

I’ve never hated someone,
so much as what I’d become.
The hypocritical *******,
of all that I’d done.

I know it might be too late,
but I still have to try,
because if the poison remains,
then I’m going to die.

I can finally see clearly,
and maybe that’s fate.
Either way I’ll find out,
so goodbye hate.

I have never considered myself weak.
Physically, I have nothing to fear,
I believe myself capable of defending myself from any violent attack that may ever come.
Believing in your own strength is half the battle, after all.
I also rest on the assurance that I will die fighting if need be,
where not many would risk that chance, or persist to have to ****** someone.
I will die on my feet, I will die fighting,
I am afraid of nothing that can hurt my skin.

But,
and there always is a but,
I am terrified of that which can hurt me internally.
You can’t fight feelings,
you can’t hold your own against
love, or sadness, anger or betrayal.
I loathe being vulnerable,
especially when no one attempts to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Atleast they haven’t lied about that.

I have had women who have left me abandoned in glass boxes,
who have turned on a tap and let the water flow and fill up the space,
promising me they would return when the water touched my chin.
Acting as if it was an a show of affection, providing me with a warm bath to soothe my soul.
But they’ve left, I drowned,
and once discovered, not one could bother to administer CPR.
They gave no condolences to what family I have left,
nor show up to the funeral,
they did not even shed one tear.

But yet, years later they seek out my headstone,
hesitating at the wrong plot because they couldn’t bother to learn the correct spelling of my name.
But they would dig me up, pry open my coffin,
and gently part my decomposed eyelids so they had someone’s eyes staring only at them.

If you **** someone,
atleast have the decency,
to let them rot in peace.

As if brainwashed, you
Erase the positives with
That one negative.

I taste sweet nectar
each night I sleep without you
clawing at the fabric of my dreams
seeding my subconscious with self-doubt

Mr Resentment and Mrs Regret
my erstwhile lovers
one, cajoling and seductive
the other, spooning and insistent
together, sleep-deprived and unsated
we made for a corrupt ménage à trois

I taste sweet nectar
every night I spend with you
my new bedfellow
Ms Forgiveness