I miss you, every time I breathe.

Colors blurred to a banausic bore,

Sights I crossed, sought my eyes no more.

Paths overused, they bore the brunt,

Of thousand hopeful feet that met the end.

All so familiar yet so strange,

What’s that my heart so craves?

Is it the fruit of seed, sown so early?

Or the bloom of desires, of my heart.

Choose I should, one path,

Can I not have it all?

Weigh, I must, of what that matters,

Or shall watch as many dreams shatter?

Some who came, made a choice,

Others just stayed, without a voice..

Many lost their battle of dreams,

That crossed their imaginary realms.

Hate I would, to do what all do,

Regret I shall, if I don’t follow.

Someone cry out for a piece of me,

Shall surrender all of me, in blissed peace.

Thoughts that bled in colors so wild,

Drained away as greys remain,

Nobody asked for a piece of me,

So I walked the path that was set for me.

Here come the formidable rains,
An air of sombreness it decrees.
With it, bringing--
Tears of the forgotten dead.
Cleansing the earth of our influence.

Deep breaths become chokes and gasps...
As the air seem to get thinner.
I had promised that I shall not fall today
for people to see.
But I had just realised...
That my eyes have already betrayed me.

So here I sit, out in the clear.
Out in the rain.
Face partially drenched from the spray.
Head turned away from passing umbrellas.
I thank god for the rain,
for even if they notice me.
They wouldn't be able to tell droplets from tears.

We dance in the
blood of the murdered
we revel in the
pain of the innocent

Why must we be
so cold, why are
we such utterly desecrated
temples in the eye
of the alpha omega

We have become children
of darkness, saints of
satan, we sold our
souls for this 'blessing'

Lord god save us
from our evil selves,
release the spell which
binds us to our
brother, satan the ******

We question the demons,
We doubt the angels,
We ask our brother,
We beg our lord

The moon and me
are not friends.
How can we be if we never speak?
If right now
is the first time, after nineteen evenly spaced years,
that we have taken in each other.

But it seems as though in this (maybe very crucial) moment
we've found each other
- caught eyes across this heavy distance.
Maybe I am sensational and
we look closer to each other than we actually are - it can be a deceptive space.
But I understand the moon: alone
almost always present but rarely noticed; continuously
cutting its shape, so then maybe someone can say:
hey moon, you look nice today.
If I am not sensational then I know you are funny,
moon, but your timing is always wrong
- no one laughs because your jokes come at the day-time's funeral.

Or that is just how I see you.
Good day, moon, sleep tight when the sun comes up.

Oh yes, what are those words again?
how do they start, how and when?
sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me
every part of my broken heart
realise the lies of that famous part

invisible fists from the verbal toil
now sit like cysts in my mental soil
a physical scar reminds me the past was real
but thanks to those fists, happiness feels surreal
a mouth from afar, a single breath
can start that silent, you know, death

the blackhole so numb
from a word so dumb
yet so strong to break my bones
and hurt so long in my fine ear drums
as the throw of blunt stones
on my skin that burns and stuns.