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Maria Klara Jan 2015
A thousand what ifs, a thousand one years.
A thousand beliefs, a thousand one fears.
A thousand what ifs, to thousands of ears.
A thousand mischiefs, to the heart waiting here.

People know darkest is before sunrise.
But with these what ifs, it's darker than dark.
A thousand what ifs and a thousand one sighs.
What if my hoped flame was merely a spark.

A thousand what ifs, should I try to listen
And think and ponder and even consider,
A thousand more chances in my eyes glisten
A withering hope or a shot of wonder.

And thousands of ways, I could hope to die,
Or live, or feel, or end or begin.
And thousands of times, maybe I'd lie
To think that it's real or too good a sin.

A thousand and more, should the truth be told,
I've thought of and given too much my thoughts.
A thousand less more, it was never gold,
Maybe I never knew what I wanted sought.

People say darkest is before sunrise,
For you I decided to live in the dark.
Maybe I like how I lived a lie,
Or truth, whatever, you've made your mark.
This was written sometime last year, I believe. Even I'm surprised by this now. I just told myself "What the hell did I just write?" I loathe how I can be overly sentimental at times.
ryn Oct 2014
Perhaps I'm encased in a box
made out of two-way glass.
A biased one-way mirror...
Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass.
When you look at me,
you only see,
yourself for all that you care...
Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.
   Maybe that's why...
      you ask about my life,
      about my strife.
      When I'm about to unload my
      head,
      I end up having to hear about yours
      instead.

Perhaps at times I travel around
in a bubble of frosted glass.
Only a blurred version of me...
Clumsily ploughing through the mass.
Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear.
Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.
   Maybe that's why...
      My words are just perceived as
      playful rhymes.
      Never keeping up with the times.
      Words regurgitated but no one
      realises what's coming undone...

Perhaps what I need
is an armour of bulletproof glass.
One of unique quality...
One ahead of its class.
You can do and say what you want.
A shell that would bear most of the brunt.
     I'll be impervious.
          I'll be protected.
               I can be indifferent.
                    I can be jaded.

   Maybe that's all I need...
           A shocking stunt.
                 A fresh perspective.
                      A new plan.
                           Revised objectives.

   Maybe a different name to start all
   over...
      To tie the binds and thoughts that
      scatter...
      Hoping of holding everything
      together...

Come morning, all will be
      forgotten...
Maybe I'd still be beaten.

   So for a chance that's,
     fat as hell
           or
     thin just a sliver...
Truth is of the three, I have neither...
So...

    *what I've said doesn't really matter.

— The End —