which is nicer,
love.
to be sober with them long bumpless road
for decades worth a thousand solar eclipses.
or ,
to be drunk with your thirsty blood
for seconds worth a thousand teardrops.

9/16/16

In the dark of what I feel
Would anyone care enough
To decipher it all for me
Troubled by this confusion and
These unanswered questions
That always haunted me
Everything around me is perfect
While I am the only one drowning

In the wake of my sanity
Looking for answers, I wander
Pushing myself in the deep cold of night
There is something buried inside
That keeps my hope alive
Stuck in the middle this hide and seek
Where these unknown emotions
Seem to be hidden forever

In the light of what is hidden
As I watch the smiles around me
I watch myself getting insaner
Sometimes I envy their grins
But then that makes me wonder
What if they too wear a mask
And behind those fake smiles is
Everything they cannot bear

Perhaps in this life, a mess
Being a pretender is the best.

her body rusting -
yes, they call me vagabond -
prisoned to wander.

Nomad ,
a wanderer ,
never remaining static .

One at home
with their environment .

At peace with their creator .
Probably made
from shooting stars .

Beautiful Eyes Speaks out
the nature piece of a living bird
Flying away with an open wings to
desire the wanderer world!...

The heart of darkness that beats within me,
The soul of a gypsy that haunts the places, that no naked eye can see..
The hopeful rays of the sun, that cast a shadow upon you and me,
Are the things that I wish remain here for eternity.

I am ashamed.
I have failed so many times.
I no longer believe.
Believe in myself,
in my world,
in my dreams.
This weight on my heart,
so deep and dark,
slowly crushing me from within.
It's so hard to escape,
to breathe.
So frustrating.
Sleepless nights,
stressing.
Second guessing everything;
Everyone.
Feelings I can't control...
or defeat.
A drop away from drowning;
Suffocating.
I need help.
So many hands extended,
but some wither; some fake.
Unsure of who to trust,
which hand to take.
Head pounding,
heart racing,
four am panic attacks.
I don't want to let my parents down,
but I already have.
They haven't said it,
but I can see it,
feel it.
No explanations needed.
It's not all in my head!
It can't be.
But what if it is?
What do I do?
I'm lost.
But not all those who wander are lost...
right?
I've been wandering for so long,
When will I be found?

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its wild sativa;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its tamed alcoholic.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its endless freedom;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its slavery to freedom.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its philosophic heart;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its down-regulation of joy.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is its search for silence;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is its capacity for noise.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the free meal;
the worst thing about being a wander
is the free meal.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the love of night;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the love of day.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is the wandering heart;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the gypsy heart.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its magic book;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its accumulated curse.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its varied muse;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its lack of one.

She is just going.. going places.
She is leaving without any traces.
She is aimlessly travelling in search for something.
Like a vagabond, she is just wandering.
Try not to stop her, because she is actually falling.
Falling in love.