A muffled scream
Threatens to break loose
Running away from this fear
Of not being good enough
Insignificance.

A stale and bitter saliva
Dried and cracked lips
And an aching stomach
Yearning for heavenly manna
Or even just the closest
Hamburger

Long, flowing black hair
Dyed strands glistening atop
A delicate scalp
Eyes that bewitch
Adorned with bristly eyelashes
Surgical precision had shaped
A perfectly chiseled nose
Lips that captivate:
Red as wine.

Such is the image
Of a soon-to-be corpse
Happily engaging
In an elaborate fakery.

Glum, chaotic musings
Dark clouds hovering in my mind
Torrential rains
Of pain
Anguish
My composure, weary floodgates
Ready to burst, crumble and fail
I'm lost inside the caverns
Of my soul.

And suddenly, a spark of deliverance!
As my fingers tap the keyboard
Nothing but clicking sounds.

Like God, ever sought
Elusive, enigmatic
A puzzle of a million pieces
Or maybe, just maybe
A figment of imagination
Ah! The sorry plight of a human being
Always in constant need
Of meaning.

Sweaty armpits and rubbery legs
Labored breathing, one more step
My mind aching for a destination
There is none
Nothing but internal babblings
And an afternoon run.

Life passes by
Moment by moment
Each minute a grain of sand
In a ceaseless flow inside
This biological hourglass

Time has this peculiarity:
This irreversible absurdity

That to crave for more time
Becomes one's slow undoing
Sagging skin, unsightly wrinkles
Bones turn brittle, breaking
Muscles ****** out of their strength
Atrophied
Eyes failing, perpetual darkness
And the self succumbs to the lull
Of oblivion
The mind: no longer, extinguished
What's left is a husk of what once was
A human being.

Hope then becomes a beacon, a torch
In the middle of a starless night
A burning, warm sense of certainty
Hope, or that stubborn illusion
That happiness is one's lot in life

But time silently persists
Eroding foundations, narratives
Dismantling falsity
Uprooting grand, elaborate conceits
Blind and merciless
Uncaring towards puny human desires
Hope's demise.

Life: a futile struggle against time.

To what end?