On a moonlit night,
after a long time
the two wanderers finally met.
They shared an extraordinary
bond that held them close.
One with a crushed heart
and the other with a secret.
He wanted to share his
Story and she had a
confession to make.
A rain drop fell
on the ground and
so did a tear that
rolled down her cheek
when she heard his
story.
He had a ******* his
mind who had left
him with deep scars.
Her heart sunk
and all the butterflies
died.
She submerged in her
own pain.
He told her how much
he adored the girl
and how she had
taken over his heart.
The petrichor
lingered in her mind.
The stars skewed.
A dream that turned
cataclysmic affected
every single atom of
her body.
He held her hand tight
and asked her if
she would help him
get through the heinous
storm.
She nodded with a constrained
smile on her face.
He didn't realize how hurt
She was.
Unfortunately, he  was the only
the one who could be a bandaid
and heal her scars.
She remained quiet and swallowed
the words back in.
Her secret remained a
secret which she couldn't
shrive .
It remained enclosed
to the world.
Losing him as a friend was
something she couldn't
afford.
So she just let it die
and bother her inside.
She buried it deep inside
her heart and completely
concealed it where no one
could find it.
But neither of them were at fault.
Both of the wanderers craved
loved on that night.
Sitting so close, fingers interlinked,
they were stuck in an esthetical
mess of love and insanity.
The two paths had
finally met but a night had
never seemed so
Solitudinarian before.

Spirit within my spirit reminds me of a place called home.
A place more esthetical and historical than Rome.
I'm staring at a goddess, and her eyes gives me an impression she's seen more than enough
The scars in her wrist told a story that she had it rough.

But then August came
And she re-lived all the horror once more
She aggressively fell on the ground as before
And she was drowning in a pool of her own blood as her screams decorated the floor.

Her silence was golden, only the walls knew of her nakedness
After the dark left and morning came, she wore a mask perfect enough to cover the sadness.

She's stranded in a deserted place
She finds comfort in her own sholders
The warmest place she ever knew changed on her and turned her colder.

Like trees in autumn she's falling apart
She lost everything, and all that's left was a broken heart.

She fell in a trap hiding behind a smile
Deceptive busturd enjoyed dominance, instead he showered her with hurt and punches till she couldn't take no-more. giggles he promised, but instead she cried enough to surpass the Nile.

She had the spirit of a punching bag
Because after all the thrashing and assault, she still had the strength to handle more.
And now she's idle on the floor like before

But unlike before these time she's DEAD

People of Utopia

In the deepest less open forest of Congo
a tribe live in idyllic greenness the have cattle but rarely
eat meat their diet is plants, milk and blood from their animals.
They are naked, bath in a stream and walk with a natural charm.
Is this Paradise, the nearest they come to fighting
is jostling with long sticks and no one is hurt.
But wait, isn't there something wrong the absence
of middle-aged or old people?
The people die at forty, don't know why, the program
maker didn't mention it he just waxed lyrical
about a life without stress and overlooked the obvious.
Had the program maker hid the old away for an esthetical
reason? But it appears people die early in this Paradise
I will not join the tribe in Congo just yet.

Woke up again, 3 AM
Subconsciously trying to tell me
That things are amiss
Is there a point that I have missed?
Answers on a horizon I cannot fathom
Eclipsing my vision, iris circumcision
Decisions to make, faces to fake
As my feet quake, hope gets raked
Such an ache
Wanted a rhapsody
Received a lament, such a descent
On top of the world like a king and queen
Entertaining hypotheticals
Hope is not in the reticule
I'd call myself prophetical if more were esthetical
Wanting more from myself
While my health gets put on the shelf
Flying high in the sky
Until I wake up
Then my feet and future become clandestine