We all try to keep away something from prying eyes,
Something we always hide, pretending to be nice,
We make other's opinions our priority, ours go for a sacrifice,
And no one can exist freely here , there is always a price.

We think we are civilized, in every way, we are better behaved,
And we assume that we are the best, the reason humanity is saved,
We don't realize, that due to our doings, the path of evil is already getting paved,
The truth is, we are indeed humane monsters, and destruction is what , by us, is craved.

We might have been angels, guiding others, helping them to grow ,
But, we choose the darker side, the seeds of evilness is what we sow,
We might have avoided the wars, the battles, the endless bitter rows,
Yet, we ignored the consequences, and the devil inside us, now keeps us on our toes.

Even though we serve the devils inside us with limitless devotion,
The angels stay on our side, support us, as they are a Divine creation,
They slowly whisper to our conscience,"Let there be, inside you , no friction!"
The real you, is the loving spiritual being, that humane monster is all but a delusion.

Let us not hide the loving, caring and affectionate being , behind the masks,
And always remember, creating , not destroying the path of love, is our task,
The stream of affection and divinity is right beneath us, let yourself, in it bask,
Get rid of that humane monster, and let us live without fear or pretension, and survive till the very last.

Every thread wound through this sweater traveling in different directions like the fibers of anxious thoughts dancing through the synapse in my mind.

I never felt anxiety like I felt the haunt of paranoia. I think the ghosts in the walls and the lurking shadows are just the memories of someone I once knew, but I swear you're there, I swear you're following me like something I'd like to forget.

Steam rises from my cup like a ghost, but I'm not sure if it's you or the forgotten versions of myself. I feel my heartbeat in my ears pounding through every vein in my body, causing my fingertips to pulse at every shaky thought.

What if it was you in the dark of the night? What if you were here like you once were? Would I drop my cup, or perhaps throw it, in a fit of fear. Or would I scream for you to leave, or perhaps for you to stay?

I swear I hear your restricted call "don't look back," but this is not a metaphor. I can't tell if you are trying to warn me through my dreams or announcing your arrival.

If the sounds in the walls never stop, will I learn claustrophobia in a form of everything that weighs me down and drowns me in a body of water that represents your eyes? You might was well be the rocks around my ankles; you stole the oxygen from my lungs but you forgot about the effect of loss of oxygen on the brain.

Every wall I ever built appears to fall down on top of me, but this is not opening my heart up. These walls and every brick are trapping me further under the weight of fear on my lips, every time I begin to speak, and the knot of helplessness in my throat begins to grow.

Now I'm not so sure if this weight is you, or just my walls you crumbled. Is this paranoia that follows me (I swear to God, it has to be you) or is it anxiety that locks me in a cage and keeps me up at night? Will I ever know the difference or are these all metaphors for a self-diagnosis?

and it was not
love at first
sight, but
it was love
at first chin stroked
by your thumb,
at first soft
kiss
in the middle
of your living
room, at first
morning waking
up with your face
buried in my neck

You*
stand       there
- naked          & exhausted -
 a silhouette at   twilight;     Bowing to
the     end    of seasons     as a final gold tear
spins...    down   into shadows that lengthen, on this
  brighter day. . .       I will remember,        creaks out  
       from   an open spread of  arms in     a vast greying sky;      
Heard, by listening ears,    which embrace each darkness.
     Every  barest  recollection  -of ever changing filigree        
   falling silently to loom,           (hungry worms    
              feast far below)       where once               
           warmth    shimmered       
         in gentle breezes-      
             Alive forever          
                                               within*  *the                                             
    sleep of our trees.

My heart grows heavy,
weighing down a ribcage made for mending
only to let it drown.

There are cold impressions
on my waist and belly
where your hands should rest.

It's a cold summer
only to get worse.

I fill the emptiness
with your old Guns N' Roses t-shirt.

We will be together again.