Thursday, 4 December 2014


Her mind is nothing but a bait,
And I find myself with time to waste.
And as we have not yet found our goals,
We're all degenerates without a soul.
Because only a soulless human,
Would waste time instead of living.

Young Love

What do we not understand?
That love is all consuming and insane and grand?
You think we have not felt the craze?
Drowned and encompassed in the fiery haze,
What is life but a maze within a maze.


As she watches him fall asleep,
There settles in a sense of relief.
She can now undress in peace,
And not have him judge her piece by piece.

Wednesday, 3 December 2014

Save me,
I'm drowning myself.
I feel my hand on top of my head,
Pushing and shoving it,
Under the water bed.
I open my eyes under,
And I can see the world as clear as water.
The death and the slaughter,
The misery and the abuse,
They all stupefy me, for what is the use?
My life flashes before me,
The one with comfort and ease,
The one with affordable laziness and peace.
The pretty picture changes,
And so do the lives I see,
For who, would want to be me?
I see lives of others who wouldn't want me to believe,
Because their lives are many nightmares together weaved.
But there is a ray of light,
A beacon of hope.
For they were made to survive,
They were made to be brave.                              
They fight their monsters, fight their demons,
So why the hell can't I?

Monday, 1 December 2014

Creative Dry Spell

I feel uselessly calm,
Seem to have lost my charm.
The words don't fit me anymore,
They don't seem to be comfortable anymore.

The solace I found,
Is long gone and not around.
We used to get along,
But now we feel like strangers,
In a deserted storm.

I miss you and the warmth you brought,
You were dependable when others were not.
I feel stagnant and empty,
Lonely and crowded.

I no longer have you, my escape,
I cannot find a world to slip into and fly away.

A book may help,
Help me gain some stolen peace,
Provide a planet on which I would sleep,
And dream the dreams that once came so naturally.

But a child's imagination,
Is more precious than any stolen world,
Or a stolen word.