I'm a piece of fiction.
Fractions of ink on a paper,
Pixelated in achromatic spectrum
Under the shadow of dim night lamp
Damp pillows and hopeless heads.

I'm a piece of word,
Tangling in soulless minds
Eventually fades,
Easily replaced.

I'm a scratch of scribbles on a paper.
Cuts through the fingers of beautiful minds
Bleeding dreams and sorrows
Until-

The End.

Oh, Agony, how sweet the sound
Of dreary tears as they pound the ground
The bitter sweet sorrow, of a breaking tomorrow
Of A Shattered Dream
Painted across the sky
In effervescent hues
Of black and grey
A seemingly endless menagerie
Of white hot thunder
Singing the madness away

"Who may you be?" words laced with leer.
'I'm a baby tomato; it's my first day here.'
"Why are you here?" condescension is key.
'I don't quite know; existence was ****** upon me.'
"And where are you headed, puny one?"
'I'm going to make my way towards the Sun.'
"What, then, if thou weres't to burn?"
'I'd stand tall; not so much as turn.'
"With this arrogance, you shall not survive.
Be like the others and venture not to strive."
The impressionable little tomato did blush, red-hued.
Seeds of ambition crushed even before they were strew'd.
"And who may you be..." the voice moves on.
A familiar epilogue- society had won.

I weep a thousand tears yet they
never touch the earth.

They dwell within myself, not
falling trickling upon my soul.

For if they were to collect in the
stream they descended from.

My soul would surely drown,
and I would be submerged in sorrow

i open up
they walk away