One day,
This will
All be
But a
Faded memory.

Its been a long time now,
Since I last had a real smile.
Why cant anything in this entire world,
Make me happy for a while.

How long do I have to be fake?
Till someone sees my innermost.
Even if he sees will he be able,
To drive me out of this dark coast.

I’ve been defeated in love,
Time and again without another fail,
It happens because I’m not worthy for love,
Maybe I’m like trash that is stale.

Why does my world seem,
Entangled just like my messy hair.
All the troubles that creeps towards me,
No one seems to care.

I don’t know what I’m destined for,
Maybe to someday die.
Then why am I living without an aim,
I demand an answer why.

When I look at myself in the mirror,
I hate the person I see.
I can’t blame anyone for it,
I entirely blame only me.

To this mean world,
I remain a huge laughing stock.
My living to the world
Is nothing more then a rock.

The only way to seek an escape
And end my tragedy now,
Is to end my dreaded living,
And **** myself somehow!

Night starts
with a drip,
and roaches move your feet.

But when day comes,
it comes.

Fear is
as good as sunshine,
it keeps you lose,
then tight.

The Jamaican bones,
having been ground into
sugar,
are whipped into coffee
and grey goose.

A mouthy mix,
and it seems
to cleanse the whole earth;
cannibals praise the lord
in all of his glory.

And on the way
to the first day
of forever,
the iron in my blood
clings to my gums.

I know you there
on the highway,
as we both drive with our
heads downwards,
our evil hearts
cuddling cowardly innards.

Press your fingers,
dismember what lingers.
Crack those knuckles,
smack those palms
and blow that screaming bone.

The fast falling rain slams hard against the old wooden windows
The wind whistles through the empty fire place
And lightning the only light that shines in the darkened room.
Promises uttered last as long as the whisperers icy breath hangs in the air
A faint layer of dust covers an old fashioned telephone that keeps ringing, but remains unanswered
And the smell of damp wood and musty perfume lingers and mixes with the ghosts and memories of the past.

Every somnambulist must find alone, a thorny path-
through, encircling hedges of dark night and gloom;
between dreams and reality's abyss, mine has a beacon,
*with my eyes wide shut, I walk toYou, my only flame!

Treasure in forest,
Water dropping crystal beads—
Dew on wild orchids.