Daydreams are
dangerous;

they carry this false
happiness

that confuses our anxiety.
Then they leave us,

vulnerable to cope
with our reality.

Sandoval

there is a place
where he failed in quest
a place where his eyes
were devoid of hunger
though many have seen his sufferings
the moon is the color of blood

there is a place
where the ****** go
to be judged
very few make the journey
to struggle and return
angels choke on his devastation

there is a place
where the injured
go to suffer
body licked by flames
the soul was polluted
the apocalypse is nigh

there is a place
where renewed strength
simply wilts on touch
he bleeds for everything changed
inspiration may die
in a world devoid of dreaming

there is a place
where only time will tell
if hell is reserved for the weak
she sways unspoken solitude
from the thorns, he blooms
autumn, and a voice found

there is a place
where the broken live another day
time and space coalesce from dust
and in form and body there is hope
a broken viking's tortured soul
wars are not won by strength and courage

there is a place
reserved for the redeemed
thine sword grows heavy
and thine eyes will not drift
for every battle there is loss
scarred hands tell the story

there is a place
where he belongs
and that place
is in her arms

Skim through the pages of my life,
Skip through the lies I've been entwined,
It is the story of the girl trying to please
You, me and everybody, trying for your love.
I loathe the very picture she becomes,
It is very like she wilts without your approval,
She'd be giving pieces of her to all,
but next day, naturally, she finds herself in trash.

It isn't kind, the life she creates with her head,
her best attempts causing natural disrupts,
the purpose to be everyone's friend,
makes her enemy of her own self.
She lost everyone, love and inspite
and despite everything, she writes another write.

It is terrible, what I do with her,
She has been ruining everything for me,
Her and I, together, we make a lonely picture.
Skip this, and be free from this.
The end chapter, what went by,
no one knows, maybe she died alone
in the worn out sweater she had grown,
She hoped, her end might have pleased them all.

I have
been sober
for about
8 months.
Go me.

Persona bends
Tree branches
In seasons spent

Some bloom at dawn
Some break in storms
But that tree stands tall with friends