Monster
You aren’t so close to me That I start whispering secrets In your ears, These secrets are afraid of distance, And if you were near I would be talking to your eyes More than to your ears, I might slip them down your lips, And
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I am Paper
Printed stories on my body, I know I become something When I am read, I erupt in words And read someone else’s misery. I stink, But ask a lover How to smell, They leaf through me To find secrets from their hell. Few know I too
Anything and Everything
I wish my life could be as erratic as Charles Bukowski changed jobs in Factotum. To be able to quit apathy as it gnaws upon my soul. How magnificent life would be then! To be able to do anything, absolutely anything just for the heck
Burning Up
I am seething, Flaming in this impossible heat, Thinking what did I do to deserve this, What loathsome act did I commit To seal such a painful fate? Or was it just a matter of choice That plucked out known faces, Impelled me towards cold
People Are Crowd
Walking in, Walking out Of their wretched lives, People are crowd Who don’t stand out; They hum the same song, And shoehorn all along, Till they feel safe amongst each other, And don’t bother About anyone’s radar, Not even for a man, Who sits quietly
Discontent
Ain’t afraid now Of challenges on my road, I pick them like I pick fallen berries in the woods, Or people who have lost interest In their every day, For it all sounds the same, The quiet makes them sleepy And they think now, Maybe
Sleepless
Squinting in the dark, I try to find my light With my careful eyes; They are burning With a flame that’s crackling My body and soul, That’s making this pain Hard to bear. I have a dream in my eyes That’s keeping me alive From
Tragic Love
Words feel smaller, They still call her; You are hazier, I am crazier Than before, And I don’t know, How many lives ago Were you there, Twinkling like a star In my sky. I am a life unlived, Hoping a vision clearer, Things were never
The Boy Who Cried Love
Moments pure wash up my gate, My eyes hold rivers of faint memories That pour out one by one, Like a touch of a girl in my hand – Soft and not from this world. Of whispers sent through the wind When I was too
Drowning Stars
City lights, You have drowned all my stars! Can I hate you more for Painting over my canvas? The quiet time of the lovers, Who used to prod for answers in the vast Had a world to explore; You have smeared it with your din.