The boy sits on the swing all by himself waiting for no one in particular. Back and forth without putting any effort, he swings. The rain falls and pours with haste still the boy remained calm while looking ahead into nothing. With disregard, the pain crawls up from his stomach and flushes into his heart. He watches other kids laugh while their parents joyfully play with them. The boy sits on the swing staring ahead wishing for the family he never had. He wished for the joys he had never tasted. He was sure the warmth of having parents would be sweet unlike this bitter sour feeling on his tongue. The boy sat on the swing crying and wishing for another life. “Another again,” he said.
Tag Archives: Writing
Striking Resemblance
I steer clear from the pretentious
My wheels of thoughts drive off
Into there and here
Looking for a road without dust
How pretentious.
Away, again, I found that same road
Another trace of lies
From the start, it seemed anew
But, the finish begged to differ
Never repeating my mistakes
I lunged into the old tale called love
Hoping to keep sanity
How pretentious.
Finders Keepers
We all need somebody
The blow was heavy
So we ask for rest
Bright in the day
The stab was deep
At a time when all we knew was red
We all need somebody
We all need another
Another to quench the thirst
Another to heal the bruise
Another to say all is well
Glass Messages
The preacher lied, they said
Some danced, others watched
We all live in a lie, a few whispered
A tear never wasted
A reservoir of redemption
Living where no soul dared
All vanity, he said
Yet they knew he spoke some truth
People of the Night
At this hour
Those without sleep, still search
The day was unsuccessful,
So they wait quietly in the night
Hopeful
Without any rightful mission in mind
While,
Some crave for sex in the darkness
Others crave for nothing in particular
Depriving themselves of sleep,
Only to lay down for a few hours,
And wake up miserable in the morning
Flow
In conflict, the love for friction
On soil, the seeds hold on tighter
On paper, the lies sink deeper
In all there is
Then or now
All can be saved
In mind, paint another dream
In soul, cry for another time
Deeply Played
The game of rags and black water
Higher and much lower they go
Always seeking the tops of this and that
Flapping their dirt to those who dare to look
Always holding on onto vane vanity
Don’t we all?
They fear the fear of death
The truth keeps on missing its mark
Idolized Decadence
Paths full with shattered dreams
A requiem for the elected rich
Misery for the mass
A new day, we must seek
A new day, we must pray
A new day, I must write
Sour Orange
I still wonder why you like the room lit so dim. I can hardly see you when you cry. If you let go of my grip, the scene of misery will last on forever. Hold on tighter. Drag my rags closer to your shattered chest. Pierce deep into my skin; pain always tasted so bittersweet. Our time lasted only till the sound of the bird.
A mockingbird, indeed
Too soon enough to begin, I guess?
With my taste buds gone sour, I shut off those twisted tunes and threw them deep into the skies; far away, where those spacemen could only dream of. A secret place you might know of. I never ever forgot about those long delusional days filled with gifted silence and much red.
Will I ever taste sweet again?
Too much sourness
Stop this or I might bleed out
Drowning in my own feelings
Looking up at the river-like sky
Oh great blue monster, cry down your own worries
So that I may drink and sink.
So they say you speak no more of me. I strived hard to wait for another word from your big egotistical book. I hoped to dream into the realization that it was never ever to begin.
Bombs I left untouched
Scattered there and here
Some by your place
Falling down
Your hair ever so bright
So they say you speak no more of me.
I strived and strived to begin at the beginning.
Always seeking, and never asking
So they say you speak no more of me
I say you talk shit
Welcome To The Jungle
At the pinnacle of a pyramid
No voice will remain unsung
An empire, an ideal prime
As old Babylon blasts higher
The wary grow older
Society withers away from innocence
All engines glowing
The man at the end smiles
A palace full of lovers and well-wishers
Persistent and relentless for peace and manna
Prejudice towards color
The love for rainbow
Up and Forward
Searching for more questions
Day after Day
We strive to define ourselves with murder
Carefully culling the rejected from the rest
The final answer to trouble is death
The Legend of the Hedge-Hog
He was born in the land of tall grass; a land filled with much green and much more poo. His story was born out of haste and running. His parents were die-hard adventurers who traveled through different farms lands. Their various trips always ended up with them running for their dare lives. The hedge-hog grew up brave and afraid at the same time. At night he was batman, and during the day he was superman only without the powers. And unlike this title he was not anywhere close to being called a legend. The only famous hedge-hog he knew was dead; he had been killed by those filthy humans. So, how in the world is this title related to this current living hedge-hog? Well, all this hedge-hog knew was that all the hedge-hogs who were considered legends always managed to end up dead; either by road, by those degenerate humans, or by the fearsome Mr.Snakey.
Oh Mr.Snakey, with his beautiful eyes, and magnificently carved sets of teeth.
“Oh those eyes could fool any hedge-hog” and it actually did fool hedge-hogs.
He understood why Mr. Snakey was always angry; most hedge-hogs always found new and exciting ways to always trash Mr. Snakey’s home.
What this powerless hedge-hog could not comprehend was why Mr. Snakey always gulped up any hedge-hog in plain sight.
What the hell happened to the free world?
This world was now rotten and badly needed saving.
This world needed a hero and this hedge-hog was not anywhere close to being called a legend.
