Some Things just End that Way

Arrived at home. The first thing I saw through the window was a teenage couple making out under the gazebo reminding me of the good old days. From my youngest year, I haven't felt this much of sadness around me. Well, I'm all alone stranded here and something is just missing. Perhaps all I need is just your attention and ... your affection. Perhaps all I need to do is reaching out to you. But I don't want to knock your door, break in and hold you for a ransom. Then what? You can't be shared. You can never get out of that trap. You haven't even tried tossing it away. You don't even try. You don't.

I wish I wish I wish!! But fate speaks against me. Well, there are some things that I can't handle. They are just out of control. But this! This happens, and I am, again, too late. Can't fix it. Let the time tell you the truth. Yes, the time that will never render, the time that will always be at my back, the time that always supports and sustains me through the dark morrows, the time that polishes the rusty stainless heart, the time that never looks back, the time that always runs with me, the time that keeps you dreaming, the time that whispers goodwill and promises all will be just fine, the time that never betrays me, that time that dies for me and you. Yes, that time.

Then now I make up my mind. That I admit that this crusade shall end, that you deserve a meal that's been keeping you full. You might be a fool, but this doesn't seem right. Though the Righteousness that you adore might have bought you a rollerskate, you can't just let the days speeding by and allow it to feel the false sense of security that you give as a sign of hunger that brings about my wrath and condemnation that you will never forget and even that, you are never satisfied. So, what's the point of thinking of you?? Yes, you had better keep on walking the same track whose end comes to an unquestioning, lasting pleasure. Keep on moving, it's not a dead end.

So, bye-bye! I shall never look up to you again, anymore, anyhow."

"Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again." - William Shakespeare

Slipping Away

Me amazed or you transmitting intoxicating, heady fragrance? Believe me not but, there is something unique ... shining in you. Attached to me is a misplaced soul-craving hunger and thirst for it. Yet it is nothing but a brainwashed superstition lurking inside every corner of my brain. Covered are the eyes of mine and they are deceiving me with a picturesque figure standing tall in front of me. Blurred am I ... Is that even me on the mirror?

Drunk by the blood of the saints, carried away by a long-haul speed-of-light journey to the farthest supercluster it could never reach, gripped inside the palm of God I can't control subversive little things which have been happening to me, and day by day the walls are crumbling down ... kneeling down in awe of your mightiness.

But ... you've changed. The vivid being inside the frame is being secretive. Yes, I know it. That nobleman from the east has stolen it from you, hasn't he? Yes, I can tell: How the dark, circular couple at the centre of your iris responds to the contact on your twelve? How the hearing organ welcomes his gentle voices? How you ever wave to him, but not to me? And how your primal instinct tells you through the speech of your living tissue? ... They are clear. As clear as a cloudless sky, as sizzling as newly-spewed lava scorches everything on its path, as blinding as Little Boy landed on Hiroshima and Fat Man corroded Nagasaki, as raging as a Chechen rebel trying to overthrow the Federation, as deteriorating as fire burning California and as sorrowful as the mourning demise of Pope John Paul II. Your Skepticism.