Words

It’s just a hollow sense of contemplation, of strings attached to my feeble skin they play on.

Of dreams that manifest their realities even when we are wide awake,

Why do we try so hard to stay strong.

These roses their scents are dark clouds,

They hover though planted on top soil lets root them out,

What sense is there in its beauty,

When hate and fear is all it lets out?

Play on sweet melodies of disaster,

It’s your life, after all I’m borrowed shrubs.

Don’t caress me with calloused lies and expect a tender path of unrequited love

I’ve had enough of this distant journey,

My heels now battered with stains of love.

This rope that hugs my throat looks dainty,

Watch it pull and plops and lull

And whispers of distant laughter I hear now,

My sweet home rest well dearest above.