To twirl letters..

forming words..

N shape them, weave them..

A creation...An expression..

When words surpass there literary meanings..

and acheive greater goals..

But what when their creator...

The writer, 

trembles in anxiety..

The fear of not being able to write..

The fear to lose the blessing..

Which is his only road to freedom..

From the oppression of the world..

when he tries n tries in vain..

To bleed out his poisons...to let himself free..

~k~

A sadistic Heart

I’m not getting any better,

No I’m not getting any better.

I am what I used to be,

Maybe worse than before,

But my silly heart won’t give answers.

It won’t stand up,

N it certainly won’t die,

But, yes! What it does,

Is fuel my miserable life .

It won’t go numb

Even if I stab it to death. 

An illusion creator it is,

To make me think I’m free from its claws.

It hides in caves, not deep within

And pounces back into action

When strength is what I need.

Like a hunter it preys,

And a parasite it thrives,

Takes away all from me,

And make me lose the little strength I have

To leave me writhing in pain once again.

The misery I feel, might even be non-existent,

My pain and tears might be useless

But this sadistic heart of mine

Just loves to see me cry,

Loves me too much, to even create sorrow

From thin air,

And form a make-believe world,

Where only I suffer

And drown in a marsh, just to resurface 

And drown again.

~k~

Rock my cradle, mother

Rock the cradle

Rock the cradle,

Oh mother, rock my cradle.

Been waiting for you.

While I stared at the ceiling,

Lost in memories..

And the illusions you portray..

I live in a fairy land..

With just you by my side..

where you save me..

From those monsters..

Take me in your arms,

Rock me to sleep.

Its just you I know

Not others, who come and go,

They wont stay I know,

No,they would never,

But its just you I see.

For you are me,

and you are for me.

Just like I

Will forever be yours

Rock the cradlE,

Rock my cradle, mother!

~k~