Pointing your finger at belittling fire..
Standing on a cloth soaked in blood..
Covering your face with lifeless leaves..
Sitting on the grave of your own previous birth…
Trying to rip off the veins, to alleviate the pain..
Crying out loud, to feel the limit of annoyance..
At every degree of translation, the pendulum keeps dragging me back to reality..
Feels like the era of failure has progressed from possibility to actuality..
Every cause of an upshot makes it more confound..
Sand from my palm has begun falling on the ground..
Why can’t admiration go well with creation?
Needless to say, I am trapped in a world of punk heads..
Their contempt has entrenched me with dread..
I can’t smell the mud, wetted by rains..
I can’t see light, shadowed by pain..
Touch me.. Am I not dreaming?
Why does everything goes the way it’s meant to be?
I saw thou crying in the cave of solitude,Are you breaking down..?
Try seeing the brighter side of darkness,
it may oblige your creator to bestow mercy upon thee.
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