Sometimes in the middle of night, I wake up and rub all the paintings, scratch all the coal, tear off the paper, but how do I rub them from my dreams.
Thousands of voices cry out loud and tell me to run back in time and revert it, they say go back to the ray of hope in the shadowed world, I wish I knew the way.
The first drops of rain burn through my skin and send waves of pain through the veins; maybe I can hide from them but I don’t have a shelter big enough to cover from the pouring through my eyes.
The beats of heart deprecate through my chest, I can set it free for once and for all, but I don’t know how to find it, its home.
Sad movies don’t make me cry, but the pop corn spill from the eyes wet my determination to not to call you, sometimes I dive in, sometimes I stand by and wait for it to get over and to start again.
Loud music doesn’t blur my thoughts, but it gives a silent shriek to the loud thudding and pounding of conscious against reality, it amplifies inside me, I feel like being about to blast out loud.
The mirror shows me the false impression and I play along the bluff, but the sudden splash of water bleaches my fake happiness from inside and resurface the bloodshot eyes that go well with the dark circles.
The fork stammers while taking on the broccoli and spoon suppresses its failure by thrusting it into my mouth, but the loud clinks of the champagne glasses rip apart overcoats of celebration to nude the dejection.
I wait for the big day; it will be the embrace of death if not you. But it will be certain and final. Let the roses turn black, let the sky pour to full its capacity, let it drench the hopes for once and for all, let the mighty one turn blind to its children, let the new born bud never fertilize to be crushed by the careless feet of unjust.
Let it be over, before it begins.
