The Road not Taken

I always dream of
Telling you those unsaid words
Half a decade back in time:

A boy, too arrogant, too sure of himself
Unable to recognize the pearl he can pick;
A girl, too chaste, too shy for her own good
Unable to break out of self-imposed shackles.
Their paths crossed repeatedly
Yet never in the way it was meant to be
Till the tide of time drifted them apart
And the unvoiced words became a mockery unto themselves.

I try to forget her, yet in nights like this
I find myself imagining a fairytale that could have been,
Of an unreal past that never was.

Untitled

Fire on the water

As the bridges crumble

The thunder blazes in the red sky

As absolute silence reigns on the necropolis

The winds of time will etch away

The remnants of complex civilization

To sculpt new, uncorrrupted life

As the ravaged, sterile earth reaches fecundity.

Depraved

I choose

To drink the sweet poison

From her blood red lips

Our tainted souls writhing

Against each other

In an ecstatic copulation for all eternity

A fiery demise

To the fragile order of morality

Giving way to our private dystopian paradise

As we revel in the knowledge

That our forbidden love

Is going to consume us both.

Longing

Trying to sleep

Lying on my lonely bed

As I think of you

My pillow still smells

Of your hair

I take the scent in

As my heart skips a beat

I dream of yesterdays.

There are no Gods of the Sun

Man, in his infinite arrogance

Sneers down at the world, feels

all the rules in the Matrix can be broken

The clock of the universe ticks on-

Life is highly overrated.

The Road

The dust. On the Path.

Traversed many a times

Over past eons.

The sun shines overhead.

Sometimes, the moon smiles.

And on dark days and cold nights

The rain lashes on pedestrians

And the Road.

I walk the Road now.

It's scarred bosom- the ravages of time

Tell of days passed by- centuries, millenia

My journey so significant, so insignificant

Is there any rhyme or reason to this universe?

A few people walk around me. Their company

give delusions of purpose. Makes me want to go on.

My friends. Brothers.

The rush of blood

Pumping into my head

Makes me feel good.

The scratching grows

on the stupid marks

on the wall

Until they start to grow red

from the blood oozing out

of the frayed end of my fingers.

I throw a laugh

A shrill, empty one

at generally nothing

I know soon I'll cry

and then the steak knife

will curve the mark

at a place still uncorrupted

with the scar tissue

from previous wounds.

My pills all lie

mixed with my weed

In a corner of my bed

Where Megan Fox often sits

smoking a Marlboro

And sipping my Johnny Walker

The one I used

To wash down the sleeping pills

Two months ago.

The shadow never goes

and the sleep never comes

Even as the nightmares drag on;

I have a wash basin

Filled with tissues

Soaked in my blood

That I burn every midnight

Am I alive? Am I dead?

Am I the undead? Am I Insane?