In the Dark..,
U don't see flowers..,
U don't see Us..,
U don't see Rust..,
On the Heart U got..,
When U were Lost..,
In the Mystery..,
Of this Dark..,
I was Afraid..,
Of the Night's Black..,
When I come..,
To realize what I Lack..

-

/Lost Play/

bleeding walls
same as my skin,
scratched marks,
some wide, handful thin,
enormous waters
flushing from tiny twins,
my soul suffer
till eternal, the devil wins.

-

Write me a dark poem
as dark as you.

-

Been seeing the dirty underside of your happy fairytale world,
The roses in these gardens look prickly and pretty at the same time like molten shiny gold,
I'd rather be real out here than stuck in a box with your birdbrained friends on their pea sized earth,
Loyalty, Integrity and dignity are my only friends,
I'm a real man,the only thing i need to make meet are ends,
In a moth world, in a caged box, everyone flies to the light of incineration,
I've been close, I've felt the heat in every breath,
The smell of insects burning,The vibe of death,
I'd rather stay in the darkness, I'd rather live in isolation.
I'm free, got no chains bound to me,
I am me and the only person that found me.

-Balaji Skillz

-

Moon Will Shine Brighter
Before It Gets Faded...

(read caption)

-

It's exhausting, draining me...
Your absence scooping
everything inside of me.
Noise of this heavy heart,
unheard by others,
Leaves me empty in the world
full of memories created by us.
Disappointed too often,
I slowly disappear...
I wrap myself within my own
shadows torn and sheared.
My soul has become scarred,
Dark and rotten...
Uncolored amidst the
Rainbows of lightless oceans.
I keep gasping for air,
Even in these rooms with
Plenty of space left to spare.

-

The life inside me
Slowly fading
Each breath
Is wind
To the fire
My insides
Slowly melting away!
Each night the moon inspires
Not to write
But to kill myself
And be eternal!

-

Permeable
The walls are yet blue, overtly showing off
their bruises, each of which refuse to heal;
they are the verses I sing to the
butterflies, just before I crush them
to death on the pale white sheets.
Now they know words well,
the poetries I make them tell.
The burnt out cigarettes in the gray tray,
the died out fire in the furnace,
the empty wicker chair sitting next to me —
this room slaps loneliness everywhere.
I suffocate. But what can I do to live?
Transition. I want to find a transit, an exit.
The man downstairs shouts, they exchange
a bunch of heated words. I hear water gush
down the drain. Then, a cold silence breaks.
But the old window still creaks all night.
How do I become less permeable?
Should I become less permeable?
There's too much to listen to and nothing
to say. However, this spirit gapes to scream,
or yearns — to listen.
I am a little jetty; how can I stay aloof
to the lives that have been
moored to me, even if they are
merely touching my peripheries.
But when I open my mouth to speak,
I sound like the air that blew out
through your mouth into mine.
It's dawn again, but no sunrise.

-

She came by with a bouquet.
White roses with stems spinose.

Missed always, but too much near that place.
Where only dirge are heard and elegy said.

Cluched the stem so hard,
Turned the white of roses to red.

And expressed the hidden colours...
And told the story she never said.

White Roses turned to red.
And love that never was expressed.

-

Doors of hell are ajar
Need not struggle reaching it
Zephyr shoves you through
Cosmic space will suck you
Ultimately taking there...

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