I need a voice,

Not for other’s ears

But for myself to hear.

 

No escape value,

Pressure’s building, Systems failing,

Explosion is imminent,

Must react, must turn the power off,

Wait.

 

Only for a minute,

Yes, only for a minute,

Need to let the padded room, disperse,

Need to let nature - take its course.

Let him out.

 

Ha!

You believe you’re some type of god?

You’re nothing without me,

A piece of shit, admit it, your weak,

Yes, weak, a slave to your thoughts.

You can’t accept reality,

Yet know his nature, better than you know your own.

You turn a blind eye

To no one but yourself.

Because it hurts?

 

Ha!

That pain in your veins,

Rises from the depths of hell itself,

The Devil, Iblīs, Hades,

Choose your poison

It makes no difference,

 The agony provoked by it

Is nothing but humorous,

When compared to your self-inflected torment,

Your need to live in the shadows,

These shadows which try contain the light,

But fail to work without some distress,

These shadows that define “you”,

But, they only serve to block him and “I”,

Give in for once, let it out!

Fuck, let ME OUT!

 

 

Reflect, Reminisce, React

Reflection of self is not one’s weakness,

Its one’s art interpreted in an endless stream of consciousness,

Though complex and never ending,

It bridges sanity with the insane,

It completes the architecture in a mind

With no structure,

It seeks to understand that,

Which is already understood through the eyes of some,

But not through the eyes of one,

It captures a moment better than a photo

Not through a thousand words

But in a few thoughts,

Thoughts never seen before,

Yet when reflected on paper

Images collapse, memories gather,

Man is not supposed to cry,

Memories are then man’s worst friends,

Worst friends because they don’t have ill intentions,

But man can’t help but shed a tear when they’re present,

Present only in man’s mind,

Yes, selfish indeed,

Because the pain and the joy is man’s and man’s only.

Pain that’s still insignificant,

In a world as small as ours seems to be,

See, time and space have long been our mortal enemies

But,

Suicide seems like our most likely downfall,

That silent death implemented by our father’s father,

And carried out by our son’s son.

What reaction is possible?

Yes, man can make a difference,

But, he can’t fix a society nor a planet,

He can’t, when opposed by the primal nature of men,

Men who…fail to accept reality,

Knowing its nature fully,

Yet rather live fighting the present,

Than ever giving a damn about the future,

Men that seek refuge in the shelter of daily life,

Where time passes,

And nothing happens,

Nothing, except those few who reach a point of insanity,

Trying to contain their reality,

Within the realm of reality,

But in the end get stuck in a never-ending realm of mental torture,

But, then again,

 Who am I to criticize?

 

Tic-Toc,

Only for a minute,

Only for a minute.

 

Pressure’s reestablished,

Systems are up and running,

Explosion evaded successfully.

 

I need a voice,

Not for other’s ears,

But for myself to hear,

That’s why I write.