Well, if there's a stain on our clothes, that we fought tooth and nail to keep clean. Would wiping it out mean the stain's death ?

I personally feel the system of justice is like a washing machine, cleaning the dirty laundry of an unjust society.

With revenge being one of it's many cleansing cycles.

The painter's dream is to paint a masterpiece.

The author puts every effort into making the book a bestseller.

The cook wants to become a cordon bleu.

And I, more than ever...

want to become a gardener.

Plant my family tree.

From turning leaves springs

a new legacy.

Buds to full blooms, the flowers of life growing in my womb.

Bearing the fruits of patiently sown roots.

We're two to mitigate any occupational hazards that come our way.

It's the easiest for you to make my life worth living the toughest decision.

When taking action, for my turf,

you interfere and say the most unsavory stuff.

I helped you through it all, till old age and beyond was forgiving to a fault.

It's your fault, for not having risen, despite having every kind of luck on your side.

Now you won't listen when I tell you how much I struggled against the odds and made it even.

Your advice to me is that our time's are entirely different, and that I'm seeing your future with jaundiced eyes.

Giving me hell,

Acting like you're the angel and I'm the devil.

I'm at my wits end.

Well i have to do something or die before you try pushing me over the edge to heaven.

Comparing school detention to State prison.

Now, my child...

If you don't wish to behave like a human, even at the fag end of your life.

Let me fullfill what you want by treating you like an alien,

and kicking you out of this planet dead or alive.

Hark the angels,

that strum their harps,

with wings,

darker than the devil's.

Taking leaves out of their books on how to become a classic fable.

Their call of duty, is guiding

the innocent among the guilty to heaven.

Of which mythology has produced several variations.

The fallen will rise again.

The same can't be said for hell's inhabitants.

Belief makes you see what non - believers can't.

Truths and lies will make your speculations dance.

Can we believe anything or anyone at first glance ?

Am I on the side of what's goth or God ?

Hear what I have to say.

Before spreading news that's fake.

The wildfires of rumours.

Cooking on slow heat.

Gradually gathering speed.

When it burns up in my face,

will I have to die in a glory of flames?

Do I have to be judged based on and biased to hearsay during judgement day?

I'm scared.

And my fear,

isn't something that can be shared.

Faceless men,

I defaced them.

Unmasked, I have no defence.

No one my behalf to attest that I'm not out of my head.

If I close my eyes,

I can see the sharp paintbrush,

coming to paint me red.

A masterpiece that is dead.

Plug my ears,

I can hear me screaming and feel the tears running down my cheeks.

I swear I'm not being cheeky

The snowflakes died down and so did my chattering teeth.

Angel wings on either side of my arms.

This is just an experience that only the deceased have experienced.

A cut to the vein,

dropping like wine that's fine, but should not be at such a age, on my plate.

Used to be a lightweight.

Carrying the bodybag wouldn't have required a bodybuilder,

it must've been a piece of cake.

I stopped eating.

Is everyone turning blind?

To physical signs?

I get that no one gets my mentality.

My mind is seen as one of a kind, though I'm generally invisible to human eyes.

If I say I'm mentally unstable it must mean I'm fine.

The opposite of a lie is not always the truth.

Covering my hide with a hood.

Do I have to whisper in their minds?

Of how their blood line is bleeding and flattening.

No monitor is needed to show the vitals,

the patient has gone beyond survival.

What's most important is revival.

Which no one wants to spend their precious time on.

A priceless life gone.

Not a victim,

just an innocent criminal.

Spending days in a cell,

writing about where I've dwelled.

Asking the mirror on the wall,

who has the most,

beautiful heart of them all.

Million glass shards pierce my chest.

I think I got my answer, and eternal rest.

Do I know who I am.

What part have I played in fate's plan ?

Guess I'm supposed to be a building.

The architecture of the architect's mind.

What is trauma care?

When I'm still traumatized to this day.

Even in the afterlife,

reminiscing how I was slain.

Who likes to cross the other side?

And live as they die.

When my expectations surmounted those expected of reality.

That's when I started living in a fantasy unlike anything ever created before.

What do I have to show that I once lived?

Not even a gravestone or bib.

When handwriting becomes fancy, it's called calligraphy.

Living in a world of my dreams, has always been my dream.

Floating between paradise and purgatory, in a land combining heaven and hell and my imagining.

The monsters under my bed don't see me snore.

My body never washed up ashore.

The same goes for everybody I've known.

This version of earth is no more.

Melancholic is a language spoken by those nostalgic of what had been bucolic.

Entire new solar systems, stars, galaxies and new celestial tokens.

Welcome to the Parallel Universe Patrolling Force.

Who else wants to get enrolled?