Demons

This little faith
I'm cursed with
These silenced
screams,
At the back of my throat
I'm choked with

This black void
Of nothingness
These running rounds
Of emptiness
Shorten of breaths
To illusive happiness

This desperation
In fatigue
This loneliness
Of defeat
This heart,
That can't be healed

On my knees,
You stare me down
I hear a sound
'Old friend of mine,
Its all over now' 

Blank Page

A blank page
Running ink, waiting
Perhaps I'll write a letter,
Of hope
To my mother,
Not to lose herself
In a failed marriage
That sunk her spirit,
Too deep to recover

I'll write another one
To my father,
With a mere mention
A simple act of attention
Could have prevented
A hole, that cracked
His family in whole

I'll write to my brothers
A prudent letter,
Scented with dreams
Of a better life
The only true wish
I ever had

Perhaps I'll write a letter
To myself,
Of where I am now,
And what led me to this
The past, I find an obstacle
Though, I have accepted
It as it is, for what it was
Yet can't seem to understand
Why? 

A few questions are left
Unanswered
All I have, with me
Is a blank page
Of truths, unspoken  

Lies

Do you remember the first lie you've told? I could pull a guess out of the guesses hat and say no, knowing that its a rather impossible one to recall, since that distant time, we were born into this world, we learned how to manipulate our mothers to do (pretty much) everything we want. Sounds strange because it happened, and crying was the mean of how it all manifested, but then again, I don't think its manipulation as much as it is selfishness, our mothers are our attachment figures after all, so its only natural we'd want them close, and we'd use the only mean (trick) to make sure that happens. No really, its rather cute.

The reason why I've started this with a question, and somehow managed to speak for the reader (which I apologise for doing) is because I've always been fascinated with lies, no matter what "true content" they were covering, and "fake content" they were presenting. Lies are deceitful, but theres more, like flashes of light, so many of the lies I've told are clouding my mind as I'm writing this now, and though I won't argue that I (unfairly) refused the truth; like I'm sitting in an exam, faced with a multiple choice question and none of the options rang "fact or true" so I picked up the pencil, and wrote down an option, then highlighted it as true. A lie is just another option, another story that fits your preferences perfectly.

Lies displays insecurities, when you're trying to impress, you're most likely to exaggerate yourself and your story; like inflating skin with allergy, you'll be itching for ways to make your story as exciting as it could get, distorting its true corners a little more than necessary but eventually you make it to the "true destination" of the story. Or you could be one of those, that don't really see that grey area, and so you dismiss your story completely, and go for a totally invented, shaped as its being mentioned story; a lie.

Whats worse than being lonely, is people knowing that you are. Many of the lies born out of insecurities are told by the lonely ones, what are insecurities, if nothing other than constraining fears, these lies only conceal truths, you'll know more about the person through their lies, what it is they're trying to hide, is offered within and between the lies.

I'm not quite sure if I'll be going somewhere with this post, and by somewhere I mean a destination that'll lead to a closure or a final statement, usually those things require from you, that you'll stick to your starting statement, and since that statement was a question with a yes or no tail, this post could've been over before it began, and I wouldn't be facing this intersection right now, so for the sake of not moving further, only to be fidgeting with thoughts more, I'll stop here.