Illusion

Flesh and bones melt into pulp,

As I lay here torn, numb and slump.

My head feels like it was cut and sewn,
Lost something i thought i truly owned.

Sliced my psyche open - to give him all,
Am rewarded with woe and pain and gall.

Blink perennial to make it vaporize,
It's placid - but then i realize.

My scooped out soul lingers about,
Runs amuck and tries to shout.

Awaken to the surrender gagging in my brain,
Ripped out my heart, bleeding down the drain.

Washed the illusion off these hands of mine,
Put on my lovely fake eyes - with their false shine.

My Wretched Dilemma

Streams of tears on the bathroom floor,
Headaches, heartaches and then some more.

Staring unflinching into the dark void,
Figure this, Mister Sigmund Freud!

Hollow rhetorics to an extinct conscience,
Beware, look out, be careful, be cautious.

In vain, we weep, me and my core fragile,
Both wise to the unceasing debate futile.

Saddled with self-denial, a hunt for petty lucidness,
Fluctuating yet surreal, this undying ruefulness.

Dwell aimless, lonesome, the clock ticks and breaks.
I look for the sun, while my very being aches.

Psycho

Tears, sobs, no abeyance, none. 

Smiles, happiness, no bounds, none.
Cook me a heart, Boil me a soul.
Love me, take me, complete, whole.

Perfect, vague, obscure, precise.
The only thing that would ever suffice.
Bake me a smile, Stir me a tickle.
Lay sanity into life - fickle.

Psycho - they dubbed him, belongs to me.
Declares adjourn, can i let him be?
Psycho - mine, i love him so.
Buries desires, is gratified though.
Psycho - life, sun, hope.
Breath, soul, kryptonite, dope.

The Masquerade Ball

These masks have to come off, not one but all,
The false faces concealed beneath this ruthless skin.

Everyday, a new masquerade ball,
Fake bodies gliding, such effortless sin.

Zombies, each one of us.
Phony smiles, pretty disguises,
Guilt, shame, sympathy, trust-
All lies in motley shapes and sizes.

A fleeting glimpse of forethought i seek,
An unfeigned twinkle of the eye,
This venom, such acid, draw my senses meek-
Not a scruple found, nor a mortified sigh.

These masks, these cloaks, these drapes, these robes.
Melted malign these parasites soak-
Gnawing, eroding every fleck of truth,
Seeping deep - all soul uncouth.

A freedom delayed, an exemption denied,
This clinging grime is a bounded dose.
Persist and lose all in sight.
Resign and attain a content repose.