I wish it would only be a dream to me,
locked up in a room with no reality.
After pessimism sucked out my individuality,
paranoia started pumping my veins slowly,steadily.
The silence banked the flow of time,
and it was broken by the bedlam of mine;
of thoughts that were not divine.
I am not the creator but the blame was mine.
Figuring out something else in me all alone,
so I took the glass to find something known;
Waiting eagerly for something to be shown,
& nothing seemed to quench my dried tone.
Death had uproared my evil dark inside;
The truth I felt was poisonous than cyanide.
You let my life go, keeping death aside;
It was just a thought without you beside.
