Runaway love

Runaway love

Runaway Love

Runaway Love

curving on the street’s end ,in the footpath’s bend
the lil kid is so cold and none’s around to lend
his feet all swollen , his eyes so blank
the fate of life written on his own hands
he tries to figure out y all’s so black
y everyone’s so mean and want to sack
y a world of dumbs is all he can find
y is everyone so harsh and not so kind
starin at the dirty walls in the back-street
he tries to find stars in his hand’s streaks
but all he finds are the scratches that burn
ashes from the past with memories so stern
memories of a mom who died without medicine
of a dad always drunk who never called him son
and as tears roll down his beautiful cheeks
death pities him and he’s so weak
opening the cold arms ,it embraces him
only to let him drown in a calm ,happy sleep

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Born To Die

Born To Die

Born To Die

The seconds pelt our paths as we inch towards the fall. The hour hands sound horridly harsh when the wind picks up the rustle of our steps on brown, bronzed leaves. And the hands clasped together, moist with dense anticipation, shudder ever so slightly. The clocks slow down, until they come to a stop the exact moment when moon melts down from the sky and onto our skins. And we ravenously treat ourselves, closer still, mocking time and jesting at fate. The euphoria rises atop tall tree-tops and ascends towards the heavens where it shines from the stars and urges us on. We lose the measure of our steps or the time left. And just when the fall comes, we willingly take the leap, vividly conscious of our beings, through each other. The fall no longer seems daunting.