Coconut small and greenk

Leaves of Palm resting on the car

Ants smell like ink

The compound is clear

The sand is like copper

There is no sun overhead

That is only proper

Before there were butterflies

Fluttering, frequent and bright

Now there are only spiders

Can't lose them from your sight

The air is cool and rich

Each lungful is a blessing

If only there was internet

then I wouldn't be stressing

I love her of course

But why all this worry

She's the flower in my garden

Today, I paint a scenery of torture,

the moon; its mocking serenity,

shooting silver daggers of light

Such a fatalist.

Shame, guilt; I realise,

I ran to shadows,

With dark comes solace, always.

A field of irises, through which I walk,

They say things I want,

A moment passes, I'm blinded,

Drunk on lies, dazed by illusion.

May this dream never end,

I trip and fall,

Those sweet whispers become indiscernible

cries, screams and hollow nothings.

Manipulation, deceit; I realise

I escaped the field,

My knees bruised and bled,

With blood comes satisfaction, always.

A house of stone, to which I go,

They give me water to tame my wounds,

The acid burns my skin,

They laugh at my idiocy.

The smiles unwavering, false assurances plastered on faces flawlessly,

Daggers in their hands,

Love on their lips.

Confinement, indoctrination; I realise,

I run, I run, I run,

-to nowhere, to no one,

With isolation comes freedom, always.

I lay on the ground,

looking at the stars,

staring down at me,

from arrogant heights.

Failure, disappointment; I realise,

-cannot run anymore,

I take the stolen blade, and slit my throat,

With death comes peace, always.