The Fragile Shells of Doubt

Each soul,

Neither man nor woman,

Is held captive

By its self inflicted doubt,


bone that is shattered by

The ever growing doubt,

Ultimately transforms into the bolt,

The bolt by which the door is held in its place,

The door between greatness,

And futile existence.

The barricades of fantasy

Could burn reality,

And desires if they are built

On the ground of anxious thinking.

Instead of water,

The drops of rain feels like needle,

Instigating abrasion of agony,

Only if we strip ourselves,

Only if we empower our doubts.

Only if we incubate in the shells,

The fragile yet unbroken shells of doubts.


The Demons of Our Own Choosing

In yet another land of
Scorched yellow, and murky green,
The immortal white,
Dominated by the damned gray,
Another breath was forgotten,
Another soul doomed,
Another number,
Part of the whole yet unique,
Another soul, torn by grace,
And rebellion,
Another light seduced by
The demons of our own choosing. Continue reading “The Demons of Our Own Choosing”

Civil War

Just to drift away and fade into an ever-sretching white light,

Away from doubts,

And into the bliss,

From the life I have started to despise.

There is a hidden strength among my shivering words,

Words that shy as they leave my stuttering lips.

A strength to wander and explore the unknown.

To drift into the ever-changing whiteness of the unknown,

That question,

The life altering confession,

Which I’m shying from making to my already aware heart,

Is a game of my pragmatic mind.

A mind, whose soul purpose is to guide me in this world of uncertainty.

Whom should I deny the benefit of doubt?

My mind,

My heart,

In a struggle for power,

They are in a continous tug of war.


This is my

Civil war.