Cliff Of Light

We weave the tales, and rationalize,

And all the evil,

We romanticize.

We all tread the hero’s path,

And yet we fall from the,

Cliff of light.

We sympathize, trotting through,

The overflowing river,

Holding a candle of ignorance.

None of us true to illumination,

We preach the lessons of light.

And then we rationalize,

And we weave the tales of divinity,

And by little pieces, we stitch,

The romantic river of heaven.

A river on the bedrock,

Of broken stones of humanity.

**

Via Daily Prompt: Swallow

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The Fragile Shells of Doubt

Each soul,

Neither man nor woman,

Is held captive

By its self inflicted doubt,

Each

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.

Another Psychopathic Narcissist

I’m turning twenty-five on eighth. Don’t hassle. You don’t have to congratulate me. For me, it’s just another date. I’ll still have the same issues I’ll have on the night of seventh.

Nothing would change. Well, expect the date.

The night of the seventh, or the morning of the eighth, I’ll be as conflicted as I’ve been for last six, or seven months.

I might be one of the self aware narcissist, or I could be a psychopath with too much self pity. Actually, I’d lean towards the latter one. After all, I’m whining with my words. Aren’t I?

Rather than doing something about it, I’m complaining, like an idiot. All that is wrong with the world, all that bothers me. How my life never turned out to be the way I wanted it to be?

Actually, that could be the problem. I assumed my life would have been a projection of one of my dreams. I’d be successful, would have achieved something significant, at least by my standards, but here I am. A soon to be twenty-five-year old millennial, with the issues that would put my ambitious self to shame.

You know, it could be the part of growing up. It’s definitely a human experience. A life teaching, if you must.

I’m fascinated with human psychology. Did you know that? The whole deal.

Why we do what we do? Why the fuck do we do anything?

Isn’t that the greatest question every religion tries to answer?

Do you ever get tired of thinking, analysing, extrapolating your every move? You might ask, what sort of strange question is that. If you did, if you actually did, man, I’m in trouble.

I’ve lived my entire life like that. It isn’t methodological, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is just a way of life. It’s how my brain keeps itself engaged. Like I said, I’m either a narcissist, or a psychopath. You know what, I could be both.

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,

This is my

Civil war.