Murder.

The burning desire
to harm, maim,
inflict pain…
It’s uncontrollable.
I look at you
and your perfectly
combed hair and think
of the things
I can possibly do
to torment you.
Your flat ironed shirt,
neatly tucked
beneath your
costly pretentious
belt…
It gives me the
urge to put
that real leather
around your neck
and wait to hear
it snap while
I stare and look at the life
go out from your eyes.
Oh, the wonders
of murder!
The joyous pleasure
it conveys
to an ill-driven mind!
If you can fumble
through the haywire
of my mind.
You will see my need
to drink all the
misery in the world
and thrust it
deep into your
throat right before
I slit them open
and watch you
profusely bleed.

MR@2016

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If Only.

You walk through a path
that’s cold as ice –
your feet are sore
bereaved in a frostbite.
Your hands are warm
like they’re on fire
slowly you’ve melted
into desolation.
You walk on through
notwithstanding your aching
like every piece of you
has been torn apart – broken.
Tormented with a past
you can’t escape,
entangled in a decision
you wouldn’t want to make.
If only I could keep you
from your insomnolence
and the constant thriving
of debris in your heart.
I would but I can’t
and believe me I tried.
Won’t you let me in,
let me be by your side.

MR@2016

Last Time.

You wished for a hug
I don’t know  why.
You never even liked me,
not even for a while.
I backed away
and shook your hand,
that’s the most I could give –
for I cannot lie with
what I feel inside.
To all the belittling,
I’d finally say farewell,
You’ve made me feel small
but I still wish you well.
No more angst,
no more anxiety,
I’m glad you’ve left,
before I, myself, went away.
10 More days –
‘til I find my peace
’til I find the silence
that I’ve so long missed.
The best of gifts
that I got this month
is that you’re nowhere near me
the day I head out.

MR

Cosine.

One could not exist
without the other.
They practically live
for one another.
I should know,
I’ve seen them both.
Up close and personal
together, they make art.
Such beauty they make,
no one can contest.
More beautiful than sunshine,
seas, rains, or the forest.
They make “Love”
greater than it actually is.
They have the capacity
to make the world
a much better place.
They both can create a space
for your troubles to rest.
Create a dimension
where all your fantasies subsists.
The glossy black machine
that makes up the typewriter,
the flawless smoothness
of any kind of paper.
The only thing missing
are the thoughts that ponders,
on your heart and mind
where live the poets’ candour.

MR