Where Else My Poetry Falls

She swallowed the moon and wept in the darkness, like a whore who forgot to enjoy the pleasures of thousand sensual dreams. being the one she never wanted, and became the one they wished, she found despair in the long lost emptiness of somebody’s craving thoughts, as long as they stare at her she’s never a part of their world.

Water flowing under my bed red but not my blood, nor yours and I can see you on a hill middle of some melting clouds I see green meadows under your feet if I'm drowned and die before your eyes in this red river of innocent blood enjoy my death if it pleases your soul like how the death eaters celebrate while consuming all the darkness  

Dead girl's charm, I kissed her forehead, I remembered the touch of decayed flowers of last spring, she carried all  in her bags to understand death. She tried and she understood death is not the cruellest gambler loving is the absurdity we create in the end, we destroy everything with sorrow and grief that when you can release love out of your life. And death is never a stranger it is always a part of you.

October sky, what an awful delight, Suspicious, they might be, maybe later. The clouds of the dying daylight, They are slower than the wind, They are lighter than the colour I keep in my veins to shed later. In every shade, they are doing, Homicide fantasies without blood drops. Two persons should die every day, The sun and me, because I shed tears for them. even I try to colour them with my few blood drops like I used to color my skin before.

when your skin felt my lips, it's rhythmic pressure, which holds our ancient link, I felt the universe in my head, in the bed, I saw a million stars and some unknown galaxies, I'm not sure is it an obvious dream, you know the truth you felt the same, only one disparity of reality, what else you saw in the dream? Because you were the creator of such heating obsession.

when your land drops its pride, and gives it to the wilderness, buried summer leaves will haunt, in every cold place where you rest. as you remember the dreams and those smiles in every flower, will be gloomed, and you'll be doomed, the hell you seek will start to seek you. rain will fall before the autumn, kindness in your eyes will wither out, the swamp will swallow your legs, and you never feel what was eating you. devil's trumpets will grow wildly, as a sign of your mournful death. if it blossoms in fortune spring, I will adorn your grave with its decayed flowers. But before you die, I have something to reveal. "The devil is never real but I am"