Where Else My Poetry Falls

I will take you to the endless valley of euphoria, when I feel tremendous joy inside my core, I will offer you red roses every beautiful sunrise, so you can remember those bloodshed  wars, which we have fought for pleasures. if you stay in this enduring valley of flowers, my undying fidelity can lead you to immortality, With my blood, you will find the truth about the existence of life. my apologies towards the rational commands I gave before, this will be the end of your hideous ignoring life. and it is the beginning of the new.

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"

Unlike the majestic way of disguising things, I can reveal all my secrets through a song. same as the humming of a  bird to its mate, or piping of a bee to a flower yet to be bloomed. if I could have the lyre of that great healer, the god of music and light, let him shine upon me, through all my plague and darkness, so I can create a new melodious way to suffer alone. if you hear me when I sing that dirge, I may be upon the top of my lungs, mixing all the griefs with all the air I can fill in. I will try to be aloud, I want them to hear this. this song, about the death of an innocent dreamer, who dreamed beyond their imagination, to hide the truths from his other self, like the wind which's stuck between Mountains. he died for nothing but for pain.

Inked by a sea, which was formed before my birth, maybe it's the dark blood of an unknown bird. Scars never felt real, like the scars I held by myself, but it has the power to enhance what's real and unreal. It will appear, when I call upon for the wisdom and darkness, in every scars like the stars of a deep dark night. Soon I will realize, what are the reasons for living and for dying, and also the reasons for loving and being loved. They cannot control, the weather, the storms, and the rain, So my emotions and thoughts. If they do, what should I do to myself, to avoid all the consequences I'm guilty of. It is too easy, to cut the wrist and unleash the red river, like the flow of unhappiness to the sea of misery. But in other hand, I hold the cup which never ever fills, and I'm searching honey drops in decayed flowers. I might be a sinner, in my dreams I slayed a thousand thoughts, about the things which they don't want to feel. ...

dilemmas in the delusional Lilies, a hesitation, whether or not, do they've to fall after the honey drops dry or before this night fall,  or before this winter's cry. warm touch by the summer wind, an impossible dream to catch, before it perish, all these decayed dreams, in the sorrow of forgetful snow. they'll create an empathy to carve love, out of each human heart with thier everlasting toxic fragrance, before they feel the last coldness of night. after the fall of the broken Lilies, where you find your heart?

when the time comes, when I die, when my soul find a space in the Raven's talons. you can take all these pieces with you, and tie it together, enrich it with some cherry blossoms, and with some feathers of your broken dreams. when they fail to remember my existence, when they start to forget about this world of sorrow and harsh. you should wear this crown of madness, because pain is essential for a peaceful world.

lustrous, a summer midnight, he was waiting for the clouds to sleep, and the lunar came by, and he knows his shines, the one who sells the stars for a price, and the price is what you love the most. hesitation, his eyes become gloomy, darkness or the sadness which slayed his joy, price should be named or the stars will fade, what would he give, what's he loves the most? speechless, a tiny thing in his pocket, a star from the past, which's belongs to his mother, what was the price, how did she earned, now she is no more, so he wants the truth.

I have found the wisdom, when I was in my mother's womb. when clouds found its way back to home, I found mine, the way to this oblivion life. I remember that day, I cried aloud, like a thunder, which echoed throughout the mountains, till when I saw them, they had pretty smiles They are the people, gave me advices, to live this fucking world, with worries, they made to suffer, and a broken mask of a smile to hide them. they have found the rules, and they have found the laws, how could I live with the wrong choices I made, they will hang me or they will make me to death why am I living for? the question remains till when I get back my wisdom, if it is after my death, or after the silver hairs dance, Whenever it is I shall give no mercy on them.

I'm dead.  You can hide me  wherever you like But you must be very careful  not to hide in your heart's burial grounds.  Because I am not worthy  of being laid in the graves  of those who dug the grave.

The curious breeze fills the air, The waves are searching for the rivers, The color of the seafloor is the color of the clouds, Muggles have blossomed with romance, This way, your memories will fade, In this life-path where the silence is scattered Dreams achieved with pity, Sacrifices of sacrificial blood on the floor, No vengeance, no consequences, A heart does not cry will not be removed, Moon may scatter downwards, Everything will disappear in the fireplace, Yet the flower may bloom in the memory, Like a sprouting bud, The heart thunders because brightness of the moon, I don't know, Who's screaming all night?

When I reveal all the truth If it hurts you, either worship me till my death, Or stab a knife in my young heart, because truth is always a two-pronged poisonous snake.

Without looking at what's inside themselves, They will criticize the light by looking in the dark, They are the seekers of a fantasy-filled cup, they don't know the truth, that nothing will be gained without sacrifice.

They're trying to find the boy who lost in the subway of a  busy road of Oxford Street. but I know  they can't, because the boy they speak does not exist, even in this real world nor in the virtual, but among the million stars, he lives the alien ship, I can see it, and it's blinking gives me hope, I'm not alone anymore,

Die like me, inside and outside and don't talk and forget all, like the rest who forgets the deads. Be patient when you're alone, under the ground, when worms enter in your stomach, like the dreadful dreams. think about who you loved and who loved you most, that what will make you know, you haven't forgotten at all.

He fears those things he loved once Colourful toys and his painting books And they smiled and he laughed he gave them colours and he was their god They told the tales and he listened And they danced with the songs he sang he found and he lost, those things he loved once In his cupboard, he heard the cursing sounds, And their whispering screams And their dusty noisy coughs Those days are gone, and the child is no more He is dead and his joyful mind Blinded  heart has forgotten such toys Creepy hands have forgotten such arts But the toys are waiting, soon he will change Colours will bloom once again by his hands..