On one fine eve, I sought for stars far in a void nightfall,
longing and perspiring for an illusion to be true.
How do I know they don’t always flicker and at times feel blue just like me and you.
A zone of relentless thoughts get caffeinated, somewise adjoin my soul
yet never blend twinning the Gulf of Alaska.
Snuggling bed sheets covered by the bloodstain I often portray my own jeopardy saga.
Once a damsel ran short of words to betell what exactly is living in a brothel and its auction.
My therapy succumbed to get they are ruthlessly seduced but nobody knows the real art of seduction.
A soul without a body and a body without a soul, which you forechoose, oh folk, my folk?
My subtle psychology ended up craving for the first since the day I heard someone
laying naked and inhumanly fucked.
Mayhap the sublimity you desire to feel in one’s chin smear you with mundanity.
The perfervid nature for being loved may someday thrutch you into a dichotomy.
Let your obsessions not be mistaken in the name of choices,
addiction in the name of affection.
Every path of life has sheet music, maybe glittered on your forehead of sophistication.
At length, the bewilderment compels me to perceive this world as an abstract art.
A few humans took the guts to leave suicide letters too and in the midst of forgotten ones
I’m surviving as a bleeding heart.
B. Farhaj Jebin