Clocked Heart set to destruct.slowly ..slowly slowly.
i am defined by the next tick.
while its ancestors, some angels, mostly monsters which hammer my head, blindfold me and inject the stick in my hand, such that i be drunk but magically careful enough to land my foot on the mine…
the one that'll not kill me.but make me feel i was better be killed.
the heart is bomb proof-shamelessly beats..beats the brain.
& the brain? huh.so busy in making up my mind… forgets to make up himself..so selfless.
*** it
a careless teacher … ruining the life of his student with his book of time…
forgets to mention that if all the past is 'lying' …
the approaching masked packages… will make sure they perfectly rhyme… and pefectly inherit the orphaned moments…
i am defined by the next tick.
while its ancestors, the monsters which hammer my head, blindfold me and inject the stick in my hand, such that i be drunk but magically careful enough to land my foot on the mine…
& otherwise?
no, no otherwise… i only get one sunrise.per day.break it down to the units.and you'll see every thing i get is unified by the unitary idea of time … live life second by second… if missed the first bus.you will get the second, but not the same one.the driver never reckons to follow the first//..
so many magnifying lenses to study the path, the route.better recognise the thirst..and kill it, before you faint on the way…
keep shooting the birds on which you sit.before they fly you away…
and make time to paint on the clay.
what?
come again?
i want a second chance… --be content with your mistakes.they could've been much worse… the song gets written by unerasable ink… fit yourself in the verse…
cos how can you beg for 'change' when i hv been told currencies are only paper…
once torn.., better forget them
like tears they will soon turn into vapour…
but my room dont have ventilators.
and my nose doesnt filter anymore…
these pretty scriptures, breathing instruments dont work.
my brain doesnt feel spongy enough to absorb… the sour.smell'
of the blood stains, when i fell while descending ..the ladder…
the thoughts are in a tear-me-apart amusement park,
where all the puddles of tears are battered
by the thoughts sliding down the guilt trip…
well.i've dried up the moisture in the heart… '
indulged in the artificial sun's fire fired by mirror art…
Still blind though…
eyes are a divine object, not meant fr us ..
sense life by love and lust///
so i'll never know the spots the sticks make on the path…
unconscious about the color of the ink.
that'll paint my tires of the goodbye car.
every one wants it to be white…
though its ok if black is the only right.
and nothing's wrong…
nothing's wrong…
in the song.
Clocked heart set to destruct… slowly slowly…
Did i miss the bus.while i was writing this ***..
*** it .. i am glad i left it…
i'll make myself fit in the verse i guess.
yeah.
>>> Pls read this.and try to decipher.? do you like it?