Have You Ever Wanted To Be Someone Else?

Diagnosis

The merry-go-round will not stop.

It's futile to cry; everything takes its course.

The storm is rough; it will stay for long.

Under the sheets, I hide from the screams.

I cover my skin in body cream.

My face is free, my conscience is clean.

My redention is nigh

She said, 'Everything will be fine'.

She offered her hands, but I didn't comply.

Emanations from a desperate mind

There used to be a library in the middle of the sea. Almost touching the starry sky, as shelves stood the trees. A library that holds every story to be seen.

But you found it empty, in complete disuse. You're looking for a single small, pale book. In this vast desolation, it's waiting for you.

Written in gold, it's called "The things you like." quite obvious for those know-alls who don't care or mind. However, you want to learn more about your essence.

The library is endless; you shudder for what's lurking beneath the cold waves. With strong winds, you let the small boat move again. Maybe the next row of trees might have a clue as to where to find your soul.

Ah, those nights regret

A new aperture appeared in my room. Somewhere to scream and fall head-on. I recall my sweet mistress, Eleanore. So fair, kind, and full of love.

Bitter endings and full remorse Memories with her just took their course. Like celluloid melting under summer light Secret kisses in plain sight

But those cold days are just gone. Her pulse, smell, and soul No more cuddles, no more love. A shame that a bunch of pain pills did the job.

Random idea for a fighting game character: three little bear cubs on top of each other, wearing a trenchcoat.

Ah yes! Antidepresants!

You can't be depressed if you are uncouncious...

A quick one before supper

I took a heavy drag.

My lungs relax.

Heavy silver smoke

The tremors are gone.

'It's so bad for you!' said the yellow teeth hag.

She took my fag from my dry mouth.

In a second, my roll was pulverized on the ground.

I almost broke her nose. I was so mad.

Nowhere to go, not a single light.

The game has been changed.

Everyone has a fake mask.

And nobody can lend a hand.

Away from all.

Under the bridge, I lit a new one.

Far from the empty laughs,

I inhale the noxious gas.

Everything is fine now...

When it rains

I write when it rains. As if all my pains are washing away. When such a dark miracle shakes the window panes,

Only the taste of his blood makes sense. It allows me to be back in reality, past the tense darkness. While his feeble body lays comfortably on my bed.

Or something like that alone, I would pen aloof. While listening, the rain drops fall from the roof. I wonder if the clouds can see me now; surely they will send proof.

My face is blank, and thousands My inner voice is morphing into the same I shift my body, not my shame.

If only I could be relaxed, free of judgment. While water drips from the firmament Thinking of how to avoid my permanent fate

The only leak I have is predictably in my heart. stepping on puddles of my own hope, crying aloud. I have no option but to follow my own white cloud.

A Midsummer Night's Melancholia

With dry lips, she contemplated the night Lonely, sad and thirsty for such a long time, She cried for she didn't know how, but her memories of glee turn to sorrow dust.

It was a still and silent summer night. On top of the world, she behold the closed house Once filled with laugh, now it's empty with shouts Anything not bolt to the ground, now is resting by the street light.

One step in front of the other, The dulled naked feet, step down By the edge of the moonlight She contemplated the summer night

Her cries were heard by no one except for the wind, Now sitting, arms crossed, eyes closed, gentle weep The cheery night did not care for her, Only when they were together everything seemed to be OK.

Now loneliness was by her side, Better forgotten than being forced to smile Yearning some rest and peace of mind Hoping to drink clear sky by the next morning light

A little incident

He was walking by the street so as to buy some bread. But a witch came and declared: "Boy, you're so lame! Let me convert you into a frog instead."

Zap! Everything went south real fast! The poor champ skipped away. To the bakery, alive or dead!

However, the powerful woman wasn't done. She hopped on the broom and flew behind. She cried, "Hold on! There's something else I must tell you." But the frog increased the rhythm and managed to lose her.

The poor frog was rushing through his thoughts. He needed the fresh, baked bread. But now it would be difficult, since he forgot his pocket change.

The little green amphibian was resting by the water fount. Until the witch surprised it and took off high on her black broom. "You're trapped, and now you shall be my familiar!" But the frog had other plans and shot its tongue into her eye.

Both plummeted inside the fount. With a single dip, the witch into green bubbles dissolved. And the boy, frog no more, took Every single penny the sorcerer had in her purse.

Lots of artist sing about love, woe and abstract perceptions. Hovewer, I propose to sing about mundane things, such as that slice of pizza that calls upon you at night when you're 12 beers deep, or that thing that lives in the walls and steals your left socks.

Life is to short to worry about emotions.