Afraid- a charles bukowski influence sans being stoned

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Some days I fear,

that they will realize

they don’t need to hear

all what comes from my mouth

through my heart,

because of this pessimistic tinge,

and they will term it as whinning.

Some day they will

desert me and not look back

and I will be left behind

in the darkness and pain

of my own miserable thoughts.


My beloved Typewriter hit the wall

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They say: Once someone is a self-destructionist, he will always go forward from there. The cuts baring the soft skin and that power one holds in that instant, make all the pain that follow through worth something. I know that power very well, through various people I have came across,and  recently I got a muse for this poem from a guy, totally unknown to me.


I took it in my hand
stroke the plastic,
I smile winsomely
And then throw it hard against the wall,
quite irrelevant and drastic,
It flew as the centrifugal force upon it befalls.

I pick the white keys
clench them in my hand
My blood rushes through, faster
I let myself stomp my heart
Tonight let’s paint the world
in bleak hues.


Self proclaimed Insomnia

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Thankfully I am among those Lucky people who sleep with much comfort at night, and there have hardly been any traces of insomnia in my past, no annoying episodes of sleeplessness.
But for once I want to be (a little) insomniac really and sometimes I fight sleep because nighttime, is indeed the best and the most peaceful time of the day.
All the creative juices flow, the writer’s block often seize to exist and I get to think freely without any trivial interruptions which a busy day brings.
Nighttime is the most enchanting of my whole 24hour time, because it belongs solely to me, and this little respite from the rush of daytime and solitude of the night, is indeed much appreciated.
So each night I fight sleep like crazy and trick my mind into believing that I have insomnia and usually read and think as long as I can.



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In the moonlight, as the skies were adamant like a young girl to let the night court them, with the beautiful dress of stars



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All along the gruesome veil of darkness in night, a frustrated agony engulfs my soul. With great conflicts thing get out of proportion.


By God,who wants this?


A restlessness rips through the heart at stake,the loneliness kills,who thought the lovely pink roses would wilt so early.The color of the leaves is orange,yellow and black.


Burned ambitions and aspirations have a darkened shadow, more than the shadow is due to show.