Veridical Poetica

In the ripples of the darkness, a shadow lurks. Tired and lonely, it recklessly works. The silhouette toils hard, for a better life in the future. But no matter how hard she works, she doesn't realise the vain of the suture. Because in the end, we all collapse, in a pile of mere dust. Then, nothing matters, not love, nor trust. It is all fake that, a light shines at the end of the tunnel. Life teaches us much, that is true, Yet we are all stuck in a  runnel. This is all endless suffering, that we cannot escape. Some have it harder than others, some are victims to rape. Those such sinners should be cut up into pieces. Head and limbs, fore and hind, and other such bodily breaches. Life isn't fair, one must learn that on their own. And yet, some people go out of their way, simply to pick a bone. Hence, in the end, you must carve your own way. Because it will do you no good, if with the wind you sway.

 Oh, swindler! You cheated me of much. You cheated me of love, money and trust. Where was my sentinal, when I needed her the most? I wish I could've been warned, that there was no clear coast. It's as if even God left his post, of being an arbitrator. Sometimes I feel, my body in my body is an infiltrator. But none-the-less, vengeance will be achieved. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but this one will be carefully weaved. My actions are justified, they are perfectly vindicate. After all, I'm not doing much, I'm just here to simulate. I'm not fastidious, I don't require much. But break my feelings once, And I'll leave thee as a pile of dust. Ann believes that retaliation is a panacea. It doesn't make one quintessential but does make one feel like a thea. The last man I knew was a hypocrite, he was a half-witted imposter. He was like a gloating toad, his words were nothing but preposter. It's not as if my intents are fatal. I just don'...