Ubiquitous Fabrications

Astonishing nightmares, ambiguous dreams, strangely so profound an allegory in life, as it foreshadows a future, that may commence, either beautifully or as a detrimental piece of rock. Wonders bring on some form of hope, hope that never dies. As one just knows, something they might or might not want to, they may know for sure, they may or may not believe, something needed to be confronted, may be something one chooses not to see. When the clouds haze, when the dreams die, when one believes and lives on a lie, when the leaves wither and fade to brown, what it signifies if more profound. The autumn signifies the start of a new life: life that comes through slogging. As the pestilence decays, it finds its way, to the start of something new. The new found glory or joy or destruction we abide, finds a place or loses it. For all we know, we may not fit. As one walks along the way, one finds a path, where one cannot stay. As to something so new, one can see that new found truth. Thinking about contracting time, diminishing with contradicting lies, one sees the waste of time that abides, as a result of schedules forces on inabilities, as one realised that voices are gone, as a mere consequence of health constraints, seeking permission to do something else, something that would prove to be more productive, and then realise to themselves, permission so strictly denied, as ones assumptions of abilities abide. The time is gone, down to hell, wasted that one could be used, knowing the deadlines that follow are gone, what one was longing to get done with all along. Ironically we find black humour in life, knowing not what to do, the sad consequence becomes a joke, with hysterical fits, through anguishing looks. Wandering so aimlessly, thoughts pondering with sensations to find, something less melancholic, as one sails through life, knowing not what they want or find. Beseeching for something worth the last, instead of broken confined spaces, seeking the solitary freedom, which one couldn’t find through any means, when can the joyous life be found? When can one reach their dreams? The questions so long sought after and found, are probably ones; a person cannot reach. Questions remain questions, when juxtaposed more with reality. That is what truly confines; a path that one cannot find. Grievous demonic storms uproar; the hazing sky, out through which oneself can impose, to bestow immortal life, why would one want that to find? Immortality destroys the chance, of fringing the tapering cloth that compares to life, of living life to the fullest, as one knows it cannot pass. Time is indeed an endless strain, which one finds and makes a grain that gets consumed and wasted indeed, understanding it metaphorically. The thorns that bring about the life, that one can appreciate the good, becomes so old fashioned and dead, as one obviously knows some truth. Thinking of facts, or axioms as one must say, one would know something that was proclaimed, was not necessarily the truth, but mere manipulation that was believed to be true. What if some new law comes? Stating Oh! Two plus two is not four! Would one believe it? Yes or no? That gets based on the Hawthorne Effect, if the source is believed to be credible. What if this time, it were wrong? ‘Poof! You believed a lie’, one would say. How controversial and yet discrete, the truth we believe is incomplete. The same works on with life and judgements on people, that people make. The world cannot live in peace, until they unconfined themselves of the lawfulness they surface and hide. That is what we cannot find. Why do we meander these impetuous grounds? Why is humanity so lost and yet loathsome in believing they are not? Denial is what seems to prove existence, full of caprice in ones decomposed dreams. Calmly as one state further, something where most disagree, and step a path that no one has virtually seen, they get rooted down, way beneath. So low they lie in all eyes and never succeed, as a consequence of prejudice not because of a whole group, but the individual in one dies. Judgements are what decay this path, so brother and bombarded through life. Everything one dreams and loses is a surfaced path one cannot find. Lies, wretched lies constrain individuality in a person claimed. Claims always seem to be so frowned upon. What if one of them could bring about something? Discouragement is a hasty dream. How frivolous would this “claim” to be? Imagining those grievous countenances, through encounters of virtually impossible thoughts of finding some path through a gleaming light, that witnessed some truth, through demeaning plight.

Unseen Oppression

So stressed, so worried, so uncertain today, here I sit so worried and afraid. Anxiety pulsing through my blood, tearing my flesh, as I lay cold, worried about the excessive pressure, embarking my life, through just the grading system, the International Baccalaureate Diploma, so worrisome. Here I am, so highly afraid. I am terrified, petrified, gaping towards myself, tearing myself, within myself. A person just remains a score, merely a score, and nothing else. That’s what we have all become. This agonises my heart and my soul. Everything feels so unfair. The teacher’s inadequacy becomes my fault, as topics change a million times, even after the deadline is passed. By the end of it, I so well know, that it will be no one else’s, but my fault, whether or not, I had a say in it. I know that things will probably go wrong. As I continue to try on this, I am worried about how I exist. The existential feelings crash on me again, and I know that this is brought through endless strain. I wonder what I have ever done. Sick and tired of all of this, living a life so confined. I need some open space, to stop feeling so suffocated, which is one I cannot find. So stuck with this strange life, sick and tired of living a non-living dream, and suffocating myself, with an unwanted theme, themes of sadness that come through strain, probably another part assignments seem to bring upon us. Existing, but barely living, depressing myself at every bit, I break apart every time I move, every step I take holds ahead of me, a million broken dreams, I try per chance, and find no truth, no solid reason to continue, but somehow still, I walk along, no matter how terribly I’m worn. Realizing how less time I have, to submit all those assignments, it brings forth feelings of anguish and depression, as I know that problems don’t seem to solve themselves. One needs to strive to solve it all, and yet things don’t seem to work, this leads to nauseating, hateful sensations, and anger towards the world. No matter how much you push them away, they follow you on through and through. As you seem to strive ahead to find, a path to walk the road, one that will hold flowers ahead, instead of broken dreams. As one continues to try all the time, and yet find the need, the need to somehow find a way, some way that can help right, as you continue to feel, just feel and break the strife.

Plastic Generation

Destined to energy draining occurrences, prone to silenced souls, meticulously observing incidents, sucked into time and space. Laws of profound scrutinisation, bringing forth swarming destinations, swallowing themes quite far from the truth, analysing artificial assumptions, criticising beings in a conspicuously futile manner, judging every thought or move, conferring dim nauseated looks to pass a judgemental hypothesis, leading to their demise, conforming to lawfulness of society, classifying “normal” and “abnormal”, branding and demarcating one another, is precisely the summary of mankind’s ways. Following patterns, demeaning one another, scorning based on superficiality, has generated the most deterring, broken lisp of the word “humanity”. Seeking exclusively for the ‘perfect’ spirits, classified under the most perfect conformist clones, antagonising one another turning into a modern virtue. Heightened disappointment, degrading spirits, breaking nostalgic childhood dreams, persisting change and enforced anguish, chasing thoughts of truly incarcerated assassinated beasts, lauding right less conditioning and scolding the virtuous people, transforming and bringing out a new race, more profoundly addressed as “sheeple”. As the mass seemingly proclaims, truth and justice, all name-sake, we condole the condescending thoughts, effective in smothering hearts. Diminishing concepts of reliable truth would be illusive and deluded. Secluding people who are different is seemingly most accepted. Warping the menacing tides of tears and faces hidden secretly, pretence breaks out a whole new sea. As obsolete as caustic liquids, oxymoronic to the lipids, burnt and brawled through flawed hesitations, carelessly destroyed through fences. Might lies not in strong physic, but in minds of angst filled children, children of the dusk provoked, fatal feelings who evoked. As the dim light waves through, shadows casting thoughts through and through, cast forth wings of glory, raging dragons with furious, burning passion, gleaming silently, to create a create cosmic explosion, silently break the true delusion. Frames of minds decentralised, just like a mere government politician, reigning over sovereign republics and yet breaking democracy with hypocrites, empowering delusional dreams and faculties, extravagantly flawlessly, cleansing mankind of all its flaws, striking like a second Hitler, bringing in hassles, scarring holistically functional beings, operationalising and hovering through deeds, finding, analysing, criticising every flaw, finding the immersed observation lost, breaking down humans to tiny bits, making robots of out beings, cloning every morsel with the mortal paraphernalia, making efficient beings with no feelings. If this is the proceeding in mankind, all a human could say would be right. Humanity is certainly doomed, as even animals are obviously smarter; to live with feelings and care and love, appreciate the holistic being, instead of reducing a being to words. This is how mankind seems to work.

Revulsion Behind a Smile

Breaking a path, feeling scattered, tearing the heart, ripping the soul, despair crashing down, like an anvil, devastating thoughts, depressing life, sick of faking a smile when broken, pretending to be a joyous soul, at the point when life seems to dispatch itself, insatiable to the very soul, this is when everything seems to fade, hopes diminishing through magnifying conscience, of broken paths condescending one’s life, conditioning beings through derogatory light. I don’t see why I repeat my thoughts, the same conveyance in varying words; the same thought all throughout, I just feel the need to be heard. Feeling low of spirit and mind, ambivalence is all I find. Tranquillity and serenity I cannot find. Eventually sick of writing and yet I go along, though certainty breaks the thought. I am sick of writing the same kind of things. As it seems to fade away, I write only to portray my deep emotions, with my desolate fate. I am dying in soul and empowering hate. I like my writing no more, I write only to vent, hearing my thoughts. Then I hear that I must be published, then think to myself, that though I’d love it, publishing would be strange, as everything I write sounds the same. Now I wish I did not write depressed thoughts but quality text, I wish I could write of glory, of thoughts so joyous and profound, full of mirth and highly calm, instead of thoughts of asphyxiating myself through grieving emotions and a broken self. Feeling the worst of feelings through life, deviously encountering feelings of ennui, ripping my soul, breaking my heart, and yet somehow I walk along. Densely condoling thoughts through my grievous mind, I swarm through the endangered flight, as I warp myself meticulously, corpsing my life through impoverished dreams. Infamous within myself I find, breaking this mortal paraphernalia I find, I feel like an egghead, without my life, finding no peace within my mind, flights of the mind, careless indeed, harnesses claustrophobic dreams, of hatred and demarcating ends. Spiteful of the narrowing lane, walking enormous, hateful, vain lanes, dying from within, hating life, carelessly breaking the ties, of emotions and feelings within oneself, and then dying as we pass through each day, wandering aimlessly throughout, not caring about a thing in life, and yet caring for everything one feels, that’s how life seems to fade, and yet find a path along the way. That path seems to lead ahead, as one walks that empty lane. One knows not why they live or die, for some reason they cross a path, a path that tears their soul apart, as one dies from within, and suffers through nervous breakdowns through. Yet, we choose something we know, or maybe will never know, for all we are is who we can be, all we can understand and see, as we know not, how we live or die, for some reason, we find something high. We understand not who we are, but who the world manipulated us to be, for all we know from within would lie, if a total broken life. Wilful and excited one tries and tries, to change things and make things right, but for some reason, it never seems to work.

Lamenting Torment

When the sky breaks down,
When the wind blows hard,
When you’re breaking apart,
And find no way,
When you know there isn’t truth,
When you know life’s about death,
When you dream and nothing strikes from within,
You know that the truth lies in your hand,
As the truth is missing in the path ahead,
The road is winding, the path is steep,
You beseech your destiny to find,
Life fritters itself away and you abide,
To anguish, to pain, to agony,
Sorrow lies within the calm tree,
The tree that holds your phantom,
Above all, the tear that rolls down your eyes,
No matter how much you wish or try
To find what truly lies beneath the sky,
You find a path rather winding ahead,
Again lost you are that fritters your fate,
Your faith in life lies in you,
No matter how much it winds you through,
No matter how much words break your soul,
All you can seek is the winding road,
As you can see and you can find,
The heart that truly in you lies,
Think and trust for yourself,
Mankind has no living breath,
Made of agony and judgemental lies,
Concepts misunderstood and tied,
So tight that no truth is released,
What we find is inconstancy,
In everything around us lie,
No matter how much you live or die,
No matter how the path ahead of you stays,
All you find is sorrow and pain,
The facade of truth sugar-coats its being,
The verges of anguish lining the truth,
Is what beholds in you its youth,
No one can understand the concepts of life,
As it seems all twisted, twirled in light,
Light that evidently lines the dark,
And hides the shadows portraying its past,
The hidden being in you prevails,
Pestilence through the living bait,
The body, the soul, the corpse, the mind,
Pestilence stricken still live in might,
What lies in you and in you alone,
Is the truth you hear but do not know,
As long as you choose the path with derogatory light,
The truth in you, you still don’t find,
As you chose the imaginary light,
Ignored the truth in you that lies,
Wandering among the seas,
The path ahead of you that lies,
Isn’t the one you choose yourself
But the sad conditioning of the world,
Looking at various ways of life,
We know that none of us in us lie,
However are mere moulds of the wax the world makes us,
The puppets still in lies among us,
What we are is what we find,
When we know not the truth that lies,
That lies within us watching seas,
We look around and all we see
Are the ones not we choose to be,
But what defines the quality
The quality in human terms,
Is what defines the values cursed,
As knowers are we living in the past,
The past of mankind shrivelling around us,
The life in us thrust into our being,
Eventually we find and see,
That all the superficial standards of the world,
Were truly the ones making us unfurl,
Into the superficial grounds of being,
The doctrine of our serenity,
Brings us from within,
The roots of our surroundings fit,
Is what we are made by the world
Isn’t truly us unfurled,
When we realize who we truly are,
Shall we know the brutal scar
We brought upon out lives ourselves,
Chooseth through the hatred cometh,
From the unknown being of our lives,
We can choose who we are,
So know not what the world made us,
But being what truly is in us,
Is who we truly are, and should be,
Not because I am telling you so,
But as a result of your true being,
Live oh live,
And know who you are,
And you shall be proud of the unborn scar,
Within you are who you are
And know what you want to be,
Bring it out, through yourself perceive,
For you are the one who brings your life,
Not belonging to another,
We choose to live or die.

Just a depressed state I was in

I am currently blatantly in a stultifying, brain-dead, anguished, remorseful frame of mind. I am drawn and bound on plains of mere existential living. I am anguished, agonised and broken from the inside. I am trampling a trodden path, with an unbelievable number of obstacles on the way. I am wandering the path that has no beginning or end. I am drifting through a nostalgic dream that reminds me of a glorious past, hence making me feel a million times worse. I am thinking of a life I can never have, living in a future that may not come. I cannot abide with the excruciating situations I am drawn into. I feel lost. I am ripping apart from the inside. I am spinning in circles and repeating the same tale over and over again. I am walking on a land filled with superficial paraphernalia, where every being is judged solely on superficial grounds. I am walking on a dead end street without knowing it before it’s too late. I am lost and can’t find the way. This land is so empty. Not a sign of existence prevalent… anywhere. This is killing me from the inside. I strive to make things better, bear the heavy feeling of daunted emotions in my heart and die from the inside. I hurt. I succumb to the terrible plague of ennui. It manifests itself in every drop of blood I have. It tears my soul away from my body and locks it in a torture chamber, bound with unbreakable chains. It suffocates me from the inside, makes me claustrophobic, and brings forth a sensation of stupendous magnitudes of invisible heavy weight crashing on my shoulders. It agonises my heart, rips my soul, slaughters my spirit, and smothers my flesh and blood. I am the mere symbol of living death now. My life is a paralysed waste of oxygen on this planet.

Random Thoughts

As one flounders their thoughts and raid their minds, with courteous bedazzled thoughts, unravelling mysterious paths to contemplate their life, very often, the extravagant firmament opens up righteously, encompassing mysterious boulevards, casting forth wings of glory, awakening thoughtfulness, bewildering oneself within surfacing reaches, leading to dwindled streets, within wraithlike structures warping populace within the vortex of plundered doom. This leads to a forsaken path, lavishing unworthy, mirthless designs of queer countenances, bringing forth solemn grief with an unscrupulous, wandering imagery. As one sits in a gruesome state, they tend to ponder about structures beneath one’s own mind, questioning the very meaning of life. This justifies a grieving sensation of ennui.

Stranded

Stranded in a cosmic void, wandering dreams one cannot achieve, grasping terrorising ambitions, within wicked reaches of plundered power. None of which is truly real, all seem to fade eerily, as one passes the anguishing path, embracing ones wretched fate. Destiny doesn’t exist, and we ourselves as humans comprehend, the unbelievable remorseful lane, walking through a mass of hating troops, and they demean and belittle you. As one walks across the site, agonised in a surpassingly superficial derogatory world, they witness grieving experiences, grimacing a tangibly broken countenance. Fate passes through the flash of an eye, as one rummages their thoughts, hopes and dreams, to find nothing, but an empty path, a decapitated boulevard, one that proves to break one’s empty dreams, tears and rips them from their soul, and yet the person walks along, no matter how much fate makes her fall. Strolling through warps and enriching dreams, none of which are worth a millisecond of their time, as the lane leads to a void, walking along a condescending plane. Hate fills the heart, warps the soul, and warps it in a vortex of torment and pain. Yet, one always walks along. Blame the light prevalent in the human race. Dreams that never lead to light are broken cherished memories, inevitably dead so long ago, and yet we find a banishable bloom. Scornfully they judge another, without enough introspection and consequent thought, outliving a broken dream, cherishing nothing but one’s greed. Comprehending life and death, one passes through a trodden lane, trampling a dark path, with no destination ever alive. The core of the broken dream, leads to a solitary gate, refutable through selective consequences, seldom outliving a good amount of pain. As one just walks along, seemingly destituted through lavishing dreams, as one solemnly finds the true face of reality. Choose the path ones heart leads to, instead of sad conditioning in the world. That’s what can bring some light, live a heightening dream we find.

Sick of Pain

Manipulation is the way of the world,
What is today, isn't the realm,
It is the manipulation we live in,
What lives within is the pain,
Utter sorrow and endless strain,
Today I live, tomorrow I die,
Who cares? Who knows why?
Does it really matter, how we live or stay,
How we understand today,
Today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow,
Unfortunately, life breezes through a haze,
All we are left with is agony and pain,
Endless deceit, endless sorrow,
As I am broken and torn,
I scream and shout,
I howl like a gaping wolf from its paradoxical mirth,
Accepting defeat,
Hating the world,
I do this all, but silently,
As nobody knows, what I feel beneath,
I am sick and tired and wretched and worn,
Sick of hiding the breaking thorn,
The thorn that tears my soul apart,
I cannot loosen the ripping heart,
The heart that rips beyond repair,
Breaks as though I couldn't care,
Sick and tired and totally worn,
I want to sleep and never be born,
Wish to remain as silent as the sea,
Wish to never use any form of speech,
Cross my heart and hope to die,
As I promise that I still shall try,
Trying with no cause, no start, no end,
I break the promise,
I break who I defend,
The soul that lies deep within,
Is dying, losing cause from the brim,
Bearing the truth of wretched lies,
Concealed and sugar-coated with apparent truth,
Pretending to be overwhelmingly joyful,
Hiding insecurities with a smile,
Verbal diarrhoea, excessive words,
Talking like a maniac, wondering why?
No cause, just the feeling of joy,
The freedom that it brings along with the words,
No matter how far the ranting breaks,
The truth concealed unveils itself,
Unleashes its' demonic possession,
The demon that lies within the id,
Knows the sources it finds within,
Wishing to let it all out and break down,
Be freed from this pain and live again,
Unfortunately the possibility dies,
As we know truly, that we are the spies,
The ones who lie to ourselves,
Hide the sorrow and the pain,
Act like perfectly authentic lads and lasses,
As we cannot confront the masses,
We know truly who we are,
Both you and I see the lost soul within the heart,
Concealed in anguish, sorry and pain,
All I see is today,
Today is the day I live tonight,
All I see is the blazing light,
The light calling for me and my soul,
Hazing down slowly with no control,
Everything vanishes in the haze,
In the vicinity of my contemplated mind,
To view as an observer, instead of facer,
Wishing I could forget that I live,
Wish I weren't human and couldn't feel,
Wishing too many things that are not real,
As I know wishes never come true,
Dreaming on is all I do,
Dreams that can never live,
Nightmares that bring out the ultimate truth,
Is what my reality is,
Through the broken thorn and bridge,
All I see is a broken lie,
The lie I live, on which I die,
Seeming joy that is profound,
And yet something I can't confront,
As none of it is ever true,
The façade and mask I live and thrive though,
Showing my true self is so hard,
As I show it, a repellent I become,
Now as I contradict myself,
I meant two things in one way,
The façade and mask I put on,
Is the joy that is profound,
The truth I believe in to fool myself,
Is all that I hide from within,
Being myself in other terms,
Is what I live on and wish the world,
Wish that I could be accepted for who I am,
Instead of the grounds on which I land,
When life is life and life alone,
With no pain and sorrow unfurled,
Through the pain that lives within,
As long as I see the light as dim,
At least I can see the light,
And not just dark unseeming light,
As I besought my fate to live,
To bloom in unbroken times,
To live the life I want to live,
As I see I am already worn,
As I still await the truth,
I know now that I am the truth,
The truth for my own little life,
The little snow globe and circle I live,
Which I don't own and never can,
The world is huge, that I can't change,
But all I can do is find my space,
And find some joy, even through life's rage,
I am me and me alone,
And so are you and always will be,
Everyone chooses it all,
Even when we don't choose, we know who we are now.

Mysterious thoughts

Mysterious wanderings, cantering horses, open lands, plain marshes, all so beautiful, and yet so narrow, open and yet closed. No matter where one stays, or lives or dies, clouding plains, exasperating minds, hazing emotions, and fading dreams, walking a path with no light or guidance, to live through free will. Mind boggling sensations incarnate exteriors of plunging voids, casts deep dark notions, fondling thoughts, and seeking spirits, as one breaks through cognitive states, finding the deep subconscious states, through pressure in chemical composures in the mind, ripping souls through unbelievable stress, finding no path within their lives. Stupendous magnitudes of superficiality, prevalent in this unworthy world, the human race rummaging through the vast land full of strange paraphernalia, caring merely for surface possessions, breaking the law of righteous spirit, thoroughly floundering grieving emotions, and discretely surfacing lawfulness, breaking through paths that make no sense, unravelling roads with no beginning or end. Thoughts and consequence have a belonging; in the world with mere insolate wanderings. Treacherous beings governing and controlling others, subordinate subjugation leading mankind, slaughter of individuality prevalent, casting worth a broken plight. Demeaning being the latest trend, in modern lifestyle and even the past, breaking through every being, ceasing life in obsolete realms, leading the daunting castaway, shadowing a dawn with no revelation, grimacing and whining through distraught lanes, as one congregates their mind, to make a ravishing day, worth seems to drown in a drought, surfacing tears streaming down the eyes, of subordinate beings, and splintering cognitions, learning through nothing but mere imitation, the conditioned beings they are, breaks through imaginary flowers. Roses guide the way with thorns in the highland, grasslands giving a tinge of hope, and yet breaking forth nostalgic dreams, breaking justice through savaging cons. Looting the innocent of their privilege, breaking their dreams through nothing but mere insights and false beliefs, flawed as high as unworthy nights, of staying wide awake in the dark, trying to sleep and rest peacefully, for the required stream of time, and yet grieving every night, wondering why nothing works, tormenting paths of unconscious consoles, of nightmares ever doomed with dreams, as one walks and sees the light, finding no flaming ambition of thought. Immortality being the notion, of thoughts that can seemingly never fade, passing on generations of the human race, smothering spirits with the slightest distress, with the unrighteous rule of the destined way, as one walks and vanishes in the haze, paving a dream that has no beginning, or an end as one scorns others, crossing borders of unheeded deeds, that find a path through their own seas, blooming into paths with a stream of hope, through darkness as a limited evocation, inhibiting lives through inglorious plots, conspiring against individuality, antagonising innocent beings, condemning justice through desolate dreams. Justice seems to break the dusk, as spirits dawning towards the earth, plundering emotions, nauseating masses, breaking surpassing channels of lasses, wandering in a grassland plain, as one yet merely strives in vain, tormenting little children through agonising themes, making them clones of unworthy dreams. Breaking justice as one walks along, finding breaking and demeaning thoughts, living a dream that doesn’t exist, living in a world that can never live up, and yet increasing hopes through faith, faith not for the omnipotent as they say, probably of which doesn’t exist, but through thyself as countering fits, as one believes in their own, to find the path that doesn’t lead to doom, asphyxiating innocent beings, as they run along the street, slaughtering the spirit for what one heeds, without considerations on their deeds. Out ruling, outweighing, outrages might, as one stifles through encouraging days, as they walk along and find themselves dither everything they ever struggled for, and found somehow in some or another form. Wandering within ones own light, soon a being can solemnly find, the enraging storm of propagandising dream, without the profane forced being, as one finds themselves walking the path, pondering the chosen cast, through scruples of one self’s mind, considering the truthful light, walking a path and finding the way, breaking through the conditioned day, and finding a dream worth understanding the prune, of coveted insolent doom, breaking forth the unjust dream, and finding ones own being, as one walks the engraving light, diminishing towards the grave of sight, sights of people hurting one another, breaking everything prevalent in their life, only to achieve a broken dream, one cannot find and awfully scream. As one hears the prevailing winds, moving towards the grasslands still, they also see the breaking light, caused by unwavering might. Finding the light so slight and dim, as one just walks up the hill, banishing the dream that paved their path, unravelling conned deferring wrath, bottling things, to a point where it breaks, and becomes a massive volcano, that destroys everything on its path, and slaughters every being in its wrath. Warping delusional precluded swarms of fatality through uneven ponds, of strange stratified evident cause, through wretched meandering incongruent mobs deters life, as it tears the soluble fight. Fight for dreams and ambitions, paver the incorrigible dream. Outweigh possibilities on the way, and unravel the cosmic stream, to break forth truth and feelings constrained, in the granular life that’s a strain, no matter how much endless agony prevails, once one finds the everlasting stain, the stain of hate and in conquering plagues, find the path leading to the street, of true profound jollity. Antagonising crowds helps not in life, makes wraiths prevail through broken flights. Fonder breathtakingly righteous paths, through living dreams, we can find, true congruent dreams, so miraculously, careless hate can just enrage, blasting light from the firmament, breaking life through speculated fate, as we all vanish in a haze.