Please forgive me, Sir

For having taken an empty oath,

And instead of telling your truth,

I told my own.

Words slipped like a stream

Because truth also has

An hourglass.

And then it’s set free

You looked at me,

A crowd; alone

And yet my tongue did not

Shiver.  It wasn’t me, talking.

-intertwinement-

Kill me, Sir -

Outwardly, I'd be bleeding

Whilst inwardly, I'm too,

too strong to fall.

Another version of an old piece entitled "It Never Happened".

I feel like a stranger to my own self. Like a hater to the words I say, I don’t feel my existence within, I don’t even know what resides within. My soul is the battlefield of my words and God-knows-what resides to conquer me. I fear questions because my own answers might break me, I’m not sure I want to discover myself, not in this state of mind. For I don’t know who I am, and if I ever knew now, I’m scared it would be my label, forever, for a temporary state of mind, soul and heart. I don’t want to know me if I were outside myself. Not now at least. Not today.

I'm the tear that falls

On the face of a fool

pleading for acceptance

In life's daily episodes

Quivering

Shivering

I'm the kiss between two lovers

The silent sound of a snide love

Approaching like a storm

In a pale winter night

Awake

But fake

I'm the bird that flies

In the sunset, above the horizon

Trying to collect falling feathers

Of a nonexistent nightingale

That tires

Sun's fires

I'm the owl of the night

That groans in silence

Flying over a cold moon

And the shade of paleness

Is whiter

than a puzzled writer

I wrote this poem on the 7th of May 2009. I don't know why I never shared it, it does look like something I'd still write today.