Now this is known as crap:

Now I am waiting here tonight, for what? The world to end and reborn as a soul, discreet of its good.
Making changes that are sound, the clock is wound,
That goes round and round and round. Oh! How insane the pain we bound.

It hurts, to be hound. But believe me its better than the feelings which surround.
Scorching inconsistence, all or nothing to the future, cast by spells of despair.
Ageing me slowly is the splinter in my head,
It feels like a pillow under the bed. The ability to be held, close to city’s bend.


All I see is fear, hatred and revenge. How I crave for the bench,
Bring the money, Lets burn it honey.
Make a free dummy, save me a penny. All across its funny.
But I am dark and bunny, blues around the world making you edge towards the bright day sunny.

Chitter, chatter of humans, worse than the deacons.
Felt down by the beacons,
I’ll kill all just to be free, under a tree. Me, myself and thee,
Just us the three, How insecure the lead.

Beauty is just a need, of the mind towards the seed,
Through surmounting feed, it beckons the fruitless deed,
Hoards of boring deals, of what one feels.
So sure, you are near seals who laugh at the kneels.

Of photographers who steal, their innocent meals.

Whoever he was...

Walter Kaufmann described existentialism as "The refusal to belong to any school of thought, the repudiation of the adequacy of any body of beliefs whatever, and especially of systems, and a marked dissatisfaction with traditional philosophy as superficial, academic, and remote from life.

Poem in distress:

Engaged in a self involved conflict,
I stare at the empty eyes of people who are known as friends, never to gain never to reign...

Impulsed by the fruitful desire of love, thoughts proved sufficient enough to disapprove...


Blinded by wounds of the heart, Scorched by the meaninglessness of life, Bound by the power of hope I stand, sinful and sorrowful, amongst whispers and curses I breathe,

Knowing the fact never lose hope; Life seems to fade away, only to reappear as an illusion, nothing is worth living for, but there are something's worth dying for...