Somehow you have found, where I was in the ground. I am there, I am also here. You have something new to fear. I’m not alive, but not quite dead . Though this is not what you have read. While light can be quite fun, I must avoid the world with sun. To walk the night is not quite what you think.

This darkness inside my heart

Residing in my pitiless mind

A fuel to a fire of ever-burning odium

That cutting sarcasm of such cruelty

The cold cynical aura that never abates

What is it that filled me with such hate?

Who dreams?

Who dares to enter such a realm?

Visions, fleeting,

Escaping with the waking flutter,

Living on bated breath

And translucent promises of

A world all your own;

A world anew.

When you dream of becoming a writer,

You get stories embedded in your soul

Ideas of near and far-off lands,

And journeys down rabbit holes.