Now I wish to trade my soul with the devil-
the guilt-conscious God of the raging presence.
At least he would give me a fair frigging deal,
he would weigh all my sins to let me know what I truly deserve.
Endless excuses crept through my veins of rushing blood
every time I detached from the plans of today and tomorrow.
Oh lovely friends and lovers, I’m not sorry that I’m shallow.
I’m just a misfit seeking deliverance for the chances I missed.
I wish I stayed up with the thunder and clouds
and drenched myself in the 2 a.m drizzle of barren time.
The terrace we sat at and the clouds we looked up at
are nothing but traces of useless existence left out to bother us all.
Yes I’m funny, but the corners of my lips carry the burden of lies
which were audaciously misused to let all my lovers and friends smile.
Ah! the sins are piled up now and the walls are closing in
while the knob-less doors cage me inside my own little cautious prison.
The key to which is not in the hands of the guard,
but it is with the devil who found me off my guard.
I know he is listening through the pine wood door
to the tone of my confessions with his bloodshot ears.
I know his eyes are widened with a curious smirk
while I rant out the faults of my smug-felt existence.
He offered to throw the key of liberation
through the rusty ironic windows of now.
He asked for my soul that is weary and weak
to link between the key chain and key.
He knew that the key would eventually be lost somewhere
as the link dangled with itself and all its different parts.
Without a soul, without a key and without a heart,
he knew I would call him again to buy my desolate soul back.
The mere and bleak existence worried him
feeling half the life has gone away.
Crooked worn out doors closing on him
by itself didn’t send out a ripple of sound anymore.
The hinges were greased and
the disturbance thoughtfully ceased.
Four concrete walls crushed him to a space
of nothingness that scared him to death.
He wished he ran out of his useless breath.
Tools on his desk were unexploited and rusty
and all that mattered didn’t make sense to him anymore.
He slept all day and kept up all night
wishing for a chance of arid nightmares.
Selling away his unstable soul for free
his heart longed to fade out and eternally flee.
The endless bills and disarray of days in months
promised the devil his spirit which he himself found hard to find.
Devil breathed and waited right beneath his bed, brutally kind.
Clothes in his wardrobe smelled like thousand places
yet they belonged nowhere but solely to the closet.
Socks and shoes in the box were worn out with an urge to elope
as the fire in him died and didn’t take them anywhere fine.
His significant love for the moonlight and rainbows fell,
the deceptive rarity of magic revealed the ugly truth as well.
A better day was always from the bygone days of past.
His assumption of dying candles and temporary light
were just one of the million others things basking in the rage of his fight.
The flower vase neither carried the weight of petals
nor did it feel in place like it used to be.
Mirror and the altar of perfume bottles
were seldom used anymore, he didn’t care.
Letting his present to a slow and untimely end
he regretted each second and wanted to apprehend
the promises and the dreams he had for himself.
Reality stuck him and massacred the peace in the air
and he blamed the blameless world for being unfair.
The madness to rush in and fade out
is a state of being we love to be.
Desire, a drive to want everything and all
with a conscious lucidity of needing nothing at all.
Holding onto a breakable string
greedy yet scared of the tensile rupture.
Judging only the weakness of the hitch
and ignoring the weight of the doubts we carry.
Tipped over in few of the many walks of lives
we went on in search of answers and lies.
The dreadful journey to nowhere to seek
the significant parts of our soul were weak.
A messy mountain of heap filling our vulnerable hearts
held the slippery suicide points of our destined parts.
Hang on warriors, hang on to the rope
cling on to the farce promises of hope.
When we leave that gentle grasp to death
we would cherish the fall with all our breath.
The madness to rush in and fade out is strong
when there are million other lives to do it with us along.